Somewhere in Providencia

Esta isla del tesoro perdida y olvidada en el inmenso océano es para ti

Etiqueta: Literature

Balcones Literarios, 2 – Revista cultural gratuita ya disponible para descarga

Balcones Literarios 2

¡Pués sí colegas! Tal y como reza el titular de esta entrada, ya está en el «aire»el segundo número (En realidad tercero) «Balcones Literarios», la mejor y más variada revista cultural gratuita.

Puedes descargarla pinchando AQUÍ

¿Que encontrarás en su interior?

Relatos, poesía, microcuentos, magia…

Y en el siguiente número algún texto tuyo si te animas a enviarnos algo…

¡Estaremos encantados de hacerte un huequito!

¡Espero que os guste!

Anuncio publicitario

Ya disponible «Autorretratos de un bufón loco»

Después de 5 meses de arduo trabajo ya está disponible la edición impresa de «Autorretratos de un bufón loco» (La digital saldrá el 6 de marzo como estaba previsto).

Como ya comenté, todos los beneficios de este libro los destino a plantar árboles con la ONG Reforesta, y en la imagen superior aparecen aquellos que confiaron en mi ¿Criterio? Y reservaron el libro. Además están incluidos en la página de agradecimientos.

Sea como sea, con cualquier venta que haga del libro el beneficio lo utilizaré con el mismo fin.

Voy a dejar que los números hablen por mí:

  • 15,2 x 22,9 cm
  • 358 páginas
  • 100 ilustraciones
  • Más de 200 escritos (Algunos antiguos con sorpresa)
  • Todo tipo de géneros
  • Caos
  • Un mensaje en clave en la cubierta
  • Prólogo de Sergio Sánchez (Lothandir)
  • Ayuda a plantar árboles

Y todo por menos de lo que imaginas.

Puedes conseguir tu copia en los siguientes enlaces: – Autorretratos de un bufón loco – Autorretratos de un bufón loco (Spanish Edition)

¡Espero que os guste!

Crazy Jester Chronicles E-book for FREE Saturday 27 and Sunday 28


Finally the English version of my first book has arrived. A selection of 35 writings of all shapes and colors (many unpublished in this language) whose download in e-book this weekend is free. You can download them in the following link, and if you like do not hesitate to recommend it and give your opinions to reach the largest number of people.


¡Enjoy & Thanks for yours readings!

Like rats

We live like rats.
Crammed into our holes
Refugees in our sewers
Waiting anxiously what
The crumbs reach us from some dunghill.

We live like rats
In a shipwreck looking
Drowning in the open sea
Stepping on the small and weak rat
Leaving behind his remains
So that lagging rats
Devour them to the bone.

We live like rats
In colonies of thousands of members
All the same,
With the same thought:
Live one more day
Forgetting our condition as infected beings.

We live like rats
But we live.

Do we really live?

Micro Trilogy – Little World


It was a small and insignificant world ravaged by snowstorms and torrential rains where the wind seemed to always drag an eternal sob. One could safely affirm what was the saddest enclave in the universe. Even with that oppressive atmosphere, it was the only place he could call «Home».


He lived locked in his small and melancholy crystal world until the immensity of the universe that turned beyond its transparent walls made him fall face to face with the cruel reality by breaking the fragile barrier that isolated him in a thousand pieces.

He thought: «Freedom is not synonymous with happiness»


Sometimes, in the loneliest moments, he would lose his gaze on the distant horizon and let the thoughts travel to the past, to his crystal ball. He who had been his home and who could never return.

His last vision was a sad and lonely snowfield dyed with grays. Those who saw him die say they never saw such a sincere smile.

The Contract

Sign here, here and here
All ready

The mansion is yours
The luxurious new vehicle
That yacht moored
And the private Jet

You will not be short of women
Of generous breasts
And disproportionate butts

You can travel wherever you want
Eat the best dishes
Drug, drink or play
You will never lack balance in the bank

Believe me, you signed
The best contract
The most experienced commercial says so
They do not call me for nothing


I’m waiting for you

This new moon night
You can not fall asleep
There’s something in the shadows
That project the slits of the blind
That oppresses your insides without compassion

Reign the silence
But in your ears
Strange unspeakable whispers
They reproduce at intervals.

«Look under the bed«

«I’m waiting for you»

You look under the bed
There is nothing


In the epicenter of the darkness

A huge eyes watch
And a mad grin
That simulates a hideous smile

«I’m waiting for you»

«Do not you want in this lonely nightSent my hug?»

Your body convulses
With the foggy mind
The muscles following another
They will stretch your trembling arms
To the impenetrable darkness
An icy touch grabs you
Pull tightly from your wrists
And drag you
Where your cries of pain
They sound empty and muted
And the crunch of your bones splintering
It dilutes between inaudible whispers

«I was waiting for you»

«Now we’ll rest together»


Reign the calm
The most absolute calm
The sky dappled with clouds
Is paralyzed
It is a canvas that varies
Light blue to red flame
It burns on the horizon
After monumental silent mountain ranges
Immutable in their eternity

A flock of ducks in formation
Point to a distant direction
Your destiny there far
Where winter does not exist
Very high Where the view just reaches
Vapor lines are intertwined
Or chemical trails
They weave a dawn
Another sunrise

Everything is in balance
The air Its breezes and strong winds
Water leaping in ethereal waterfalls
Grass The thousand-year-old forests
And further
At incomprehensible distances
The universe

What can break this perfect balance?

They called him a monster

Since he could remember the whole world he referred to him as «monster». It is possible that it was because of the amorphousness of his physical complexion, his disturbing features, because of the unhealthy pestilence he gave off, because of the unnatural tone of voice he had when emitting any type of sound or a mixture of all those unpleasant characteristics.

The day he devoured He lived his first victim and enjoyed the cries of despair and the taste of fresh blood he knew with certainty that it was not an unfounded nickname.

Under a cold winter sun

He looked at him in the distance
On the other side of the road
Sunny or snowy
Day and night
For his image, he sighed

Sad life of lovers
What they see in their yearnings
An impossible utopian
Well, by destiny’s designs
Their bodies are motionless
And they are separated
At the mercy of the whims
Of cyclic stations
And a dusty road

But the roots are deep
And his unstoppable desire
And they stretch until they caress
And interlace

Icy winds blow
They sow their slender stems
And to the sound of his incessant whistling
Under a cold winter sun
They extend until they hold on
Its skeletal branches
To form when weather conditions
Knotted to their bodies and souls
New green shoots
Flowers of delicate colors
And fruits of a thousand flavors