Countries With Highest Dyslexia Rate

Louis made a big araña.A Bourgueois I like this tree. Rios

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leading towards the sea .. which is death .....

H emos seen images that make us feel pity, impotence , sadness ... maybe even disgust.
I do not know how you feel when seeing the images below, but I feel helpless and sad, to see how our world is deteriorating and falling apart by our own actions.

is the Citarum river , located west of the island of Java in Indonesia .
Ironically this river in its heyday, was used for fishing and irrigation, but due to factories that are in place, the river became a huge dump . The villagers stopped fishing. What we now do is "dig" in the trash, something that could be used to sell or deal with food.

And all this crap will continue towards the sea, contaminating everything he finds in his way ...

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SCHOOL OF SOL.


We gathered around Paco Rodriguez, and gave us a long lecture on ecology.
La Escuela del Sol still has the intention to disclose matters related to the Art, Science and Spirituality.

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. Huge
day against my ears buzz;
thunders like a god suddenly caught by a wing in the cage of the world. Dorado
to scrape his madness, spiraling up to break the edges.
What now calls this huge bumblebee fury that pulls the sky?
Is it just fuss at me up, so much splendor in war? What else should I
abide apart from rocky head, the rope at the ankles and the hole through each hand? Perhaps
reproach me my share in the distribution of stays, perhaps
judging only my side is visible,
that it makes its way through darkness and moving blocks without SBER
same as the bow is blinded by a ghost ship.
You, too, a cruel day, so fatuous as I, as the mask of the unseen, the murky fog
you, just the emanation of an offshore submerged
the sun to peek unfinished hides the other suns of the distance.
have come here out of memory to run into later, without a password
justifies us until the end of the game.
Your color is the same as any dealer stock and dark times.
But enough about why you are not, nor even be others,
fatal nacesarios, under the tides of history and the flight of birds, perhaps because we
also unavoidable
both included in the turbulence the first wave in the boiling of the verb, both hitting
together on the beach amid the uncertainties of return,
until the last day, until the last castaway. Because maybe
whom, when and where the variations of a single substance,
states suspended until the end of counting.
No me out then with this hurricane shock of cloth against her face.
not you throw me the same as if it were a limpet insidious grip
your superfluous, a fan error hourly embedded in the rock.
not effectively banishing even take me in suspense between the thumb and forefinger,
although I swing and let me fall on my own.
A dark, against china, disasters.
.
.

No. 18, the night drifting (1984)