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IX NATIONAL MEETING OF WRITERS "JESUS \u200b\u200bMANUEL BAQUERIZO"

IX NATIONAL MEETING OF WRITERS
MANUEL JESUS \u200b\u200bBAQUERIZO "
Centennial Tribute to Francisco Izquierdo Rios, Luis Nieto and Adela
Montesinos
San Pedro de Lloc, Pacasmayo, 19 - 21 November 2010

CALL

One of the continuing concerns of readers and employees of the literature is the existence of a hegemonic view, biased and unilateral literary production in the country, far from the actual course, diverse and multinational it has. This finding leads to a collective effort that intends to contribute substantially to the task of unveiling the real face of literary and theoretical and critical reflection on our country.
The IX National and International Writers' Jesus Manuel Baquerizo " organized by the Writers Guild of Peru and the House of Culture and Tourism of San Pedro de Lloc, organic is a cultural space that will reunite as widely as possible in the peaceful city of San Pedro de Lloc, capital of the province of Pacasmayo , all writers, researchers, teachers, students, publishers and developers of both sexes living in the country or abroad, of any nationality who are interested in reassessing and confront the significance of the literary works of Francisco Izquierdo Rios Adela Nieto and Luis Montesinos, as well as well as pay a fitting tribute to Octavio Polo Briceño, a distinguished friend of the letters which he devoted his life to collect, disseminate and promote cultural development of children and young students in this generous portion of the country. It's all part of our interest in developing a democratic reinterpretation of the Peruvian culture and society from the realm of literature, work to which the teacher gave Baquerizo over decades their best efforts.
In this regard, we call on the creators, scholars, publishers and developers to participate in the IX National and International Writers' Jesus Manuel Baquerizo. The IX Meeting in this way constitutes a major and important space for dialogue, debate and dissemination of ideas and proposals, cultural exchange, while stage where workers of the literature of our countries and regions are sisters, together wills, ideas, cultural projects and strengthen approaches.
The event is aimed also to the general public: students, teachers (as), readers (as), editors (as), promotores (as) as well as exponents of diverse artistic and cultural tasks.

AGENDA:
* Francisco Izquierdo Rios, Adela and Luis Nieto Montesinos: The Life and Work
* San Pedro de Lloc in regional and national literature. Tribute to Octavio Polo Briceño
* Poetry, fiction and drama: Trends and Prospects
* regional literatures. Coastal Literatures, Andean and Amazonian. Oral literature.
* The role of the writer in the context of the national reality
* Children's literature. Literature and education. Reading Plan.

VENUE: House of Culture and Tourism San Pedro de Lloc
Main Stage: Auditorium of the Provincial Municipality of Pacasmayo - San Pedro de Lloc.

ACTIVITIES:
1. Presentations and lectures: will be delivered by writers invited by the Organizing Committee, who shall be entitled to travel, accommodation and meals during the meeting. Other papers fall within the agenda of the meeting and register a sommelier to 05 November.
2. Debates: Will be incorporated by 4 writers and addressed the various agenda items.

3. Readings and book presentations, reading tables are organized by writers formed pre-registered and qualified by the organizing committee. The presentation of books may also be requested by email to the November 5, 2010. 3 copies will be accompanied, made to the Commission, to be donated to the library of the Writers Guild of Peru, at the Library of the House of Culture and Tourism of San Pedro de Lloc. The organizing committee will schedule the presentation of literary works considered of importance. In any case, the books submitted must have been published in the this year.
4. Lectures at educational institutions and union: readings and talks will be scheduled in educational institutions in San Pedro de Lloc, Pacasmayo, Chepén and Guadeloupe.
5. Exhibition of books and magazines: During the meeting may participate in the Book Fair and the authors, developers and publishers, without limitation, after coordination with the Organizing Committee.

6. Cultural activities: arts events will be scheduled. There will also be painting exhibition.

7. Travel: Walk of fellowship of writers in attendance.

COSTS:
Registration (includes certification)
-Wizards in general: S /. 10.00
-Lodging, food and ride (Friday-Sunday): S /. 70.00 soles

SPONSORSHIP:
municipalities, businesses and public and private institutions. Chavez Zelideth

Ivars Accounts Grades Mostacero
President of the PG President of the Organising Committee

Information and registration:
gremio_de_escritores@yahoo.es
culturdelloc@hotmail.com
zelidech@hotmail.com, jlroncal@yahoo.com
Telfs .: 4725182 to 4261727 - 996935595-996078290 - 44 to 949 449 567
http://gremio-de-escritores-del-peru.blogspot.com/
House of Culture and Tourism of San Pedro de Lloc
Institutional Headquarters: Jr. Dos de Mayo N º 617 - San Pedro de Lloc

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INTERESTING OF POETRY BOOK REVIEWS "CIUDADELIRIO" MARIO SIGN Press

COMPASS OF BATS



Tulio Mora Mario Morquencho (Piura, 28) is unusual because considering a scientific career at UNI and writes poetry. The is no doubt (Armando Arteaga, for example, is an architect), but that does not invalidate the first surprise on their willingness creative. The second is that his poems "Ciudadelirio" published by Black Sun, they are invaded by what we might call a "professional deformation" as a result of the influence of his career, but rather flow with the instinct of the senses. From the first poem, "City", which he sees more from the perspective of the hills (ie from the periphery) surrounding the metropolis, already refers to "words" bat ", ie the blind animal can be oriented sound emitted by the radar, to roam the two sides of a single world-city-and write about the inevitable contrast, even if this turns rather to the image, the visual record as a chronicler who would play the most unusual details of a place that causes delirium, frenzy and against whom can not fight, only witness.

I'm interested in polysemic neologism "Ciudadelirio" because I find him until three meanings: the most obvious, we are faced with a text-witness to the megacity (criticism Colombian Consuelo Hernandez mentioned that American poetry is almost inevitably experience writing ), on which states have not yet used to it (Morquencho lives in Lima for four years), the second trying to find a roadmap cathartic against the visual chaos, the immobility, the differentiation of the robot faces , automated, in a reverie that paradoxically, while together into a shapeless mass, is also an outsider, a surprise and then the protocol of the relationship between private and foreign born of mistrust.

But the third adds a geographic feature (river), we are talking about the Rimac, of course, as another symbol of the bipartition space. Just one of his poems that title and what surprised him, a man accustomed to the boundless extension of the sea, is that as the city that the river runs, this is a tributary that resists even death, "Suicide from there? (Referring to the bridge) - or crazy! "- And if there were fish in those waters suffer life imprisonment. To Morquencho, another son of Vallejo, the river "We aborted / vomiting to infinity / of God."

A text that has opted for regurgitation of the experience, organic removal of assimilates daily through the senses, not easy for a reader who wants to find in classic poetry the controversial beauty, but empathy so terrible, by the horror and the grotesque. Good account Morquencho poems could be described as a journey through the exhibition of the misery that has paralyzed the inhabitants of Lima (I refer to the poem "Stop") and would only leave as a witness to speak.

Derek Walcott, the Caribbean poet extraordinary, writes somewhere in "Omeros" The in-significant, the invisible by the power and social inequalities, have no memory of his past and if they are distorted by the official story. For this reason, issuers take writing as a duty (say with the same moral attitude, almost desperate, a Huaman Poma de Ayala) to capture the script and make it the instrument of his testimony (Morquencho compared to poetry as a graffiti on a wall) where transit is not very comfortable for life.

is what has made this poet who has in the first part of "Ciudadelirio" several poems of a bill very consistent, as "The seven-three" (the number a vehicle of a public transport line) through the windows recorporiza these faceless faces "who have an ultrasound on Monday" or "Movie", a point very soon, but successful, that from less visible detail (the credits of a film) manages to extract a philosophical message, "as the waking life / and the other is asleep / near the window closed to fantasy", or as deliberately chaotic version of historical memory that raises the famous University Park, setting a classic in the new Peruvian poetry from the English conquest to the phenomenon of migration, the Morquencho feel that one among provinces and to distance itself from the uniformity-in poverty, the frustration comes back to "resurrect" his room.

The most notable is undoubtedly the prose poem "Murder on the street Omicron" which explicitly begins with the recognition of being nothing, "I have killed. I have avenged the months of invisibility. To be like anybody. " In this case, and end, the word bat is a knife and killing an argument against the whole system has made life "a strange disease called oblivion."

Morquencho I think if this route could lie pleasant surprises in other publications. "Ciudadelirio" also brings in the new poetry that began in the register 70 when the city awoke multitonal on the happy and quiet, the goldsmiths of a beauty that does not announce the new social subjects who were populating Lima and all country. But there is one beauty, that's what Morquencho again ratified, as the poets who preceded him, from Zero Hora, Kloaka, Neon, even the youngest this century. What you need is a hazy and uncertain geography in which the poet proceeds with the compass of bats.


GET THIS BOOK IS A SURPRISE TO THE ABYSS (AND THE WORLD) WITH OPEN MOUTH Karina



Ciudadelirio Valcárcel is the first book of poems by Mario Morquencho, 80 pages containing 30 poems of long lines and titles sometimes longer still. But Ciudadelirio not only a book of poems, Morquencho Mario is not only an author more. Ciudadelirio is a map that unfolds as their reading, which shows different routes to explore the city, sitting from the chair that Mario has worked for us. Forty

steps later we are here, presenting his first book. This initiative, which Mario had to put his writings on the web is essentially the first step to the book we now have in our hands, is the decision to share with the world the way they perceive, interpret and assimilate life. It reflects the desire to publish and meet people with whom they feel identified, what I find totally healthy well as necessary. Mario began publishing in virtual media, on the same page where I hung my poems for twenty years, was a boy of this page who took Mario to my house and with which I dispute the title of Augusto Ferrando, but Mario in I know deep inside that I discovered you and whoever says otherwise I hope to exit the bar to hold on to bottles at. Mario met in 2006 at meetings of the missing or rather transvestite group at that time Heridita was composed of 6 cats. I was very pregnant so we could say that there were six cats and a half.

With Mario have been many nights of walking Quilqueña, exercises for writing, in Sunday meetings, impromptu lunches, wine, beer, rum, pisco, readings, virtual lectures, and readings confidences of friends who are here present to celebrate and willing to losing internal organs in addition to drinking rum poetry that is sure his friend Jorge Flores has brought hidden in a bottle of Pepsi.

is why we mean both the publication of this book, somehow we have seen to "grow" with Mario and have shared gestation, although it sounds a bit gay, pregnancy has also been a long and impatient but eventually brought us enormous satisfaction, the record of his perseverance in this world and sometimes treacherous counsel.

Ciudadelirio is split into three: The city, shadows and crazy night Chaskera extract. The first part is a set of texts that describe basically the city of Lima, is the Rimac River, the Park University, the seven three other venues in the city transformed by the author, but did not speak of a conventional description is the disenchanted vision, but above all criticism and even Protestant traits that can distinguish the lines the poem "On the edge of a Peruvian city" (quote)

"There
thousands die in the dumps on the outskirts of the city.

Coughing up blood Coughing Coughing children
remorse. After that misery
sits on the coast
to draw some sleep in the sand and lit a cigarette
worried that smokes every year (...)"

and more clearly in the poem "Rimac" the first paragraph says

"I
annoying to life-I do not know why her -

When I pass the bridge and I see little notes of love floating in the River Lee
(...)"
Here is another trait distinguishes the poetry of Mario Morquencho, sarcasm in that sentence sometimes and sometimes brings to reality, "University Park" writes:

"I grow houses manned street where a madman is
Viceroy in the corners. "

But perhaps the text that best combine the two features already mentioned is" Murder on the street Omicron "also is written in prose, which recounts a murder, and specifically as the character gets rid of the body by wrapping it with pages Newspaper:

"I chose to wrap it with old newspapers, wrapping the remains, the body daily wrap with news of last week's suicide yesterday in a hostel lost in the fog in the morning in Lima, wrapping his legs with police abuse and corruption in the ministries then contrasts

(...)" saying

"After wrapping the body as a statue of newspaper, as a work of art of what you read before going to work or what you see at night before bed and

(...)" we finally smiles to these final lines that share the end of his revenge

"The knife on the table saw russet
and dance the tango ... Tango dance
very stupid. "

In Shadows delusional, "the author involves us in a mysterious atmosphere, paranormal, and sometimes ominous, death is the theme, this theme is evident in the poem" Kneeling dead, "Mario writes:

" While my clothes fall
shiver in my knees dark parade singing
where new creatures are killed in the universe. "

Just as in the poem" Gate "which leaves us with the feeling of a whole devastating:

" Maybe it was a star
ambitious and cannibal who ate the
stars swept through galaxies and dairy

consoled us grew to swallow
eternity and the infinite "

Finally, in" Extracts from a night chaskera "shows two things: first exploration of eroticism, which makes Mario so lilting, making enough sensuality steeped verses:


" Your blouse spreads its wings
and flies in the instincts

gives your bra gives gives gives pleasure.
Your white skin, your breasts, sagging. "

The other thing is in this last part is the record of the night and greater significance of the readings, the texts are created for those times, you (the collective ) remember poems like "Mirror, Mirror", "Little Quixote" "Faith," "Atmosphere" and one that Mario read the farewell concert at La Noche de Barranco and brazen made my heart: "And what will happen tomorrow" from which I quote:

"and if at the time to say goodbye we say: must read


insist must read! After the ceremony


must read must read after the humble lion
we look so beautiful in our sober existence "

In conclusion, if we were to talk about influences, would be to appoint César Vallejo and Oliver Girondo The use of neologisms is a constant in the work of Mario being even the title of this book is a result entirely consistent neologism for those who take a turn in these pages.



POETRY AS CHALLENGE TO

URBE Jorge Hurtado

In the poetry of Mario Morquencho, the city is an urban plan or the dream of a community to live in an order where no one can get lost. The city through Ciudadelirio is a labyrinthine map of emotions and visions, a new geography intimate, schizo, reinvented to form part of a new experience, not only through vision or merely contemplative everyday, but to merge with atmosphere pop, mix your skin with the skin of what is so great as a monster that can swallow us and drive us into a corner, empty night. And when this monster, this leviathan of infinite walls with their jaws appears cement poetry appears as the only redeeming to reconfigure the city and re join the chaos, smoke, desperation, violence, cross the river where dreams million people in a poetic landscape.

What could drive a poet to write about the city? Nearly forty years ago, there appeared a collection of poems that marked a major milestone in Peruvian poetry, and also introduced a new voice in a stage dominated by an inward-looking literature. On the outskirts of the World, Enrique Verástegui book appeared and the city ceased to be the same. In the solitude of a new territory, man must draw his map of life, their routes to survive in this unknown world. Oblivious attitude to adapt and follow the pace imposed by the tyranny of routine, gently drift through the monotony and boredom of alleys that lead to despair and death. The impulse that leads the poet to merge with the city, auto eject once been immersed in the miasma of the banks and emotions unrelated to reinvent every step against trafficking, the momentum is simply to choose among the infinite possibilities of reaffirming the self, is dissolved in the city to recover that I lost, return to the first voice before the pollution of his mind. You steal back his spirit to the Leviathan, the city, to live it again, knowing how terrible. The turn of the screw to survive, it is also found in the poetry of Mario.

Poetry is often a vocation, but it is also attitude. Is entering the darkest night into the labyrinth to kill the Minotaur, the beast casually looking to release the tragic fate of the impeccable views, but the trip we realized that we become or are we the Minotaur. Inexorable fate of anyone who dares to navigate the paths of poetry, that go beyond the word through it. So I enter the Ciudadelirio poetic, through the city at its most hard, through cells, dead ends, rivers of despair, minibuses that lead to nowhere, windows that open onto yourself in the grim solitude, sailing buildings as boats drunk at noon and then see them in full midnight shipwreck, encounters, which promise a dream that fades when you open the doors of the room. The chasm in a thousand versions. The man who discovered the tear, its own bleed, but that does not let that feeling of constantly walking on the edge of the cliffs, but deals

"... with the city
smoke into the sky
pregnant
basement where we play live
"
(The City, 11)

Thus ends the first poem in the book. Your invitation to departure, as this journey of Baudelaire which states: "In the deserts of boredom, an oasis of horror!". But that's why this invitation does not stop at that first initiatory vision to the monster of the city, but we placed there as accomplices, as fellow Ciudadelirio that vital experience.


CIUDADELIRIO Fernando Gonzales

Odiaga

The Paper Mario Ciudadelirio Morquencho is the emerging consciousness of a man from the provinces, psychotic stranger in this metropolis that is Lima the horrible, that of Salazar Bondy, which is: "A sweet unrest January to January and to be dying every year. " This emerging consciousness is what emerges from the apprehension and understanding of the experiences, images that are presented daily in the big city as a kind of loss, a disorder, in short, a delusion. Morquencho writes: "The Song of the fair full of provincials like me / back to my ears / like wind whistling claiming its existence"; the wind cries out its existence symbolizes the life of the provinces, wind blowing and passenger flies from the ends of the earth (hence upstart), cooling from a far place, anywhere in the world, or for example: Lima horrible.

The wind that turns singing and returning to the ears as a whistle could be that delusional consciousness we are talking about at first, then lives and consciousness that feels, "trying to balance the nostalgia / under the shade of a tree" as sung Morquencho.

In the same poem we are discussing, University Park, we read phrases like "litany of hours, expression of the cadence and rhythm tedious of the capital, or read the phrase "evening macerated" which are the same fatality rate and absurd impregnated hours during a walk in the big city, now transformed into drunkenness, calm elusive, forgotten, completing the effect with phrase "pitchers of chicha" and the park is transformed into a multifaceted view and colorful, grayscale, libation and ancient flavors. After his tour bus Morquencho returns "to resurrect my room unknown", ie back to meditation, solitude, the body itself daily in a confined space, that has the quality Morquencho be unknown, ignored. Why? Because Lima is a city \u200b\u200bwe extracted the spirit and life as a holocaust to the absurd, for crowd ten million human beings in one place sounds crazy, irrational. We can not all and sometimes they will refuse to be something, you're empty, alone and do not know who or what you are.

Back on the bus, coming home in 73, the green elephant crossing from north to south Lima, Mario Morquencho seen the faces of the beings who inhabit the metropolis, the tellers, says their states, poetically recreated and shows his poetic bus passengers, seated or standing, as another offering of delirium are faces that all the colors of "mustachioed, dozers and old green, "without a prince of princes" of "low paid workers", etc. The mere act of looking to the sensitivity awake, standing on the other, simulating the understanding that goes away and is about truth and delusion. Each face is transformed into a verbal act of the poet while still bound Chorrillos 73.

Lima itself, is seen by Mario Morquencho as a "sky pregnant with basements / where we play live." The image of the cellar in the sky is ungrammatical and contradictory, with a special meaning, which reveals what the city for the poet. Sky level on ground. Confinement and freedom in closing and infinite sky pregnant basement talking about a possibility, a hope, solitude and freedom, "play live" also leads us to the idea of \u200b\u200bfreedom. But is it not that we played in the basement as children, pregnant and heaven is nothing to the lonely woman, free, infinite, maternal, which offers "play live" as the joy and hope fullness, just there in the big city, on which sentences are extended and miseries and hardships, as well as false grandeur and glitz. There Morquencho sing the "little notes of love" floating "on the stool by the river" or "some drunken urination decadence" and because only look and listen in big cities like Lima that can take you where it is mixed delirium involuntary coprolalia beauty, grandeur and misery.

poetic imagery in his delusional Mario Lima experiential is of the highest inspiration, compassionate approach, covered with the best of the stylistic resources of our poetic tradition. The book carries a tribute to Trilce and surrealism, Adam Martin and Jorge Eduardo Eielson, among other records verbal and stylistic characteristics. There is a provision of the seventies there as urban rhythm, social protest, existentialism, comprehensiveness, and wanted Juan Ramirez Ruiz and horazerianos. But the protest Mario diluted in vision intimate and on the other side of altruism naked in a metaphysical sensibility, perhaps in a quest for a more radical hope, transcendent and powerful on the vacuum and nothingness. "When the bell rings, the yellow of the desert to be confused with the sun", ie, into nothingness and emptiness of a city abnormal, amoral, senseless, vicious, finally the light traveling in the infinite, as is the title of last poem, which is a kind of prophetic vision, a promise and a utopia, beyond death and the absurd, for those who have awakened Lima crying, says Eielson in section of the book of Mario. Surrealism and intimacy occur together in this poetry where Lima is transfigured as in a dream, has become delirious.

How To Put Bed Valance

"Year of social and economic consolidation of Peru"

Sullana, October 28, 2010. Press



public communications
Journal Trujillo industry, the day12 October this year published the cultural commentary: "Two artists show us the way through sublime" The exhibition presents us be decadent existentialism human, "attributing immorally, through its newsroom (redacción@laindustria.com) stealing, and not at all, respect-my inalienable right of intellectual property, the contents of my article nominee: "Two souls pictorial shot with an arrow through the same sensitivity."
who has stolen or who have shamelessly stolen my article, I have used as a template discursive and all they have done lazily, is to add cognitive pointless appendages.
hope that intellectuals, at least in northern Peru, in deciding the matter and do not look the other way, assuming a position abominable coward by genuflecting to the Newspaper Industry not taken into account in any cases of dissemination of his art.

Creatively: Ricardo Santiago Musse

Carrasco.
Writer.
ID no 03659928.

Congratulations Clipart

MORQUENCHO POETRY ANTHOLOGY OF LITERARY GROUP "Signs" - 2010

Erika Madrid (Buenos Aires - Argentina, 1977): Besides poetry, photography and painting done. Currently residing in the city of Villa Gesell. Published the book Olivo and rhetoric. Has three unpublished poems.


edge After

mouth is closed
me and something I was taught to call
anxiety and sometimes
catches me, tied my arms behind
and suspended me on my stone
only while supplies last She and exhausted me.

sometimes how little I am, God
and how much pleasure it gives me!
in the sex organs and fire
that revolution excites me.

look at the clock and then induce me to think straight

omnipotent and in that state have not discovered what I used
eyes and mouth
what gave me
arms and guts in the stomach, what
sex or what comes after the blood
edge inevitably expands.


Days

Some days I want to die
but I have so far and so great

Some days I think in love and their bullshit
but I have so far and so great

sunny day like today
sweet time in the playground I knock at the pleasure of
disturbs me and makes me be part of an alleged sum.

There are days when my mother looked like she tenderly
wondering what I want and who I am

Stir campaigns
my peers in the meantime short lavender
patio and think of Borges with his conspirators.

Some days I look noisy in a dream, a vision of sea or land
dead
some memories but I have so far and so big.



Caesar Boyd (Ferreñafe, 1981): Educator and editor. Winner of poetry competitions, short stories, essays and drama. He has published three books of poems, and has been considered in several anthologies.

Gnoseology


I wake up at dawn the sun passed through the slit ready

what the sun crossed
if curtains covering the panic?

philosophy does not explain anything to me
science

silent as no sun also raises the indifferent
and only that he should rather accept them


movements to be perennial in the pain of waking

believe that
knowledge explains more than the eyes
the only true sources of contempt


Joint all

undone things. In place things in the hope

observed no differences, just built the world
,

saving a place in the distribution of instruments to kill
or to live again.
Things are what I
located at the site of mobility, mental
my place (especially) in the syllabus of a love
by no
things which are the more I find when I read about rigor
undefined ,
and when I do, they bleed to greet
Immaculate, like at the end of the world
without things, without hope of calculation,
of selfishness. Bumping into things in the air, including rubbing
the essence of disappearing.
Things. They fight on top,
in the pit, fewer of them, increasingly independent
doubt
time the dream, once more, one less time, using the Self



José Abad (Jaén, 1979): Educator. Winner of Poetry Prize at the Universidad Nacional "Pedro Ruiz Gallo." Author of two books. Considered in several anthologies.


7
Alejandra

A world
When I rush to madness,
when demons have consumed my body completely
,
when I possess so little sun goes off;
survive to avenge me much distress has been living
.


9

A Cesar Boyd

look in the mirror my face aged by the time
rough tongue. Spent my eyes, my eyes where
opaque shadow dance. I look at my furrowed brow
harsh memories, my hair turned gray, my body useless and
wrinkled, my ribs thirsty earth and concrete. Miro
my clumsy hands, my nails gnawed, gnawed to bleeding into white nights
. Look at my legs barely hold me
, and my navel bloodless inhabited lust. Miro
these walls where spiders weave age
memories of the dead do not return. I look with dread,
with tenderness, this man who does not know who looks with tenderness,
his last days of Cain, the last flight of insects, small
mortal fatal immortalized by the finding of living,
by the mockery of God looking at me with contempt, and not
also known to hate and contempt with compassion
human being, while God, God always is
left alone in this land of dead.


Ronald Street (San Ignacio, 1984): educator and lawyer. Local award winner, and one in Spain for an essay on "Don Quixote." Author of two books of poems.

I

My words are like children looking
rain.
Then everything was quiet,

I walk away with any face
with wet teeth. XVII




Great evil is to be conscious.
The best justice is madness
and hell, the greatest existence.
intend to be on the verge of madness
this thirst to be bitter live with this misery

favorable than the other not enough. XXIII




True,
has ever avoided
love and you've foolishly left without caring

eyes you said goodbye from a slot,
from an old window.
you met at last the cost of silence.


Hazzel Yen (Durango - Mexico, 1987): Network is a member of the Independent Writers of Durango. She has attended various workshops and seminars of poetic literature.
have titles: Anatomy of the Fairies, The toenails and the other Kingdom. He has done readings poetry in various literary forums and has participated in meetings of writers nationwide. His work has been published in electronic journals and printed in Mexico and other countries.


II

Among the thickets of this century is the sword
silence: no one remembers the music

to raise stealth monsters.


They knew the point where the webs are made harps and crystals
syllable laugh

needed to wake dragons the throats:

knew the room was veiled
since time was invented meat and anxiety
transmuted on pendulums.


A tree

The soul of a living tree in every book.
Oh, strange wonder!:
still echo the tree shattered remains
tree.

root, branches,
and their noble quest
fruits within the heart.

Life
a tree does not end in a book:
begins.
trees are forever in their branches
because eternity begins.


Mario Morquencho (Piura, 1982): He lives in Lima since 2006. He was part of the missing group "Heridita." He has participated in various fairs and poetry readings. Ciudadelirio book published in 2010.


Film

Because it's like when a movie ends, the names
go unnoticed,
closing music ends
straying into the sound of the empty seats that turn dark
and disdaining both the screen ,
faded by the lights coming back on again:
as waking life and the afterlife
that
sleep with the window closed to fantasy,
ephemeral and dreamy, engrossed in a film
. ST




Ve ... poor boy fuck
after winning so well that now he
oil well:
fregao
after walking so well dressed
always accompanied by a pretty girl walks
now sees no shoes

all dirty and skinny and scruffy dog \u200b\u200btormented

slaughter and delusions as the raging sea walk in here asking p'allá
stealing coins on street corners or walking with knees
the poor boy
that sometimes has no choice to rub
his chest worn by the town's streets
leaving his mange their fleas
blood lost in a pool of toxins
and barking that twist
nerves poor boy
the smoke is so
you see my son and you're
poetry is a fucking whore is
drug that hits you as tick
body sucks cock and wallet, then the soul but you want to walk
in your own slice of freedom walled
all moody like a palm tree watching humpback
the ground and gets lost in his shadow
son be careful not to sprain a lot and fall
poor boy Oh boy fuck



Ricardo Musse ( Lima, 1971): Based in Sullana has published numerous books of poetry, fiction and essays. He has received numerous awards, and have obtained the third place XII National Competition in Education "Horacio" or Cope Award finalist with her book Poetry Film of adolescence.


III

So-maybe-at birth were the blue sphere
moving, muddy and melancholy in the songs of
our existence, the dad
were those of the Sonora Matancera,
that what put in a good mood,
but joy since we did rotatably
transient
we were not old enough to make the full rotation, as well
was too late:
So far only the feet are moistened and follow
walking.




X Wind blows everything where our feet sink,
beats are drawn, causing the migration sandy silence,
route necessarily be abrupt and full
sinuous ridges and headlands,
night can only offer the small round
their tracks around the earth, so the only
we consider in our pilgrimage
to transcend the small circles, but we need
wings and wind: Meanwhile
(accumulate in the heart) the dunes are advancing. XV




As a desperate rain bird feathers
celestial
migrate to beat my melancholy

wet and I remember that the existence
eventually be deposited into the light-pilgrim in the universe.


Anita Ramos (Chicago, 1993): Fifth High School student. First Prize in the Regional Short Story Contest (2008). Second Prize in the internal audit of Juan Mejía Baca Private College in 2008 and 2009. First Prize in the Poetry Intern same school (2009). First Prize in the Regional Poetry Contest (2010). The poems have unpublished the voice of black rose and Visions Judas.


The Crow

I told when I looked
crow on a branch:

I have fear of the end of my poems
and how far will the clouds.

He replied Bumble


land and get used to what
soon be yours.

then absorbed my eyes.


Confessions of a junkie

White
in my arms was like the moon to her lover. And
inadvertently slipped his body next to liquor
knelt and told me that he loved her, she smiled

and returned to being a bitch.

Reasons



suspicious of my poems reveal the reason
of my widowhood.

I bother their eyes. My writings are

fingered hands
and
drop tears.


I only wrote because he was barefoot
and water dripped on his face.

say that there must have died. He smelled

Christ suffered. I know everyone



have killed someone in your mind.

I in my writing.



Ronal Perez (Jaén, 1981): Educator. Second place winner in the "First Competition Literature: Poetry and Short Story, "organized by the Faculty of Education UNPRG. Has contributed to numerous magazines and Culture and have unpublished books as: Caressing the Wind (poetry) and Visos of madness (stories). He is currently teaching at the private educational institution "San Antonio de Padua" Tarapoto.


XVIII

Now I love you like the sea, almost by surprise. Insurance

not loving look at you, I embrace you as the night.
signs of life. Signs
extinct in the solitude of your kisses. Insurance

not love I miss you like the sweet miracle of each day. XX




Ah, if I could choose more than you!
verses on the sky on the moon habitats.
I would be a question then,
further humiliation, a sheer arrogance.
I would be anything from a nonexistent god, the path of wounds;
a trivial light on the horizon, looking for you. XXVI




The eyes are the language.
If your eyes talk, talk forever.
You can love me when you want as the morning.
You can be the other night, the day complacent. Kiss
the solitude of my fingers, the sunset of my eyes.
And being that little bit of me where you overnights as an intact landscape.



Wilfredo Gonzales (Chicago, 1989): studied Communication Sciences at the USAT. Besides poetry makes short films. He has won numerous film awards and has unpublished collection of poems Love in Indigo.


I

gangrene gray taste does not justify kissing,
ceased to be the primary
simple now, stale bread, trembling
coming hours to seconds, seconds
butts rum or staying overnight in the lungs,
when beer is not drunk and tastes sweet, or when the brain
delay a response.
One word if only it were so, wind
articulated decoding a silence Silence unwelcome
prescribing an appeal,
between lines or lines or between fingers or simply
eyelashes.
As inadequate streets,
as eyes that are tired with semen
and seduce like smoking cigars at the primary, or death when
rebukes and does not comply: It hurts!
hurts like thinking after night.
Trivial as the morning when I'm bird
and economic such as love ... that calm
coin and serves to anger;
And then the rush of water
I need a mystery

brawl between hair leaving traces on honey ...
glimpsed a verse which masturbated, or late to silence
where there are more than chairs, souls, the crazy vertigo
breaks the majesty of your cleavage,
and crouches behind the bridal eclipse.
And these times reborn in ashes, the taste of touch
granted.
In the wind, where the skin lies hidden;
without knowing
has dawned and exists only in thought,
absconding on phone lines in the Crétaz
of symphonies,
or alkaline
remember that deflowers sweat .


II

Perhaps the night might summarize your fingers or maybe
understand sex noon colors.
silence may mean less
or a flush draw on your tongue,
perpetrated in the innocence of the hair or the distribution
inaccurate winks ...
criterion can lock in the morning the aroma of coffee
night or sap legacy your height,
trying new memories, so future
as described in indigo boy pleasure.
primary odor can be determined without sweetness
sea. Versed sea of \u200b\u200bred
alligators. Of reckless anchored red.
Red Sea! Red Sea!
As gentrified infiltrated leaves,
red, sea, water. You can hide the black
aroma
of kisses when he girded the vast night, night and passenger
or perennial, highly elusive.
And it may be,
red again,
trial brain sexed or lewd,
sea of \u200b\u200bsun or a color that is drawn
[to say unless silence]
a stunned silence in the freedom of the influx, in
choice of a truce, the decision
a baritone prison.
Where the perfect combination of
bodies is summarized in a flush away, sea
absent absent absent
red, briefly, of sex.


Gisella Limo (Chicago, 1984): Marketing and Management Study Companies in the Peruvian Institute of Business Action (IPAE). Second Place in Regional Competition for Poetry (2010). It is linked to literature and painting since he was twelve. It has several unpublished poems.


(01)

A dry leaf.
A big rave at the root of your fingers and a donor
ending
screaming in my veins. Yesterday

slowly turned and took forms of years.
Today I understand as before.
at me! Breathe
unfinished
my blue letters carefully written
after the tunnel

up ... Look at me! And I will give another

dry leaves at the end of fear in the hour
empty veins
after
light like the dawn of centuries. Fall
me!
under someone's feet. Silence


02
Thomases
If only my sunset walk between your islands,
at the bottom of your eyes open, the fear would be gray sky.
If you existed in the endless night of tenderness sterile
someone would say that there is a decline in the skin of lovers ...
If only half of your voice was blue, would certainly
me no worldly
close the sea near you. If only dully
intransitive temieras
lose my address alone,
my blanket and my touch in ocean wind
questions ... If you loved suddenly and my whistle and airtime,
final tears are among the scales of matter would exist ...
Indeed, intransitive
fall from me to believe in the shadows of spring
INTRANSITos
FREE ... I would rather smell the end of these lines,
this foam still and this becoming slim ... Much later
any day ...
Among all the design slightly,
in a free card and melancholy. Much later
any day ...
bones are lifted and the January drop
giving
-odd sometimes. To give a few

and ever.
So, as a
forget too that let it go.



Harold Castillo (Chicago, 1980): Educator and editor. Short story contest winner. He has collaborated with the magazine threshold of the Faculty of Education UNPRG. Have unpublished the storybook Transfiguration.


Eternal

I was moving slowly toward the closet. I was digging and extracting something from a small drawer. Noticed a sad expression on his face and a slight hand tremor depositing that object, wrapped in the blanket compact purple on the marriage bed.
You could tell she had been crying. Felt all the pain that dwelt in her heart and all the anguish populating his spirit. The previous hours had been terrible. When given the fatal news just knew he wanted to die. She could not comfort him then. He was crushed.
"How I wish I could tell you something valuable in these times, something that will help ease your pain" he had said. But he only heard the rumor of the night, attach itself to his loneliness, the cold wind cry to beat the dark shutters. The distant voice and loss of happiness, now completely absent, dismissed the rumors of that traffic harmful.
"Why? ... Why? ... I do not understand," he said through tears.
now also in tears, uncontrolled and free, unwrapped the object wrapped in purple tissue. Even sat on the bed for comfort. Then she asked: "What do you keep there?". He did not answer.
It was only two hours that friends and relatives had withdrawn their request.
"Leave me alone please, I want to be alone to mourn my wife," he implored them. Nothing else she was accompanying him, for he realized to perfection that loneliness was not the best advisor to a big pain.
"I'm leaving ... I can not retire and, in this state," he had said.
Since then the two of us stayed in the room, only in the company of the corpse that was lying in bed. Both spoke in fact very little, only when he expressed some discomfort, she tried to answer using the right words as possible.
Most of the time stood together, gazing at the beautiful face of the deceased, feeling a slight but very real emanation distant and cold from death. Totaled pain. The color of hours stuck on the cheeks.
"What do you keep there?" She asked again. But then the answer is expressed through a peculiar sound terrible, like a gun being loaded.
"No way! He cried, startled, what you gonna do! ".
"Nothing matters," he said. Nothing matters. "
"No, no way! "He chided, and again, overcome by panic-Do not, do not!".
He completely ignored. Then joined with a determination irrevocable, a simplified determination by fate. Kissing
last After his wife was willing to kill themselves. Separated even a few feet to not sully the detonation. The instant
full, near death, his eyes embraced powerlessness and anger focused on the flow coagulated your fingertips. Seconds later, he stopped.
She, her great friend, with a convincing criterion was taken from the table, the picture of marriage with the two girls. Now he seemed so angry, rubbing in the face, as if to point out that if there was anything that would have to die that night, it was just selfishness.
He stared at the portrait so embarrassed, so sad. After throwing the gun side crumbled to the ground, broke out in uncontrollable weeping.
"Please do not cry, do not want to mortify; just want you to realize the responsibility you now have with the girls," she said.
"Please forgive me ... forgive me. I know I was stupid to try to do this, "he said, clamping his eyes on the corpse of his wife. The girls need me ... more than ever. "
"Stand up, go with them, tell them that mom is always at your side, you always love him more than anyone, you never forget," she said.
He only managed to see out the window this huge moon lighting up the landscape. Its pearly color reminded much to his wife, his face everyday.
"I have to go," she said, but remember I'll always need me. "
Suddenly, her dark hair was stirred by the wind and moonlight suddenly invaded his face, mingling with his pale expression. Only then could distinguish bright eyes wet wet-the-perfect eyes, the warm eyes projected from any enduring substance.
He could not even guess that was so close, crying, that was precisely what she saved his life was just a minutes. It even came with it from the very hour of his own death.
not suspected that his wife, standing by the window, which had been comforting. Accompanying.
not think twice. Speaking of girls, aloud, he overcame the pain, and experienced-without trying-some special equivalent to peace. Continued after muttering: "Beyond ... Beyond us life," as he walked. She vanished
repeating, again and again, as adding value: "Beyond."

What Color Goes With Burgandy

"My literary vocation, Vargas Llosa" - BY Ricardo Musse

When the late eighties of the century I recently passed the bug caught the soul of poetry, a verbal disturbance was disbanded in an overwhelming, and I began to excrete on blank paper, a chaotic multitude of excesses, both emotional and visceral.

inputs of the poet to me in those early days of my literary road map, were fanatically exclusive events that befall the writer; transferred to the factual textual space vibrations that beat, giving it a unique setting, my life support.

wrote my first two books of poetry, such provisioned and naïve beliefs. Pregnant poems of formal irregularities lacking a unified framework, devoid of plural construction procedures, but of course, extremely full of tensions that supplied bodies febrile verbal resonances, typical of respiratory bustle that make up our daily lives.

Then came, with its dazzling novelistic structure, Vargas Llosa. Then came the turning point in how should besiege, from that fateful discovery, the construction of my texts. No more wrote only subject to my vital impulses. I assumed the premeditated discourse: A priori crawler the subject, disaggregated into specific issues in order to draw a wire, where each poem was necessarily formalized (as micro-chapters succeeding) with subsequent consecutively linked with the deliberate intention to embody a framework that would give unity to the universe represented.

And not only that: also, in advance, outlining what utterances were to delineate the world turned on the fictional areas, which assume that pronominal subjects maker role. I began also to document, to read about the content to make poetry; Science somehow, and for the rest of life that I have, my discursive approaches; corrected as incurable everything obsessed bred, own dynamic assemblies incorporating narratives, leading to an exercise involving metapoetic meddle in theorizing about poetry while poeticized on the blank page, building chemically bookish poems and imposing a regular discipline of, among other implications , not to wait until I see the inspiration, but force the writing because it is time to do so. Vargas Llosa

marked my literary vocation, he not only forged a formidable teaching how to write but also how to take seriously the life of a writer.

Sullana, October 10, 2010.

Terrasil Max Does It Work

"Mario Vargas Llosa: The Laurel and the Parnassus" - by Harold Castillo

Obtaining Nobel Prize for Literature by the Peruvian writer Mario Vargas Llosa (Arequipa, 1936) fills us with infinite pride, but must be assessed from its real magnitude. Considered as a success would be wrong crowd, excessive and not credible. In part because of the enormous talent of the writer (forged base of sacrifice and dedication) is not because the Peruvian heritage-wise, we were able to preserve over time. And above all, for a literary award is a personal achievement, recognition of talent and intellectual and aesthetic merits of a single individual. Thus it is not the triumph a country or region. It is, in any case, as the writer himself noted from the Instituto Cervantes in Manhattan, a triumph of the English language.

Therefore, all Hispanic Americans live in some way linked to the literary, intellectual and / or artistic, and we strive to raise the world for the sake of preservation of the human condition, we should feel proud that an author (from the likes of Vargas Llosa) finally join this window universal literary letters. And in this specific case, we, as readers of Vargas Llosa, we able to appreciate not only his work but also the undisputed leader for democracy and social freedoms, have a responsibility to build a new path where the future citizens of our people can walk without tripping and proper directionality.

is preferable not to embrace this exciting profession, such as literature, mind if we, as a single goal, the unpardonable: vice for prizes, fame and ambition for recognition at any price. It goes without saying that those who think this way and delivered easily to your ego boasting hallucinations granted, not ever enjoy the real good that a writer can boast: the demonstration of affection, the discovery of human diaphanous. Is what Vargas Llosa knew from a young age and learned to stay the course trivial undisturbed. We were the ones that protested the unfair final adjournment of the Swedish Academy to the author of The Green House. The writer then did not need any promotion or advertising, it was because the owner of a celebrity wandering and a few others would have. But nobody gave him anything to Vargas Llosa, everything was the result of his perseverance and fortitude, his vocation as a thinker and idealist genuine perseverance.

The Nobel Prize in Literature is but the crowning of a career highlighted by success. Mario Vargas Llosa is a true paradigm for young writers. Its now falls under like a whip in the most shameful ignorance of the governing authorities and delays, systematically, education, art and cultural expressions of our peoples. It is clear that the system suits a lot of mediocrity, to manipulate at will to the homeless (not always deserve another lucky, irresponsible) so you can perpetuate itself. Our political class (always with notable exceptions) stinks. And then of what use is the natural wealth of our country, if what we lack now is more of a share of human and intellectual wealth to fight poverty and underdevelopment.

Let us not ever forget that we are solely responsible for our destiny as a nation. We do not complain after being relegated, humiliated or abolished. Because the story many times we detonated on the face. It reminds us that for twenty years we have had as president of one of the most illustrious men of the planet, and we prefer barbarism, mediocrity and the cynicism of a man who is now in jail.

How Long Can A Sausage Sit Out

"Like a fish in water Blanquirroja "- by Cesar Boyd Brenis - NEWSPAPER INDUSTRY (OCTOBER 9, 2010)

From the rubble of a country convulsed by protests from the bottom of the grooves that carry the voices unsafe, groups filled almost lost hope, life flashed "the fire of literature. " Who coined that phrase without knowing Vargas Llosa, years later, he would be the same literature: the letters of a continent, the fire of a country, the growing reputation of Peru.

There is no better time like this - as the poet Jorge Donayre - "to throw a damn about my country." It seems that the whole literary history of this land is concentrated in our vessel of the time in this tiny stretch of rebellious joy. Macchu Pichu and it seems that Peruvian cuisine had set foot in support of the jump that would be a prize for this order. And this has given hope, the beginning of an increasing sequence of "literary self-esteem."

Now, Peru enters the list of few countries on this side of the world, with representatives of the literary award winners. There is still time to get excited nor better. The news came suddenly, as they come ringing the bells of all the cathedrals of our native soil. On October 7, very early, he announced the breakup of that bad luck that every year accompanied Varquitas. If it was not half complacent political views, was for the gaffes in economics, but dropped excellent public resignation in protest of that strange ministerial decree to fill any doubt. He was sincere in what he preached.

When visiting the Universidad Nacional Pedro Ruiz Gallo, to deliver the keynote lecture "Literature and Life", we feel fortunate to those privileged few in the world are headed by a true example of dedication. That day would read: "Literature is a vocation, a passion, also a discipline and a job. But first, first, the literature is a pleasure. "

According to the academics responsible for the appointment, Vargas Llosa is awarded "for his mapping of the structures of power and scathing images of individual resistance, rebellion and defeat." Indeed, the topic of the dictator was brilliantly developed with security grandiloquent. He experimented with his characters in a deep challenge of life, and the way they were being defeated after an arena of hope. Reproduced the dark side of the military, their anguish, their delusions and their dogs (remember that great line: "It would be easier to resurrect the cadet Arana to convince the army that has made a mistake"). The school, the cafeteria, the cell bed, the platform, the certain young man, all spaces were touched by the power of his pen, now legendary and mystical. Mourn

joy. Mourn with a power of the bowels and spasm. Mourn for Peru, which accelerates the justice or that contradicts it, or ignore it. The award is of the earth in all its meanings and definitions. What better time to Peru?

Razer Carcharias Or Astro A40

imminent demise of the Conservatory Music National

Before the violent abuse of the educational role of the National Conservatory of Music decreed by the Supreme Government says the health service :

So totally inconsiderate and unexpectedly, the executive decreed merger of the five National Institutions of Higher Arts Education most representative among them are the National Conservatory of Music, the National School of Fine Arts of Peru, School National Folklore "José María Arguedas", the National School of Drama and the National Ballet School at the Ministry of Culture (Supreme Decree N º 001-2010-MC dated 25 September 2010). This is the hardest blow that has received the National Music Conservatory in his most prestigious one hundred years of existence.

Arts education Superior is not for the Ministry of Culture, accordingly, Supreme Decree 001-2010-MC is illegal and unconstitutional as it violates Article 4 of the Law establishing the Ministry of Culture, Law No. 29565, it pinpoints what their program areas action. Additionally

Supreme Decree violates the Executive Power Act, Law No. 29158, the Framework Law for the Modernization of State Management, Law No. 27658, the Law establishing the Conservatory, Law No. 1725, Law the return of the name of the National Conservatory of Music, Law No. 26341, Law of autonomy and governance specialist at the Conservatory, Law No. 28329, and the Act granting university academic rank at the Conservatory, Law No. 29292.

The Supreme Decree creates, among others, the following incalculable harm to the National Conservatory of Music: Disintegration

institution and disappearance of her name.

transfer their movable and immovable property, personal, documentary heritage, rights, obligations, assets and liabilities to the Ministry of Culture.

loss of priority in granting agency budget as belonging to the Education Sector (Section 16, Constitution of Peru)

imminent suspension of the admission process, the process of election of officers similar to the university system, issuing degrees and titles and other actions with effects for the next year as a result of the merger process.
is outrageous that the aforementioned Supreme Decree erroneously sustain and justify the merger within the Ministry of Culture noting that institutions of higher art education promotes artistic expression as main purpose, ignoring and distorting the essentially educational function.

As stated, the National Conservatory of Music, along with the other institutions concerned, on October 1, 2010 have been requested in good legal basis to the Minister of Culture for the repeal of sections f), g), h) i) j) of paragraph 1.1 of Article 1 of Supreme Decree No. 001-2010-MC, for violating laws and the Constitution in order to exclude these entities culture sector, we demand action be taken at the earliest.

Lima, October 5, 2010

Born Blonde Toner Use

SOME ITEMS IN YOUR CAREER Ricardo Mussa INTELLECTUAL

The ancestral wisdom of Oscar Aquino

Oscar Aquino-sculpting their shapes are deep within the bowels of rearranging the materials and identified , redistributing and / or decontextualizing elementary particles (protons, neutrons, deuterons, positrons, gravitons, baryons and leptons: electrons, neutrinos, muons, etc.), placing them in a new spatial configuration where the forces of nature that give life matter, be subjugated for a moment ceasing any physical resistance "to the magic spell of the skilled craftsmen of this major artist.

The sculptor takes a formalized aesthetic with ancient atavistic components available, which happens (in those gaps, and quantum mystery, why not say, of matter) in the dynamic microcosm of subatomic corpuscles, where dialectic of local-are-us propel us to the perpetual search. Oscar Aquino

implements plant matter settled in the northern dry forest: Algarrobo, lignum vitae, sapodilla, cedar, rosewood, hualtaco, and ebony; to structure their achievements that reflect local customs and the abstraction volume that touches the heart and contemplative, where they play with blocks and geometric shapes, looking for a symbolic re-concentrated. Oscar Aquino, the three-dimensional infinite and artistic quality, has been deposited into the genetic memory of our primal beats. So, Teacher: That the Spirit Remote Insular endure holding the metaphysical humility of his soul.

Russbelt War: The mystery of the images

These canvases are set by a grammar enigmatic atmospheres reveal his underground kingdom, dream drives, statuary representations that include cold-stunning-with our hearts inert, lanterns lighting up the darkened innards and ornithological associations that sedentary within a poetic subjectivity could only migrate to the unspeakable realities of the subconscious. Surrealist painting is often too literary. It aims to paint the invisible, ... (1).

War Russbelt boxes are directed to a hidden part of our being which, in my view, navigate in a code called stealthy silence (2). The silence of his paintings lies in the agonizing melancholy of his images and color that ineffable purification: The silence of the primordial times transcripts mysteriously within us facing his own perplexity of life. From a formal point of view, the paintings hold a rigorous structure: Its elements are articulated from the perspective of withdrawal and estrangement tight composition.

Like the Surrealists, War Russbelt boxes are blinded by the alienating desires. The theme of eroticism and obsession with the female form and all variants that the artist's symbolic start to experience (3). They set a grim eroticism, whose muses bandaged with frayed bundles, will gradually peeling, drilling, stripping of sensuality, "in short, dehumanized. A attractive features of this universe is the polished stunned drawing settings: In an exquisite delineation and accurate marking figurative, which aims to cut and shape the ghosts of the subconscious.

In conclusion, the disturbing painting Russbelt War is like that of Giorgio de Chirico, therefore metaphysical interior brushed-decode us with the unflinching lyrical subtlety that has permeated contemporary, perversely, our rickety souls.

Thief of short stories, prose and urban cool

The book's narrator Louis Seminary Seminary, is configured as a route through the turns factual discourse of city \u200b\u200bof Piura. Verbal voice that is outlining, profuse and intractable ignores utterances, quite the contrary, his utterances emanating from an extremely relaxed and hence no syntactic tension, with refreshing linearity argument. The four

cuentario tales, the characters who people are city dwellers, inflated by an overwhelming pragmatism, equipped with a malicious irony and cynicism pessimistic: Their biographies are dull and prosaic language denotes postmodern exercise, tellingly, the alienated nature of their existence.

literature is baptizing new voices, book, from this judicious cache encourage him to persevere and continue planning, developing, reforming and expanding their textual constructions, but warn that the cystic piurana literary mafia will make life impossible, no, it does not exist, but rest assured, because the literary justice will position it in space, for their faith to what he does, deserves for all eternity.

Two souls pictorial shot with an arrow by the same sensitivity

In pictorial universes settle atavisms darkest humanity. The artist recognized as either true or compulsive spokesman faker than plasma plural color spreading and strokes, as making themselves felt, they will distort in order to transcribe our debased essences, disappointment, so strong, facing, without any mercy absurd, with the latent malevolence which we stand; assumes, with controversial commitment, and demystifying role incorruptible critical.

abstract Tables Cannalire Olivera (Serbia-faceted artist), transgress, imbued with secular perplexity, that is, we delve to a subtle estrangement into the vortex of its shadowy color, overwhelm us, we thought startling orthodox and established in our cognitive horizon, we caution that axiological discourses have been melted down for ever, that the human being particular inserted into compelling circumstances, retracts, is betrayed, insulted rejoice at the suffering neighbor, minimalist paintings that we are reproached that fratricide is so reliable, we define ontological kind as irredeemable. And consequently, those certainties chromatically set, with its diffuse semiotics, we inflate the gut wisdom of the dying heartbeat.

From a formal point of view, the paintings hold a structured Russbelt rigor War: Its elements are articulated from the perspective of withdrawal and estrangement tight composition. Like the Surrealists, Russbelt boxes War is blinded by the alienating desires. They set a grim eroticism, whose muses bandaged with frayed bundles, will gradually peeling, drilling, stripping of sensuality, "in short, dehumanized.

One of the attractive features of this shocked the universe is the polished drawing settings: In an exquisite delineation and accurate marking figurative, which aims to cut and shape the ghosts of the subconscious. In addition, results pictorially Russbelt War deliberate dehumanization that currently militates against the essence of man, manipulating and degrading, where an evil kingdom, hidden in the shadows, outlines his alienated cognitions.

In short, War and Olivera Russbelt Cannalire are two souls shot with an arrow for the same resonances life, from the chapel's scriptural welcome the two-person exhibition of paintings, called the sublime path that will take place soon in the cultured city of Trujillo.

Adolfo Felix Rebolledo Herrera: Artist and epochal man committed

Adolfo Felix Rebolledo Herrera was not "in any simple way, a painter, but turned his mind toward multifaceted textual painting: The painting became ( ...) at the source of all of all your pleasures. Charcoal. Watercolor. Oil. Tempera. And not only conceived the painting as a technology wisdom insurance lines, compelling color and compositional assemblies, but their commitment transcended these certainties aesthetic-immolation with their convictions, sentences, accepting an ideological stance in line with the epochal designs. Felix Rebolledo
Adolfo Herrera, born in the Olympus of chicha Catacaos, 2 June in the year that ended World War II. His parents: Felix Rebolledo, painting landscapes with purple ochres and inflamed their aesthetic provocative and refreshing, and Dora Herrera, earth woman who sewed clothes for centuries in this his rattling Singer. Had, during their training academic achievements overwhelming: Diploma of Honor at the end of high school, and National Gold Medal Award and the French government scholarship at the Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes. Vital itinerary took him through several countries in Europe, where he began to marry, to say Roger Santiváñez-socialist ideas.

Semiotics primitive style of his paintings was the abstractions but subsequently commitment to realism, with the purpose of evidencing, aesthetically, the facticity of social problems.

On the other hand, have always existed and will exist traitors and traitors. One of these specimens negligible National School of Fine Arts, revealed its consequent ideological militancy, was arrested on June 15, 1984. Two years later, on June 19 in the genocide of the APRA government is cowardly murdered.

Adolfo Felix Rebolledo Herrera, was always at the height of a historical ethics and aesthetics, never was a despicable amoral. The beautician God rest his soul and those others, will return by far and without compassion, vile insults made.