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WHAT LEVEL OF TRANSPARENCY IS THERE FOR INCOME millions of euros CHAPTER OF THE STATE FOR THE LOTTERY?

Each time a query to make sure, its former once again that we have back luck from birth, SAVE SOME MONEY THAT THE HIT MY WORK, DEATH, WE ENACTED WITHOUT THIS COMPANY IS OUT, IT WAS ALWAYS THE BEST FOR SPAIN TO THE ESSENTIALS (INCLUDING, BUT ALL THAT WE HAVE DECIDED IN THIS COVENANT OF INFAMOUS silently ignored) I happen to think that if the mayors are killed by other candidates frustrated as well, provided arriving to take the radish or euros to tit milking them by themselves, the teat of euros of urban development and licensing of all kinds, not only built and bricks, WHAT WILL BE, WILL FIND THIS TO STOP RIVER TO MILLIONS OF EUROS EVERY DAY AS IT IS NOT NECESSARY WHETHER OR WEEKS, ENTERS THE STATE OF THE GAME CHAPTER monopolize, PRIMITIVE, LOTTERY, Bonoloto, EUROMILLIONS?

And sing me a song of tenderness unprecedented

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When a computer in the background serves as the machine

By becoming this photograph to be sure you were aware of portraying the world, one by one each one of us, our life-support machines behind computers now, then ... better not name them, cat cat. The cold air of death blowing on each of our foolishness and / or greatness, that no one will applaud for more sad, but will not be dead if applauded, if our joy is nothing that sweeps dust slap, or that wind I said quietly in my dreams: The wind sweeps the house where my love dies ... where my love was true and dying and going and I was dreaming, and over the years understand that it was true, I sleep dreaming of what was happening, but I never wake a dream fulfilled.
The computer and cable, as the breathing machine and its lead, this time in the face and not the finger that makes you click a photo. I have to tell
I wanted these words to tell you, but I can not, yourself, did you do this yourself "I can not" having something so silly and tragic as this picture. And I know that deep down you'd wanted to I could, I wish I could. For there is something that tells us who is our measure, especially if we speak of poetry, every one knows. You know that's not it, I know. Poetry is true every moment of the day and every moment of the day is not true but a tragedy, a tragedy that is written in your own history or if it does not hurt others out of sight, but what if they look? And poetry, really, which is written with a capital P Poesis, could be so blind as Homer (the poet who had nothing, but rather of a war correspondent and the block is related) that would be!, WOULD NOT SEE WHAT OTHERS.
this I see in your photo.

And sing me a song of tenderness unprecedented

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UVI No, he was not dead, no no. The criminal only boasted of their criminal exhibited, and applauded by others, that precious virtues

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You feel something like embarrassment when he sees her as anonymous fronted by the circulating network there

unprecedented piece of glass broken or fogged, so often
willfully distorted or offered, your faces
are fragmented.

Is that what remains of us?
bit like a photo
which had approached an arsonist a match?
Is that what others see, take, shall we?
"dismembered sparks anger,
the worst, which you saw the good manners of the indifference? Shall we ashes
guise of other
because we never those we look?

Here are the burgeoning reputations
of many who did so much damage to so many;
ashes what others offered
willfully false, distorted
?
Is our image that we project ...
or that the other,
those other with the threads of the puppets in their hands,
want to project?

There is nothing more efficient than this means
to sink reputations or not letting them be born;
nothing more efficient to inflate the balloons without content
and promoted into the stratosphere of the considerations.
"Was there ever eleven thousand virgins?", Wondered the indecent

macho like someone's virginity deal with them and should

wonder how much honor by some traveling on the network,
by how honest word,
flowing through the books, culture, public life
by
that she says how the world goes, we all do it
,
not be surprised or rend their garments
us for the dead from hunger or the voiceless;
this world that we are all responsible
here on the net and shows his entrails ...
All we want to clean the outside mirrors and dirty
go purposes,
dirty in the actions and omissions in the silences
cowards
in isolation, dirty
in power to marginalize
which is always in the hands of all the dirty
to impose on those who are not like them. World

unfortunate that thinks survive all disasters
by the blood of those who should survive and not survive. World
unfortunate since I gave birth sapiens sapiens
so cunning as lacking the intelligence of which he boasts.

And sing me a song of tenderness unprecedented

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The dream of many women today both in the West democratic as in the East that no one ever thought