Llore como nena despues de que los conoci! se lo juro es inexplicable describir lo que senti! fue una "Mega Felicidad" aqui mis dialogos:
Dave Mustaine: Hi Karina: Hi Dave, God bless you Dave Dave Mustaine: Thank you, so you *con unos ojos de lobo* (baba) Dave: which color silver or black? does it matter if the guitar is white? Karina: No no... choose any color... :) Dave: ok (firma plateado) Karina: Thank you Dave you rock! :) Dave: Thanks
Chris Broderick: Hi Karina: Hi Chris, sign here in your beautiful picture Chris broderick: woow me?? thanks Karina: God bless you Chris you rock Chris Broderick: Thank you
David: Hi, how are you? Karina: I'm pretty exciting! David: wooow awesome! Karina: You rock David!!!! David: thank you
Shawn: Hello Karina: sign here Shawn: ok Shawn: God bless you! keep on rocking! Shawn: Thank you
Karina le dice a todos: you guys rock! keep on rocking! luego se fueron y empeze a llorar como chiquita de 5 años! T_T
Vincent Malloy is seven years old He’s always polite and does what he’s told For a boy his age, he’s considerate and nice But he wants to be just like Vincent Price
He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cats Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented And wander dark hallways, alone and tormented
Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum
He likes to experiment on his dog Abercrombie In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie So he and his horrible zombie dog Could go searching for victims in the London fog
His thoughts, though, aren’t only of ghoulish crimes He likes to paint and read to pass some of the times While other kids read books like Go, Jane, Go! Vincent’s favourite author is Edgar Allen Poe
One night, while reading a gruesome tale He read a passage that made him turn pale
Such horrible news he could not survive For his beautiful wife had been buried alive! He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed
His mother sent Vincent off to his room He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life Alone with the portrait of his beautiful wife
While alone and insane encased in his tomb Vincent’s mother burst suddenly into the room She said: “If you want to, you can go out and play It’s sunny outside, and a beautiful day”
Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak The years of isolation had made him quite weak So he took out some paper and scrawled with a pen: “I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again” His mother said: “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead These games that you play are all in your head You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy You’re not tormented or insane, you’re just a young boy You’re seven years old and you are my son I want you to get outside and have some real fun.
”Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall And while Vincent backed slowly against the wall The room started to swell, to shiver and creak His horrid insanity had reached its peak
He saw Abercrombie, his zombie slave And heard his wife call from beyond the grave She spoke from her coffin and made ghoulish demands While, through cracking walls, reached skeleton hands
Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams Swept his mad laughter to terrified screams! To escape the madness, he reached for the door But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor
His voice was soft and very slow As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe:
“and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted?
Mi vida fue como las gotas de rocío, esas que ven mientras caen en tu ventana, esas que caen lentamente hasta desaparecer de tu vida, así fue mi presencia. Como un nido de pájaros destrozado por el cruel invierno, ese invierno que azoto mis días por mucho tiempo, y yo, tratando de resistir con la única gota de esfuerzo que queda en mi cuerpo destrozado.
Hubo un día en que me veía a mi misma como un gato asustado, acorralada en el destino, que juega a los dados cada vez que quiere, mirándome mientras me arrastro detrás de el.
Pero hubo días en que salio el sol y me alumbraba tu rostro que soñaba a mi lado, desprendiendo estrellas de colores cada vez que se movía, esos días perduraran en mi memoria, quedaran tatuados en el contorno de mi corazón, porque esos días pude realmente vivir, esos días fui realmente feliz.
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos." El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Yo lo quise, y a veces el también me quiso. En las noches como esta lo tuve entre mis brazos. Lo besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito. El me quiso, a veces yo también lo quería. Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos. Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Pensar que no lo tengo. Sentir que lo he perdido. Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin el. Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío. Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarlo. La noche esta estrellada y el no está conmigo. Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos. Mi alma no se contenta con haberlo perdido. Como para acercarlo mi mirada lo busca. Mi corazón lo busca, y el no está conmigo. La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles. Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos. Ya no lo quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto lo quise. Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído. De otra. Será de otra. Como antes de mis besos. Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos. Ya no lo quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez lo quiero. Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido. Porque en noches como esta lo tuve entre mis brazos, mi alma no se contenta con haberlo perdido. Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que el me causa,
y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo. Por Pablo Neruda. (Con adaptación)
