White Discharge And Peeing Alot

sounds ... sounds of life ...

sounds ... as every year, and this already is running out. And although it would soon return to hear, my life is night sounds like the same thing to them. Always lots of music I usually listen to many styles, all are welcome, and all tolerate and listen. Rock, Opera, Classical, Pop, Funky, Soul, Easter, Jazz, Salsa, Popular and Flamenco ... all ... but one that blows me in the chest like a cannon and explodes into a thousand pieces all the memories that spin in my mind for so many years that no longer remember. And that style is synonymous with beaches and shells, foam and salts and eternal sand you dig into the soul and you are tucked into the folds of skin, toes and deep pockets, many sometimes empty of everything but sand ... The Cadiz Carnival music ... the jokes, the choir and all the extras ...

in my house ever since the music sounded good boy. Territorial linkages remember where my mother waited Telesur this that I write the odd story about the carnival. Those were the days. Later I could start sharing tastes, and open doors and ears to those who previously did not understand the lyrics or even called him attention. How many nights with the headphones on but shared with the radio or short to not wake the children in the classroom or on a bed in a bedroom on the cribs have spent a couple of "cradle" where snuggle flannel receiving blankets loves and hates the beat of carnival songs, and lots of hours awake at both, or neither. Nights under the waves by the radio brought me a competition sessions I've been stuck in my soul and has been part of who I am and what I have. The contest is not the first, not even will never be the end of the carnival, as always there will be carnival and Vine Street. But for those of us outside, pa land outside door, is what little we have left to feel one more of you. I speak of people who have made love to the beat of a parade, with the rhythmic tapping of the bottom of a tango Cadiz, or the joke of a joke wineries with art and compass.

But despite feeling a chirigotero heart, I have to say I die with the troupe. Blessed be all the extras. Those who heard live and I remain to be heard. Those who've already heard from old cassette tapes and with which ever dreamed of singing in the failure. All I sang in a not too distant past and all that I've sung recently with my wife, my children and my friends ... long live the carnival, and I leave you with this great tribute to the Comparsa El Callejon de los Santos, the groups, at fifty years and what we have to listen ... and it sounds ... sounds of life ...

sounds, life
sounds like an old jukebox ,
music that comes and goes
like the sea in a snail.
sounds, life rings,
and turn memories with nostalgia
slate and rumors
guitar hanging
thought,
and every heart
sounding song
nailing her daggers,
my heart jukebox
just sounds like carnivals,
only sounds,
carnivals.
Músicas de Paco Alba
I
sing with my friends
that today more than friends
are my brothers,
me sounds like Pedro Romero,
with Villegas and Bustelo,
nochecita to summer.
are the groups of old
moments that bring me
most beautiful or sad
of those years.
Quiñones, Ares, Martin,
and Puerto bring endless
fresh kisses
and teenage love,
those Tino Tovar bring the memory
is more mine and more beautiful,
bless the parade,
Blessed be the comparsa
other ciencuenta
years and for a hundred years
and a thousand years
in our house,
in our house.