Gonorrhea How Long Can Is Stay

Everyday Words cheat me. OPEN LETTER

words. Break, crush, both of them hurried to break. Make desperate cries words, autumn, hugs. Blend the words until they bleed, until rust, even to cry. Carry the words to silence, moisture to a dry mouth for silence. Throwing up the words from the hands to the feet to be skin. Give you the words that I have not written, and leave them bleeding on the side of the window to get to your bed. Bleed, which oxidizes to die and be born again many times, as so often say the word should or should not ... or talking nonsense (how are you), and feel a little touch and a little crazy, and keep walking. Walking and find more words to give you and to give me. Go stove for words, words, hug, pillow words. Go after the birth of new syllables and letters to bring your navel ... and drop them along the crease of your waist. Write words and nonsense more words to complete the night alone among cigarette butts and half-written sheets. There are times when words fail. Both are missing that would kill the break in pieces and assemble them again. And that does not make much sense. It would be like to make sense to watch you sleep and do not find a fucking word that describes the early morning, something to make sense as the knot in the stomach, the cord out of the shoe, the bus that arrived late, the park bench empty, the phone does not ring, the cold walls, napkins and handkerchiefs in your pocket, or almost feverish walk down the street telling Baldoz.
At times it was easier write, others say them, and others, like today, it just might drown in silence to make them be reborn. And so have the words to dry your eyes and say that we must look forward and continue to give hope, to love again and again and not look for too much meaning to the passage of time.

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Some days inhabited, and many others converted to ellipsis (as china ink stains on paper). Inhabited and full of voices and hands and feet and mouths and eyes and steps. Ellipsis accomplice of a line plasma side, a line drawn some great little whispers and silences. Small puffs of air where the days are getting leaf white (and there is nothing to shout in the mirror).

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My name is María Soledad Sánchez Di Pasquale, I have 22 years, and I'm from the city of Santa Fe

On Sunday 24 at 9 pm, I was assaulted. Stole my backpack ... I only had $ 12 and many things of value (but for me, not them). Me a beating. I did shit. I hit the head so many times against the floor to take off the win, and I hung with a row like I was her worst enemy. And if the strip is not cut bag, would be quite dead with one blow over the head against the cement. All for a bag, asking that if I handed them, asking if I gave them the slippers, shirt, jeans, what they wanted. There was no need to hit me was not necessary so much violence and need not come to me from behind, without saying a word, direct to hit me and drag me down the sidewalk cement.

I defend the kids, and always did. I always said that the fault is the state of marginalization, discrimination, hunger, lack of education, inequality, exploitation, bloody struggle between classes. I always fought for things to change, I always tried to do the best for everyone ... And now? "Where are my human rights? These two lean, well-drugged, loose with my stuff, with the my home address, my keys, my memories ... And even with my dignity and my will to keep fighting to change things. What the fuck I tell it to me to be fighting for the kids, if to do so come and let me ground with sticks, lying in bed for over a week without being able to move, full of bruises, the column made ball , doing rehab, and carrying a corset during the day for no more sharp pains?

And I keep wondering how much longer? How far? If the police fucked me laugh in the face. In the hospital they put a soothing and andate for your home just ... And now? "Now how the hell I go to the street to make my life a week ago? And now how to believe in people? So far as I can keep thinking you can change things and that the kids can come out of that shit? How can I say that? If at this point, what happened to me makes me think they do not mind anything, not even educated. And yes, they are victims. And yes, I support the Human Rights ... but I support human rights for ALL.

not know what to expect, I do not know when or even where they think going with this. Do not tell me that things will get better. Do not tell me anything. I do not think you have to go out and kill, not the solution and it would fall into such archaic thoughts (though not so far) dark times and lived. The solution is to unite and start changing things but from below, from scratch, from the honesty and the true sense of the sovereign citizen, the true should make us feel that "democracy" in which "we are." Awareness, awareness of who we are and that we are to enforce our rights ... from bread, to education, to walk the streets without fear.
Now follow as hell can. And swallow your fear deep inside, as far as possible, because nobody cares Unfortunately today no one, and no one helps anyone.

screamed as if they were killing me (and actually thought they would) and no one came to see what happened. How good our people ... our solidarity Argentina ... do good.

Am I tired? to be the "deluded? I always defended human rights, which always stood for freedom, who always defended the poor people, who always defended the kids that are not to blame for the shitty life they have. And if not their fault. But I do not I have it, or had. Because I do not live in abundance, I am unemployed, living alone with my mother who is retired for disability (and if we talk about the shame of retirement and would enter into another issue to be indignant.)
I am a student of Social Communication UNER, I spend my days taking four groups to go to study in Paraná, and break my soul in order to have the necessary tools to start changing the foundations of the country they left us some more traitors and murderers, let alone marriage symbiotic try us manipulated like puppets, based on the total incoherence, which mocks college education budgets giving embarrassing, that mocks the old, which fill the mouth talking about intellectual authors as role models that are far from the duo shares performed. So we

. But I know that must be followed, and although I feel hurt and tired, and full of impotence ... HARD TO SAY I'M THAT the only way to change our Argentina the Village is not silent, is not lower his head, is going out, ending the violence, continue to fill seats, and above all, respect the other as equal .