Joia Vanidad XIII (y cuarto)
Publicado: 09 Ago 2006 06:51
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Son bonitas tantas “o” juntas. Si las miras fijamente durante unos instantes parecen miles y miles de huevecillos puestos por alguna ave. Todos rectos, todos en fila, dispuestos a eclosionar en breve.
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Son bonitas tantas “g” juntas. Si las miras fijamente durante un rato comienzan a parecer cabezas de pollitos asomando del nido y pidiendo desesperadamente que las alimenten. Yo quiero alimentar a mis “g” pero no tengo con qué.
¿Se comerán mis “g” a otras letras? Si yo fuera “g” me comería las “j”. Las jotas joden a mis ges. Les robaron jefe y jirafa, pero todavía no han podido con geranio. Ni con gemir. Gemir es una palabra bonita, aunque también puede ser fea, depende de quien gima y por qué lo haga. Les voy a dar unas poquitas jotas y que las más fuertes se las coman, pura selección natural.
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¡Ahí están! Míralas, son ridículas tan juntas, realmente feas. Merecen ser comidas. ¡Son vuestras mis niñas!, alimentaros y crecer.
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Me quiero morir, a veces, me quiero morir. Cuando crece todo es feo. Pierde la inocencia y se torna vulgar. Mis ges que han comido son ahora feas y gordas. Las otras son chiquitinas y bonitas, pero se van a morir de hambre. Yo no debería haber crecido jamás.
Si pudiera, volvería a ser chiquito y a escribir tonterías. Pero ya no puedo, ya no se. Ahora todo lo escribo se convierte irremediablemente en una obra de arte. Ojalá no tuviera tanto talento, ojalá pudiera ser tan mediocre como casi todos los que escriben aquí.
Vuestro, esto no es lo que parece;
Dolordebarriga
Son bonitas tantas “o” juntas. Si las miras fijamente durante unos instantes parecen miles y miles de huevecillos puestos por alguna ave. Todos rectos, todos en fila, dispuestos a eclosionar en breve.
ggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg
Son bonitas tantas “g” juntas. Si las miras fijamente durante un rato comienzan a parecer cabezas de pollitos asomando del nido y pidiendo desesperadamente que las alimenten. Yo quiero alimentar a mis “g” pero no tengo con qué.
¿Se comerán mis “g” a otras letras? Si yo fuera “g” me comería las “j”. Las jotas joden a mis ges. Les robaron jefe y jirafa, pero todavía no han podido con geranio. Ni con gemir. Gemir es una palabra bonita, aunque también puede ser fea, depende de quien gima y por qué lo haga. Les voy a dar unas poquitas jotas y que las más fuertes se las coman, pura selección natural.
jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
¡Ahí están! Míralas, son ridículas tan juntas, realmente feas. Merecen ser comidas. ¡Son vuestras mis niñas!, alimentaros y crecer.
ggggggggggggggggggggggGGGGgggggggggggggggggggggggGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGggggggggggggggGGgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggGggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggGGGGGgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggGgggggggggggggggggggggGggggggggggggggGggggggggggggggggggggggggggggGgggGggggGggggggggggggggggGGGGGGgggggggggggggggggggggggggGgggGgggggGggGgGgGGGggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggGGGGGgGgggggGggGGggggggggGGgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggGggggggGGgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggGGGGgggggggGGGggggggggggGgGgggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggGGGg
Me quiero morir, a veces, me quiero morir. Cuando crece todo es feo. Pierde la inocencia y se torna vulgar. Mis ges que han comido son ahora feas y gordas. Las otras son chiquitinas y bonitas, pero se van a morir de hambre. Yo no debería haber crecido jamás.
Si pudiera, volvería a ser chiquito y a escribir tonterías. Pero ya no puedo, ya no se. Ahora todo lo escribo se convierte irremediablemente en una obra de arte. Ojalá no tuviera tanto talento, ojalá pudiera ser tan mediocre como casi todos los que escriben aquí.
Vuestro, esto no es lo que parece;
Dolordebarriga
