Broken dolls

That night was different, so different that he decided to go out looking for him. He didn't remember how I told him he'd be dressed, just a place and an hour. He took a light shower to take off the sticky sweat from the hot summer night, called for a taxi and waited. While he waited, he thought about what it would be like to be a unknown person who had dared to stay with her the first night and after a brief exchange of words through the computer.

Yes, definitely, she liked to play on the edge of the precipice and feel that feeling, incomprehensible, of vertigo, that no experience made her feel it, but would he like that?

That aspect, in fact, mattered little or nothing to him. She only cared about enjoying that rapturous experience that completely overwhelmed her.

He got up, went to his darkroom where he kept all his toys, took the handcuffs, his black latex suit, the steel clamps, the balls and the short whip. When he grabbed the two-edged knife, a smile was drawn on his lips and a chill went all over his body, then he set out.

Today I would play again with another doll that, surely, at dawn, would end up broken at the bottom of a ravine.

That's how he liked to play her.

Image source: Pixabay

The narrative structure in your Steemit posts

)

The life is a narrative structure; we are born, we develop and we die, although some think that we are only energy and that we transform ourselves to be part of other universes yet to know, but that is another story.

Here at Steemit, I read all I can and I find many entries that do not have any kind of narrative structure, but are a correlation of words and arguments with some hidden meaning that I do not understand; in fact we are bored because what does not have that narrative structure is not understood.

We human beings are accustomed to being told stories with a certain narrative structure and which is none other than that which is formed by the planning, the knot and the conclusion, because we understand it better and because we see that everything around us has a similar structure.

Aristotle put it many years ago, because he understood that the brain of human beings is structured to understand the world in this way. The world is governed by this structure, no longer narrative but vital. If you look around you will soon realize that this structure is there and we just have to stop and observe it;

In nature nothing begins at the end, as I said before, everything has a beginning, a development and an end.

Focusing on the issue at hand, if you look closely, the messages that try to communicate something, have that structure; news, films, series, advertisements, messages, opinion articles, novels, stories. Everything!

Therefore, when preparing your entries you have to take into account this structure so that what you want to tell is better understood and because many readers will not give you another chance of a second reading.

To do this you have to be very clear about what you want to tell before you start writing. If you're not clear, don't even try, you'll get a bad article and you'll have wasted your precious time.

For example, if you are going to talk about the future of the Steem, you have to make a small introduction (planning) of what the Steem is, then (knot) a short history of how it has gone in recent years, the ups and downs, the problems it has had, etc. and finalize (end) with your prediction about the future of this cryptomonet, because we all expect your final verdict.

Also, I have to say, there are those who play with that structure, starting, for example, at the end. You could start the article by saying:

Dear friends, I am going to give you some bad news: Steem will not exist at the end of 2018.

With this kind of strategy you have to be very careful, because they can stop reading the second paragraph if you are not able to keep the readers' attention.

Therefore, it is necessary to take into account the narrative structure before starting to write and after finishing our entry, give it a review to see if it is inside the structure.

Never forget the narrative structure; your readers, unconsciously, are asking you for it.

Image source: Pixabay

It's fucked up to be dead.

The first impression was frightening, because Paco did not want to die and death came to him, suddenly, without knowing how or why. But the truth is, he was deader than a dried squid.

Without knowing very well why, he could see all that was happening on that fateful day.

His body was there, in the Funeral Home El Último Camino, which had more than three thousand square meters with all the best and latest advances for the living because the dead did not care so much about paraphernalia, the day when worms eat you.

Without thinking about it, he decided to take a stroll around the estancia and was surprised to find himself dead, of course, he had never seen himself like this, lying in a coffin made of Finnish pine, perfectly finished and in his best suit, the black one, with grey stripes that always gave him such a formal look, the matching tie and the black shoes. He approached to see himself up close, and how handsome he was! The morticians had done a good job because he, he had to admit, wasn't so handsome, rather throwing away almost attractive.

He continued his round of reconnaissance, and approached his wife, crying in a corner, stopped for a moment to try and kiss her, but he could not, wanted to touch her, but could not either.

It was fucked up about being dead.

He stood in the center of the room, raised his head to see who had come to see him off. But there were so many people, there was little I could do. But this thing of being dead has its advantages, and just thinking about it, it was seen levitating over the heads of all those who were in the room. He recognized his brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and cousins, friends and girlfriends. In an isolated chair, he saw Renata who had come so far to say goodbye. Ugh, Renata. Could the dead get horny? No, they couldn't.

It sucked to be dead.

Renata, that female, brunette, with a sensual mouth, with a captivating body, tender kisses and a better lover. She had met her five months ago, by sheer coincidence, while fighting with an ill-mannered taxi driver on a rainy day, which left her stranded in the city of a thousand skyscrapers, while the rain and tears made mascara run. And he went out to the rescue, to the best rescue of his life.

He sat in front of her, looking at her for the last time and remembering her kisses, hugs, caresses and purring cat in heat, but her memories were already a nebula that was dissipating. The murmurs and cries interrupted his dreaming. He got up and saw that everything was over because his precious coffin, his best suit, his best shoes, his best memories and even his best memories were going to burn until they were reduced to the finest ashes.

He sat in the front row, beside his wife and brothers, watching as the fire devoured him like a hungry beast, taking away for ever all that had been before. Now, of him, there was nothing left but a few memories in the living. He tried to remember the words of his writer friend, who was still writing against all odds, that life is a fire and begins with the first breath of life. Yeah, his fire was already out. Now another one started, although I didn't know what it would be like.

Image source: Pixabay

Pez globo gigante

No pude resistirme a sacarle una foto a este pez globo gigante que está en un centro comercial de Las Palmas de Gran Canaria.

Fósil vegetal II

Siguiendo con la serie de fósiles vegetales que me encontré en los ladrillos de un centro comercial, aquí les dejo otra fotografía que saqué ayer, en la que se ve, claramente, el dibujo de una planta.

The untouchables and the miserable

For some businessmen and politicians, society is made up of untouchables and miserable people. I can understand that. For them, the untouchables are those who are part of the economic and political power that are above the procedures that are articulated to bring to a successful conclusion the equidistant application of justice.

And the wretched ones, from their particular point of view, are the rest of mortals, who, when they have an account of justice, have no choice but to comply with the injunctions, whatever they may be, and they seriously endure their own sail, navigating, hopelessly, against the wind and tide and, in some cases, the seafood.

These characters, the untouchables, of course, when they are touched by the robes of the Law, move heaven and earth to prevent them from being brought before the judges and always come to the easy, but very Machiavellian way out, to say that they are being persecuted by I do not know what factual powers that only seek their personal, professional and political discredit.

Some have even complained about the treatment and ways in which they have been brought before the Law, and have denounced their situation, using all their media weapons to defend what cannot be defended, arguing that this state of affairs will undoubtedly lead us to economic bankruptcy because investors are fleeing in fear of this scenario.

It should be remembered that when a judge makes the decision to take a person to court, he does not do so because he got up that morning in a certain way, but on the basis of facts and evidence from police investigations, and not on a morning whim.

Even some businessmen and politicians who have been brought before the courts of justice feel annoyed by the forms, arguing that it could have been done in another way. But these businessmen, these politicians and some of those who have expressed their opinion on this issue forget that the courts of law must, above all, ensure compliance with the law. Judicial decisions are considered, assessed and taken into account in many ways. Even, going further and not to hurt susceptibilities, that when they stop people, who are part of the rest of mortals -the miserable ones- they are not less taken into account.

Justice, my lords, is the same for everyone, whether we like it or not, whether we have more or less money or more or less power. If justice were to make distinctions, it would have long ago lost the fabric that covers its face, but thanks to our democracy, it continues to function independently, even if some people try, whether active or passive, to twist this principle.

Image source: Pixabay

Ya tengo tus huesos

Ya tengo tus huesos de pozo y luna oscura,
los olvidados en las crónicas amarillas de los azules,
los enterrados en el silencio de la oscuridad de la barbarie,
los escondidos por las manos asesinas.

Ya tengo tu cráneo,
con dos agujeros negros que se tragaron tu futuro y tu sonrisa,
con dos ojos cerrados para siempre,
con dos orificios de rabia y ceguera,
con dos impactos para callar tu palabra libertaria.

Ya tengo tu recuerdo,
aquel que quedó en las fotografías del blanco y negro,
aquel que me entregaron con palabras eternas,
aquel que construí con el agua de los pozos de esperanza.

Ya tengo un lugar donde enterrarte,
allí, donde siempre crecerán las margaritas silvestres,
alejados de los pozos oscuros, de las simas y de las cunetas,
un lugar para descansar de la sinrazón de los monstruos,
donde esculpirán tu nombre con el cincel de la justicia.

Ya tengo tus huesos; ya se hizo justicia.

Fuente de la imagen: propia