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Carretillero Calle del Olvido

She spoke, he did not hear. She suffered, he did not care. She smiled at him, he laughed at her. She wanted something serious, he just wanted to have fun. She wanted forever, it just a moment. She sought the prince, he tried next. She wanted, he wanted one. She stood by the content and feeling, it was for quantity. He discovered that she was single, she discovered he was just another one. Too late for him ...

text Photo by Mandy Alves y el 29 Jun '07, 9:28 CEST.

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Todos los vientos en la Calle del confluían Olvido. Independing el día fuera that the sunny lluvioso, that completely dumped el cielo estuviera y with the calm of a summer afternoon or completely covered with clouds on a winter dawn, Calle del Olvido the wind always blew. It was a street running through the city in the same way as she crossed the winds. Named after popular tradition since the year it was opened, the mayor unveiled a red curtain behind the plate with the name of a South American liberator. It was after the war when the city was reconstructed when it was decided to call as everyone knew her.

Calle del Olvido In no more than a portal. It is a long narrow avenue where one can see the shops oldest and most modest of the city. Bakeries, bars, fruit, neighborhood barbershops, hardware stores and lingerie shops are the windows of the landscape Calle del Olvido. But there is only a building site which gives onto the street. The remaining houses have been constructed so that their entrances are on the streets or in the opposite perpendicular. And that is the Calle del Olvido has no compassion or their neighbors.

The name, as I said, comes from the fact that the wind whip that makes any passerby to forget the train of thought. When the inhabitants of the city were flying a gentleman hat or shawl instantly knew where to had passed its owner. All citizens who passed by her hair had just scrambled grit of parks and tree leaves. La Calle del Olvido was the most democratic in the streets. Applied equally to all inhabitants. A long-haired women, men hairstyles mature impossible trying to hide his baldness. There was no fixing that resist the tenacity of its winds or skirt or cap that would not wake furiously when the owner was entering that street.

The people however, not avoided. It was easy to see people in need free of thoughts, people who needed to cope with their life from another point of view. Never been more justified than in this street saying "change of scenery." The slap of air, chill in winter and hot in summer, had the power to change for a moment the perception of all those who passed on the street. There

however, and as an exception to the rule, an individual who Calle del Olvido treated with deference. Lived in the building whose site was directly across the street. It was a ramshackle old building fully rented to migrants. Each floor had a nationality. Chinese in the first Moroccan in the second, third Romanian, Uruguay in the room, and Cubans in the past. They all lived in harmony, as if a small representation of the UN concerned. He, however, was not any of these sites. Although he lived in the fifth, due to their Caribbean origin, was from Jamaica. His name was Leo. Leo Dread. He was proud of his ancestors pirates and prided himself on his simple and quiet life.

Leo was sweeper. And he enjoyed his work. The council had assigned precisely the street that nobody wanted to deal. He gladly accepted. Work was just below the house. Peers warned that there was no easy task keeping clean the street where the wind carried a host of objects and flying at a stroke the piles of leaves piled at the foot of leafy trees. "It is not easy Dread, nothing easy. All just chastened. And with that blessed wind it impossible to concentrate. You forget what you going to do before you start to do so. "

Leo, however, had a secret. A secret. A true Jamaican, her hair was made up of great dreadlocks. A dozen thick black dreadlocks as rolled towels that made harmless any attempt by the wind to move a bit of her hair. Nor would much wind attempts to adhere sheets and papers, for one pass of the hand, his dreadlocks were clean and bright. A week to sweep the area, the winds of Oblivion Street tired of blowing in vain, decided to grant a truce to Rastafari. Leo summoned at night, on the balcony of his house and offered him a deal. If he let fly from time to time a pledge, committing themselves to the winds do not blow on their work, to make your task easier. The Rastafarian was delighted to accept.

Since then, the Calle del Olvido is cleaner than ever. The whole town knows Leo Dread as "the Rastas do not forget 'and only a small tribute in the form of a reflective vest or uniform regulatory cap the winds making it respected and that people think that, from time to time, even the more simple are capable of the greatest wonders.

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Standing by the window on a summer night, the wind swept a lament in song accompanied by a sad guitar melody. I do not know the author, but the lyrics are stuck with me fire as if it had been dictated by my conscience. Also know the title, but say that is called Hands Without Sense ...


These two hands living in exile
These two hands crazy to forget
These two hands that cling to grief
To know that my sleeplessness can not bury

These hands stubborn I was yours They lie now
frost if you're not
They become hard and cold as two fists
And what I miss pluja because they know that you'll stay

Hands, cold hands
broken hands, hands Empty Hands
cracked by these verses that I write
Hands lifeless, dark hands dirty hands and
asaborías
Hands abandoned in the banishment of sintigo Hands
say goodbye looking meaningful reasons

These hands had found their homeland
Making of your skin second home
These hands that longed to walk in your clothes
And spill dropwise and body mapping

These hands do not know what These
hold hands and do not know comfort
These hands and do nothing but invoke you ,
That can not remember that they must forget

Hands stay, cold hands
Hands broken, cracked hands empty handed
these verses I write
Hands lifeless hands Hands
dark and dirty Hands
asaborías abandoned in the banishment of Hands
sintigo say goodbye looking for reasons to regard

These hands have fingers icebergs
These hands no longer feel any heat
These hands soiled with
ashes by a fire and battered do not know if stoke

These hands not hide because they have no
palms full of loneliness
These hands do not touch or calm and
These hands shake and I can not hear them or shut
Hands
stay, cold hands Hands
broken, empty hands cracked hands
these verses that I write
Hands lifeless hands dirty dark
Manos and Manos asaborías
abandoned in exile sintigo of Hands
say goodbye looking for reasons to regard

These palms do not touch bulerías
These hungry hands of your watch
These two hands full of caresses
delivered and not wilted only regret know These

withered hands of Van
bum begging if you're not resist
But unclean
of pain in that direction find another body to touch

stay Hands cold hands Hands
broken, cracked hands
empty-handed in these verses that I write without
Hands life, dark hands

asaborías hands dirty and abandoned in exile Hands of Hands
sintigo looking for reasons to say goodbye sense

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City Hands Without Sense


No There are maps to get there. There is no defined path to reach the streets. However, there are plenty of ways to end at City Idyll.

Idiliópolis streets, as they call some of its inhabitants, are formed by the collective desire. Its avenues occur in the visitor a feeling of deja vu since most of the places that have appeared up in one of his dreams. Crossroads of recurring dreams, dream characters who accompany us throughout the night. All these sites make up the city and loved the romance.

is easy to get lost in its streets. You do not need street and although they need, not exist. To move around this city need only be guided by intuition. You only need to look at the details of his prose. In the names of its places, its avenues and boulevards, as in Idyll City residents are pragmatic and baptize the place names that identify them.

If you get into the Calle del Olvido will you penalties. If you walk along the Avenue de la Luz, a warm source illuminating everything will shelter your step even on rainy days. Each street has a story summary on the board that names on every corner.

Every corner of the city exists because someone somewhere sometime has imagined. Idyll

City has roads, but no way to reach by car. It also has a train station and airport on the outskirts, however, there is no way to find train or plane whose destination is Idiliópolis. Rumour that are made for residents to escape when they tire of the houses, parks and avenues to behave to the letter of their names. Others say they are the gateway to the city for those who once were and want to return.

These lines contained only a small part of the stories which houses the city streets that we all share when we dream. Welcome to City Idyll.