Santa Rocío de Dorrego (18/02/2011)
With a strange appetite this pig, shapeless of feeling, wakes up. Guided only by an ejaculating pulse, it goes out to revel in its misery around the neighbourhood. Slimy sadistic leprosy, hidden beneath its hide, carries with it the hell of the one who that morning would burn, forgotten, in the silence of a desolate landscape.
Tears that cannot wash away the story we never expected to hear, and the remains of horrible memories, already wrapped and stuck in her hair.
With brutality, savagery and the force of his blows, the male marks the conscience and buries in the heart of Dorrego the pain of a bruise on the face that will never go away, and the torn, burned little skin stuck to the stretcher will leave its mark of sorrow in the prayers of many.
Excerpt. The full text is available on request.
