Cromos, III série

Leiam o discurso deste rapaz no Porto de Abrigo.

Site oficial: http://www.alopresidente.gob.ve/

El Aló Presidente número 262 se trasladó a tierras andinas, específicamente a Boconó, estado Trujillo.

El Primer Mandatario Nacional, incrustado en las montañas cafetaleras de la antigua Hacienda San Houston inició el programa dominical.

03_cafe_dsc_2463 Con la recuperación de estas tierras, por parte del Gobierno Revolucionario, se pretende seguir la guerra contra el feudalismo y entregar a los venezolanos agricultores estas tierras productivas.

Ahora esta hacienda, convertida en Unidad de Producción Socialista Centro Integral de Café “Argimiro Gabaldón”, tiene como meta incrementar la producción de estos terrenos a 3 mil quintales de café para igualar el record histórico de la finca, y mantenerlo.
En la actualidad cuenta con 90 mil plantas de café, que produjeron en el último año 800 quintales.

Cabe destacar, que en esta Unidad de Producción Socialista se producen 7 variedades de café: Borbones Caturra, Catagüi Amarillo, Catagüi Rojo, Festival, Colombia 27 y una variedad que es exclusiva de Boconó, la cual aún no posee denominación.

El Centro Integral de Café Argimiro Gabaldón, funcionará como una escuela para la formación en el proceso técnico-productivo del cultivo de café y como centro para el desarrollo del turismo.

De volta às capas atordoantes.

Escape velocity

It's done at long last. Eleven years minus a few days, ups and eastwesthighs and lows, several thousand million dollars in the fire and I'm out of it. Full compensation, no hassle, an indemnity letter to get proper social security funding for a year and a half as of next week. Farewell to the raving corporate hordes of hysterical blonde and discoloured bimboes vibrating through every pore like lunatic sledgehammers on every occasion of a merger, acquisition or cocktail party. Farewell to asphyxia and tremors, farewell to the feeling of one dawn too much. I have many a sequence of events to thank to the totalities. Footprints in the sand.

BETTER THAN THEM
(Sullivan) 1984

This is our town, this is Friday night
Dressed in our rags and our rage and our best
Piercing eyes looking for something - anything, anyone.
Stare across the floor as they begin to dance
Missing all the rhythms and the chosen right steps
And we laugh and we drink in our corner again
We're better than them
Divided we were born, divided we live
Divided we fall, divided we die
Still we tell ourselves over and over again
We're better than them
With our hunger and our hatred, we all walk this town
With our fear and our weakness - just holding on
With our doubt and our emptiness and this cold, cold frown
We've got to be so important, we'll put the whole damn world down
And we build the walls that we can hide behind
And our finest weapon is our poisoned pride
Here in this town where the jealousies burn
We're watching you
'Cause truth is only what we need it to be
To bring us survival through each and every day
When nowhere is safe and nowhere is home - just be cool
And what was she wearing and what did he say?
Who goes with who and what did they do?
We tell ourselves over and over again
We're better than them , we're not like them

And back again

Voltei a casa, não como se nunca tivesse saído daqui, mas com a vida inteira por toda a parte da cabeça aos pés, com a chuva e os relâmpagos e os fogos de Verão nas colinas por detrás da igreja e da escola, dos prédios novos. Mais 15 dias. Carro na oficina, distribuição, pior altura possível, como sempre. Tem o seu nexo :)

O que eu descobri aqui debaixo...

OK. Casa nova a rolar, amigdalite a passar, calma, calma, calma. OK.