11/10/2010. Getting  home, at night, look on the highway all these things wrapped up, clutching the wheel and his desire to reach without further delay to homes. The line of cars is slow and the night comes over as a silent cloud. Every face on every seat in every car brings the trace of wear, fatigue, the endless days and its severity. There remains the hope of coming home and warm arms to become a warm hug and the man is reborn from the fire.

Until that happens and those things remain in the line of cars, the man will not be more than a body with a little less of himself, closer to final rest today.

07/10/2010. Today Vargas Llosa, in a press conference on the subject of granting of the Nobel Prize for literature said: “Being a writer is a discipline that demands work, is more perspiration than inspiration.” Okay, Don Mario. Is that why that good books always carry a stamp as beloved by its author ?…¡ who knows!

06/10/2010. The entry for the blog today has left us in a state of internal upheaval … sometimes the ghosts through the writing is good, but exhausting.

25/09/2010. Today is the threshold of hope.

20/09/2010. It is already late and it rains again. In the sky, the clouds that deflate and fall in drops as arrows, a sound that is repeated, sharp. Calla, thunder and returns to silence. It seems a concert of drums in heaven.

Below, in any street of this city untamed open umbrellas, motorcycles swarm under bridges, pedestrians jump puddles and streams, sewers are flooded, traffic becomes heavy and Caracas is a parking lot at 6.

In traffic, I think Why is it that rain is announced with much noise to warn ?…¿ will once again becoming arrogant and will own everything, even our composure. Maybe, if there such carajazos, insults, shouting and bad humor with which we tend to welcome these celebrations celestial drums?

18/09/2010. In the first hour of the morning I checked again, the sky is still there.

A little later, when I got up, there is a concert of birds everywhere, singing and dancing in perfect harmony with nature. They do it every morning, at the same time, and a little later the neighborhood is again in complete silence. I wonder what act of greatness of God was given to the birds the infinite gift of joy and reserved to people both bad mood?.

17/09/2010. Today I saw from the car an old beggar beside the road, as if searching the rubble for something to eat. I wonder how much I have left me to contribute to the joy of that be wonderful if no return is routed to the meeting of nowhere?