PINGA,FALO,THE PENNIS Urology ,man,SEX,urologists,conversation with ORLO

urology ,man,urologists,conversation with ORLO

CONVERSATION WITH ORLO

-YEAR 2000
---- MY DINNER WITH ARCO ORLO------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------UROLOGISTS-------------------_ I HAVE CUT MANY DICKS -PINGAS-WITH CANCER, EVEN OF YOUNG MEN AND WERE SAVED AND LIVE MASCULINITY OF MEMORIES._AND THEY DO WITH THE ORGAN?_WE'RE SENT TO THE CLINIC TO SAVE IN CHLOROFORM, LABELING AND ARCHIVING, AS WELL AS THE FORESKINS OF CIRCUMCISION OR STRANGLING PENISES BY SKIN._FOR WHAT?_IN CASE ANY MALPRACTICE LAWSUIT MAKES ... A FATHER ONCE CAME, THOSE WHO WERE NEVER INTERESTED IN HIS CHILDREN AND GAVE HER A SHOT A NURSE BECAUSE HE SAID HE DID NOT NEED TAKE NO GUTS OR EGGS ...A YOUNG MAN RESISTS THE OPERATION AND CRACK THE CANCER AS A CAULIFLOWER, IT IS IMPREGNATED WITH FETID ODOR BEFORE DYING.'_I TOLD HIM, SOMETIMES, IT IS BETTER WITHOUT A PENIS, BUT ALIVE ... ................................ .................................................. ...........

__MARRIED / A UNFAITHFUL. ANYWHERE THERE IS ALWAYS A (MILLION) INFORMER (SNITCH) NEXT "SEGUROSO". THEY ARE MORE REALISTIC THAT THE KING BECAUSE THEY ARE VOCATIONAL. INVENT REGULATIONS OR GIVE RETROACTIVE DECREES MENTIONED THAT NOBODY FINDS AND LEAVE NO WRITTEN OR SIGNED RECORD. OFFICIALS ARE AFRAID OF THE NAKED KING. THEY ARE THE PAGES OF THE GHETTO CLOSED AND PARANOID SOCIETY. ALWAYS ON THE LOOKOUT FOR ANY DANGEROUS THOUGHT. THEY ARE GREENISH DROOL INSIDE, SUFFERING FROM INTERNAL HYDROCEPHALUS AND DIARRHEA, ALTHOUGH THEY LIVE IN GOOD HOUSES. AS MONTEVIDEO IS A TINY CITY SNEAKS ONE FINDS AND KNOWS BY THE SMELL OF PUTREFACTION THAT EXCEEDS THE KENSO. I WENT UP TO A GROUP (SAY GUAGA, BUS, HARE) AND A FASHION MAD ATTEMPT TO SEDUCE ME WITH ITS LORQUIAN BIG EYES AND WHEN I KNEW HE WAS THE SECRETARY OF THE SECRETARY AND LOVER OF LOVER ATTORNEY-TYPE, SNEAK, THAT I WAS APPLIED THE STRANGER AND RETROACTIVE DECREE AND I SAID: 'EVEN THE SALAMANDER IS IN THE FIREPLACE? HE, I SAID WITHOUT EMPHASIS, INGLORIOUS. THE LITTLE SEDUCER FLEW OUT THE WINDOW LIKE A GHOST BY NEON TUBES SCAPED .................... ..................................................
--- -GARRAPATA PREFER TO BUCOWSKY (WRITE WELL?) OR REINALDO ARENAS, LEZAMA LIMA, PARADISO FASCINATES ME I THOUGH, THAT BAROQUE IS A CATCHY AMOEBA INTERCOURSE THAT NEVER ENDS, SO TICK AS GREAT CONSTRUCTIVISM TORRES GARCIA .......................................
4-ONE MORE IMAGINED AT DAWN, I DO NOT LET ME SLEEP, ARE AT 7 A.M, I'LL WRITE IT AND I DO NOT REMEMBER, I WILL RETURN TO TORTURE ME SOME NIGHT WHITHER, S ... IT WENT?.............................................------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE UPSIDEWHEN ORLO WAS 9, HER FRIEND MELANIA WAS 11, BACK IN THE BEAUTIFUL GUANTANAMO, AND AS SHE SAID TO ME, HAD A PHARMACIST SQUEAKY VOICE IN THE PEOPLE-WANT TO CLARIFY BEFORE I COME UP, THAT NOT ALL WHO HAVE SQUEAKY VOICE THEY ARE HOW ARE YOU ... BECAUSE IN  THE CHURCH IS A LITTTLE MARRIED MAN, WHO LIKES TO GOSSIP AND HAVE SQUEAKY VOICE AND NOT ... GOSSIP NOT CONSIDERED, OF COURSE, ... EXCUSE ME I SAID.PEOPLE CALLED HIM VERY BADLY AND RUDELY, INVESTED.-MELANIA-ASKED ORLO.-WHAT IS AN INVERTED?_IT A MAN WITH TITS _EVERYTHING SHE HAD TO KNOW SHE SAID.FOR A FEW YEARS ORLO. WONDERED WHERE THAT HID TITS, TITS IF HE HAD OR NOT AND WHAT KIND OF SERIOUS TITS.AT THAT TIME THEY WERE NOT ROUND AND HARD AS IT USED TODAY, BUT CONICAL, SOFT TEATS AND SOMETHING FALLS, THEY WERE NATURALS.HE WAS LOOKING FOR: WOMEN DOCTORS, WRITERS AND SOLO PIANISTS ... THAT IF, SKINNY, WITH RESPECT AND WITHOUT MUCH HOMOPHOBIA AND FEAR OF SACRED WRATH OF ADVOCATES TOLERANCE.WHEN I WAS IN SEVENTH GRADE AND RURAL USED A VERY HEAVY MACHETE TO MY SKINNY AND CUTTING SUGAR CANE WITH GOALS A BODY APPEARED A BIG MAN LIKE A BEAR WITH BREASTS.THAT'S NOT AN INVERTED, MELANIA, THESE VACILLATING ME, FUCKING.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE PIANISTTHE OLD PIANIST, AT HOME FEARS, COMES WITH A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS AT THE BOTTOM AND KNOCKS ON YOUR FRONT DOOR AND DELIVERS IT TO THE PIANIST ... I MEAN, THE BOUQUET, OBVIOUSLY.SOMETHING WORTHY OF RICARDO ARENAS, I THOUGHT, WHEN HE SPOKE OF THE OLD AND GREAT LEZAMA LIMA AND HIS CHORUS OF POETS AND POETASTERS.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THEATER DIRECTORBERNHART WOLF LIVES AND DIRECTS THEATER IN BERLIN EAST AND INHERITED THE GREAT TRADITION OF BRECHTIT HAS PROJECTS IN ACTION IN CHIAPAS, IN SANTIAGO DE CUBA AND NOW A UNIVERSITY IN SOUTH AFRICA, ALTHOUGH HE LIVES WITH HIS NEW WIFE IN STOCKHOLM A LITTLE AND A LITTLE IN THE CITY OF WENDERS AND HIS SKIES WITH ANGELS.WE MET IN MONTEVIDEO, WHEN HE TRAVELED WITH SWEET AND BAREFOOT MAYA, RESIDENT IN GENEVA. THE AMOUNT HERE: "WHERE IS THE EXIT INTERVIEW THE CUBAN HECTOR QUINTERO?" VALUES FOR CULTURAL EXCHANGE AND I MADE ONE OF THE AGES OF HECTOR AND HE ACTED AS THE REPORTER TRAVELLER.THE CUBAN-URUGUAYAN WRITER ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ AS ACTOR.HE READ MY TEXT "BASTA" TRANSLATED BY CANSTET HEINZ, ASKED ME ANOTHER WORK, HE FOTORGRAFIED 72 IMAGES OF MY HOUSE AND TRAVELED TO TACUAREMBO TO SEE IF THE ENERGY WAS INDIVIDUAL OR COLLECTIVE. SAID, IT IS COLLECTIVE.WITH URICH SCHRAEDER, ULI, DISCARD "SPERM SAUCE" AND "LOSERS ALWAYS" AND TRANSLATED "GODS OF CLAY"A BERNHART AND MARA DID NOT LIKE IT.IT'S DEPRESSING, DRACULIANA, AND TOUCHES ON THEMES OF INTROSPECTION AND SILENCE AND PARALYZED THE GERMAN THEATER. ALSO IT IS NOT INTERACTIVE. LACKS DIALOGUE AND GROWTH.AND IT WAS TRUE, HE PREFERRED THE HOPE AND I STARTED TO WRITE RESURRECTION OF CHE AND HIS VISIT TO CONGRESS.SO I PRODUCED "NEVER SAY NEVER" TRANSLATED BY B. HIMSELF.I INVESTIGATE THOROUGHLY, BECAUSE IT IS A GREAT RESEARCHER.I REMEMBER FOR EXAMPLE THAT HOBBES INTERESTED IN THE WORD UNTIL HE FOUND THE OWNER OF THE WORD.HE WORKS WITH WORDS BUT ALSO WITH ACTIONS.I HAND HIM OVER TO SIMONE BECAUSE THE CHOREOGRAPHY IS TOO DIGNIFIED (COST OVER 50,000 DOLLARS) FROM A LARGE THEATER, HE SAID, AND NOT AN UNDERGROUND THEATER OR A UNIVERSITY THEATER IN CAPE TOWN OR POPULAR IN CHIAPAS OR CUBA ...SO FATIGUE AND SILENCE OF EUROPE, REFLECTED IN HIS THEATER, AND ADDED, IN ALL ART, INCLUDING VISUAL NEOBARROCO FILM AND VIDEOS, NOT WHAT I SAY, BUT ONE (AND MANY MORE) EUROPEANOR AT LEAST A BRILLIANT EUROPEAN AND BERNHART, WHO SEDUCED BY MOLIERE, RUNS LATIN AMERICA AND AFRICA.

AMILCAR LEGAZKUEMONTEVIDEO
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MEDICAL EMERGENCY

As always in life ...

MEDICAL EMERGENCY

Aniceto had a prophetic crisis, but without charisma.

A verbal incontinence that constantly threatened with punishment of plagues and catastrophes, inside the old hospital Chinandenga and great erudition and coherence.

Injected with anti-inflammatory and snores placidly neuroleptics.

So, every week, the family bring him to emergency in order the threats become a peaceful tropical nap

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

proctologist

It's a very male guajiro but was an amateur to the prostate massage and every week at firm waits his turn.

The proctologo shouts

That comes a nurse. This sick man got me rotten. Or he goes to Japan.

-------------------------------------------------- ------

IMMIGRANT NEW YEAR

Says the Caribbean:

_Look at this sky, no stars have and this water is not like my water sea. In my country the sky and water are so beautiful that you never forget.

Southern says:

_As my little country there is none.

And Peru, invited by the ambassador to dine with the President;

_This ceviche is very wrong. Not as in my country ....

----

Amilcar Legazcue ORLO TALKING WITH ARCO 2000 -Montevideo. Uruguay.

MOTHER MAMA GLORIA. MY HEROINE ·#glaucoma, #blind, #colicos, #cuba, #cuban coffe, #cuban pizzeria, #diabetes mellitus, #guantanamo, #mom punta del este, #river guaso, #uruguay

GUANTANAMO: MAMA GLORIA. MY HEROINE

GUANTÁNAMO: MAMÁ GLORIA. MY HEROINE.

   I had the prohibition of Cuba not visiting my relatives for 17 years.

  I called Mama Gloria by phone every month.

  - How do you feel, mom?

  - Barbara, son. And you. How are you doing?

  - Macanudo, missing you a lot ...

   - Oh, son. Here there is no coffee, no oil, no fresh bread, no flour. Castro has taken everything away from us.

    She said with humor. And I warned:

   -Mom! look that Security of State can you hear! ...

  - I'm old to be afraid of that party of snitches ... Now they are selling us red pea ... They say that they cultivate them secretly in the red lands of Baracoa.

   -Okay, Mom. But ... What's new?

   - Good. You know that my only condition is that I'm blind ... Your cousin M... died ... of intestinal cancer and your other cousin Fe ... of lung cancer for smoking like a coffee pot. But life goes on, son, we all go to the hollow sooner or later. I speak to God directly and I do not trust the priests anymore. Sometimes I give him a scandal in silence or I apologize, that according to the evil or good that surrounds us.

  Mother had suffered the loss of two grown children and my father. She cried at times but said it was the will of the highest and continued with her good humor and joy.

     Between my brother and I, we brought her to Uruguay with my youngest brother who had stayed in Cuba. Great emotion to see them I felt after so many years.

  -Let's go. No crying Here I am whole and happy to see you both.

  We hosted them in the house of my brother and my Uruguayan sister-in-law in front of the beach with the freshness of the sea and the spicy sun of the first days of autumn. Here in this "fashion" area the houses have no number but they have a sign in front that says "The jasmine" or "The eucalyptus" and my brother who had already had many years in Punta named the house, painted on a ornamental stone "Casa Gloria" in honor of Mama.

  My little brother told me:

  -She says she sees nothing, that she is blind, but she said goodbye to the woman who took care of her and she cleaned the sidewalk with her broom and saw the 8 pm novel in Cuba.
   The family watched her and said:
  - Grandmother, but you see something.
  - Yes. But I see everything as between a cloud.
   -So, how do you see the dust in the corridor?
  - Do not ask. No more question. And the novel I do not see ... I hear it.
  The first time we took her to a large supermarket she said:

   -But what a big store! Are not lost among so many shelves? Are there guides here?

   We show you all the shopping by walking among the gondolas full of articles and food.

  - The Virgin Mary! But how many things that do not need. I have a piece of meat, a plate of beans with rice, I'm satisfied. Ahh. Are those chorizos?

   -Yes, mom, of all tastes and sizes- my brother said.

   "Well, you my sons buy me  some ... that Castro destroyed them and my Galician family and my late mother prepared them in the patio of the house on the edge of the river Guaso and I got used to eating them, I have a craving for chorizos.

  A few days later a Galician cousin of my mother made a lunch in her honor at the hotel of which she was the owner.

  The table was full of succulent delicacies. Mama without asking permission grabbed a quarter of roasted chicken and ate it with her hands without ceremony. Then a plate of roast pork with vegetables was served. She was taking it out of the past when the dictatorship had deprived her of those foods.

   I only ate roast pork and some vegetables because my diabetes had already been discovered and I was under treatment with oral hypoglycaemic agents. I had not said anything to Mom.

  The hotel baker had made a peach pie or peaches and a lot of meringue. I could not resist the temptation and I ate a good piece. Suddenly it gave me urgent wishes to go to the bathroom. On the way I found the confectioner who had glaucoma, a bulging eye and looking away as opposed to the otherwise healthy eye. Also my little brother who was going to the bathroom.

  Then the unexpected happened, a resounding gas rumbled in space and I ran to the toilet.

   Later my little brother, who had witnessed my situation with the baker, told me:

   - Compay, throw yourself a gas that the woman straightened her eye and got stuck inside!

  I laughed at his words. It was one of the jokes that we later commented on as a family and we all laughed, especially my mother.

    That night my mother was awakened by an intestinal colic from the filling that had occurred at the hotel lunch.

    I examined her.

    -It's an intake mom. You ate too much Your enzymes to digest so much unusual food have fallen asleep. Go now to the bathroom and evacuate.

  That's what my dear old woman did and then, relieved, she fell asleep next to my little brother like a girl.

     Mom did not like the cartridges packed or in blister of coffee that we bought them:

  -This is not coffee, very refined and glazed. I like coffee beans that in Cuba I toasted in a cauldron  with brown sugar. That was good coffee. Not this synthetic, be it Colombian or Brazilian. Nothing like a Cuban coffee cup.

   After two months of staying at my brother's house and listening to songs from Celia Cruz and Marco Antonio Solís under a parasol on the terrace, my mother had a missing for her house in Cuba and said she wanted to leave. My little brother who had opened a pizzeria next to home about a year ago was also worried about how the business was doing.

   And they left.

  When I called her days later on the phone she told me with humor:

   - There is no coffee, no oil, no rice, just pea of Baracoa.

    And I did not see her again until after 17 years they allowed me to visit my family.

   I love you so much old lady. She is heroine.

                                            Dr  Orlando Vicente Álvarez



see CLIK HERE

https://www.amazon.es/Memorias-niño-guantanamero-Guantanamero-Cuba/dp/1520725884/ref=sr_1_18?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1542808723&sr=1-18&refinements=p_27%3AOrlando+Alvarez

.......

Saturday, May 11, 2019

PARA MAMÁ GLORIA EN SU DIA. DE SU HIJO ORLANDO.

MAMÁ GLORIA, ESTA FLOR ES PARA TI. AUNQUE LA DISTANCIA NOS SEPARE, SIEMPRE ESTARÁS EN MI CORAZÓN Y EN MIS SUEÑOS. TE EXTRAÑO SIEMPRE.
QUE DIOS TE SIGA BENDICIENDO.

    TU HIJO  ORLANDO VICENTE

Guantanamo: How to get a COUPLE by spiritual design.

GUANTÁNAMO:HOW TO GET A COUPLE BY SPIRITUAL DESIGN

    They were two friends who had reached their thirties without getting a husband. And that they went to dances, revelry and carnivals. But nothing. They were condemned to be "pa 'tias" forever.
    One was stuck in flesh, blonde but had a defect: she talked non-stop with that verbal incontinence with which they are born - she reminds me of Fidel Castro - but this did not stop until they silenced her with a gesture.
   The other was a beautiful mulatto woman, with a graceful body and straight hair but she lacked that not know what women have to have to attract a boyfriend or husband.
   They informed and went with a Babalao-leader of a religion brought from Africa that syncretized with the Catholic Church.
    They raised the problem. The Babalao, in exchange for two very large cocks and two bottles of rum, gave them a "job" they drank in order to get a husband.
   The girls went to a wooded area on the banks of the river Guaso. They had to take off the blúmer or bombacha they were wearing. Wash them in the water and let them be swept away by the current of the river.But they had not noticed a narrow path through the trees. When they were naked, when the blúmer had been thrown into the water, they heard a shouting of men who had seen them and were approaching libidinous, voracious and excited.
   The girls put on their pants quickly, scared, without blúmer, and ran terrified through the forest to a bus stop that was lost in the middle of the trees.Excited youth could not reach them.
    The Oricha was right. Not a husband but several potential males. They returned to their more calm homes.
    The plump blonde one day fell on the sidewalk on her knees and a handsome young man gently raised her. It was love at first sight. The girl was cured of her native verbiage, married the young man and had a daughter who spoke before her teeth came out, she crawled or ate solids.
    The brunette was ennobled with a black as two meters that made her scream with pleasure and the sounds were heard half a block That was a scandals of the good  wives and a joy to the men.
  And so the chronicle ended, which is true.
   There is no such thing as an Oricha to get married in Guantánamo.

                                                   DR   Orlando Vicente Álvarez

CUBANO URUGUAYO
GENIO


read
https://www.amazon.com/Memorias-niño-guantanamero-Guantanamero-Spanish/dp/1520725884

Mariela Castro Espin eating lobster with her friend

MARIELA CASTRO ESPIN EATING LOBSTER WITH HER FRIENDS

    Another publicity photo of the regime is circulating in the international media - not the Cubans - where the princess  in chief eating lobsters with some supposed friends. And the propaganda of the system says that President Diaz-Canel has succeeded in his Twitter and that he makes a "triumphant" view of the province of Guantánamo, reigning millenary factories, rediscovering the fertile valley of Caujerí, following in the footsteps of Martí, Maceo and Máximo Gomez-It does not sound familiar to you this voyage that another tyrant visited decades ago- And the cameras do not miss detail. 
   Knowing the Cuban system sociologically and psychologically means that now they are desperate because the end is near, to give a blow of anger to the opposition especially to the Cubans of the diaspora.
  They only resort to these methods when they want to exasperate their enemies, how good everything is and even how they eat lobster, forbidden the simple people to exasperate their enemies.
   The new generation is fed up with slavery and longs for freedom but they do not have the tradition or the true courage of our heroes of independence. Only escape from the country by any means or travel abroad to bring trinkets that all Cubans crave.
   And they have resorted to the figure of Fidel Castro because they have nothing new to say. Now that President Trump has hardened his position - something populist but effective - against the Cuban regime, they have revivered to a behavior of the old dictatorial systems: joy, good face and no fear. When intuitively they see how the left of Latin America falters.
    Brazil has been the first example. And the Cuban leaders now know that the end is near. All because it is natural with a young population that knows more about Democracy than previous generations but are afraid.
 .MARIELA CASTRO laughs eating lobster before the cameras for external consumption. But they are afraid, very afraid, more than ever, that the final collapse is approaching.
                          
                                                            .Orlando Vicente Álvarez

lea  https://www.amazon.com/Memorias-niño-guantanamero-Guantanamero-Spanish/dp/1520725884

GUANTANAMO: MAMA GLORIA. MY HEROINE

GUANTÁNAMO: MOMÁ GLORIA. MY HEROINE.

   I had the prohibition of Cuba not visiting my relatives for 17 years.

  I called Mama Gloria by phone every month.

  - How do you feel, mom?

  - Barbara, son. And you. How are you doing?

  - Macanudo, missing you a lot ...

   - Oh, son. Here there is no coffee, no oil, no fresh bread, no flour. Castro has taken everything away from us.

    She said with humor. And I warned:

   -Mom! look that Security of State can you hear! ...

  - I'm old to be afraid of that party of snitches ... Now they are selling us red pea ... They say that they cultivate them secretly in the red lands of Baracoa.

   -Okay, Mom. But ... What's new?

   - Good. You know that my only condition is that I'm blind ... Your cousin M... died ... of intestinal cancer and your other cousin Fe ... of lung cancer for smoking like a coffee pot. But life goes on, son, we all go to the hollow sooner or later. I speak to God directly and I do not trust the priests anymore. Sometimes I give him a scandal in silence or I apologize, that according to the evil or good that surrounds us.

  Mother had suffered the loss of two grown children and my father. She cried at times but said it was the will of the highest and continued with her good humor and joy.

     Between my brother and I, we brought her to Uruguay with my youngest brother who had stayed in Cuba. Great emotion to see them I felt after so many years.

  -Let's go. No crying Here I am whole and happy to see you both.

  We hosted them in the house of my brother and my Uruguayan sister-in-law in front of the beach with the freshness of the sea and the spicy sun of the first days of autumn. Here in this "fashion" area the houses have no number but they have a sign in front that says "The jasmine" or "The eucalyptus" and my brother who had already had many years in Punta named the house, painted on a ornamental stone "Casa Gloria" in honor of Mama.

  My little brother told me:

  -She says she sees nothing, that she is blind, but she said goodbye to the woman who took care of her and she cleaned the sidewalk with her broom and saw the 8 pm novel in Cuba.
   The family watched her and said:
  - Grandmother, but you see something.
  - Yes. But I see everything as between a cloud.
   -So, how do you see the dust in the corridor?
  - Do not ask. No more question. And the novel I do not see ... I hear it.
  The first time we took her to a large supermarket she said:

   -But what a big store! Are not lost among so many shelves? Are there guides here?

   We show you all the shopping by walking among the gondolas full of articles and food.

  - The Virgin Mary! But how many things that do not need. I have a piece of meat, a plate of beans with rice, I'm satisfied. Ahh. Are those chorizos?

   -Yes, mom, of all tastes and sizes- my brother said.

   "Well, you my sons buy me  some ... that Castro destroyed them and my Galician family and my late mother prepared them in the patio of the house on the edge of the river Guaso and I got used to eating them, I have a craving for chorizos.

  A few days later a Galician cousin of my mother made a lunch in her honor at the hotel of which she was the owner.

  The table was full of succulent delicacies. Mama without asking permission grabbed a quarter of roasted chicken and ate it with her hands without ceremony. Then a plate of roast pork with vegetables was served. She was taking it out of the past when the dictatorship had deprived her of those foods.

   I only ate roast pork and some vegetables because my diabetes had already been discovered and I was under treatment with oral hypoglycaemic agents. I had not said anything to Mom.

  The hotel baker had made a peach pie or peaches and a lot of meringue. I could not resist the temptation and I ate a good piece. Suddenly it gave me urgent wishes to go to the bathroom. On the way I found the confectioner who had glaucoma, a bulging eye and looking away as opposed to the otherwise healthy eye. Also my little brother who was going to the bathroom.

  Then the unexpected happened, a resounding gas rumbled in space and I ran to the toilet.

   Later my little brother, who had witnessed my situation with the baker, told me:

   - Compay, throw yourself a gas that the woman straightened her eye and got stuck inside!

  I laughed at his words. It was one of the jokes that we later commented on as a family and we all laughed, especially my mother.

    That night my mother was awakened by an intestinal colic from the filling that had occurred at the hotel lunch.

    I examined her.

    -It's an intake mom. You ate too much Your enzymes to digest so much unusual food have fallen asleep. Go now to the bathroom and evacuate.

  That's what my dear old woman did and then, relieved, she fell asleep next to my little brother like a girl.

     Mom did not like the cartridges packed or in blister of coffee that we bought them:

  -This is not coffee, very refined and glazed. I like coffee beans that in Cuba I toasted in a cauldron  with brown sugar. That was good coffee. Not this synthetic, be it Colombian or Brazilian. Nothing like a Cuban coffee cup.

   After two months of staying at my brother's house and listening to songs from Celia Cruz and Marco Antonio Solís under a parasol on the terrace, my mother had a missing for her house in Cuba and said she wanted to leave. My little brother who had opened a pizzeria next to home about a year ago was also worried about how the business was doing.

   And they left.

  When I called her days later on the phone she told me with humor:

   - There is no coffee, no oil, no rice, just pea of Baracoa.

    And I did not see her again until after 17 years they allowed me to visit my family.

   I love you so much old lady. She is heroine.

                                                  Orlando Vicente Álvarez



see

https://www.amazon.es/Memorias-niño-guantanamero-Guantanamero-Cuba/dp/1520725884/ref=sr_1_18?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1542808723&sr=1-18&refinements=p_27%3AOrlando+Alvarez

SELENA: LAS DIOSAS MUEREN JÓVENES

  SELENA: LAS DIOSAS MUEREN JÓVENES

   Cuando mi hija de 7 u 8 años empecé a notar su talento natural para la música y cuando yo ponía en el toca disco música norteamericana, me sorprendió escucharla cantando fragmentos de la canción The way we were cantada por Barbra  Straisand y yo aproveché mis conocimientos del idioma ingles para cantarla al unísono con mi hija.

    Con su voz aguda llegaba a registros a los que yo no podía llegar “Memories like a calling of my mind…” hasta que se aprendió la canción completa. Pero era tímida para cantarla en público en la Iglesia. No conocía el significado de la letra pero los niños si se les enseña tempranamente cantan cualquier idioma si se les enseñe bien.

   También hacíamos dúo con la canción de Nat King Cole y de su hija Natilla Cole “Unforgetable" en la que nos acoplábamos perfectamente, hasta que sucedió algo.

  En la esquina abrieron una pizzería en el corredor de una casa y ponían tecno-cumbias de la cantante Texo-mexicana SELENA y ahí se acabó toda la fascinación de mi hija con la música norteamericana.

   Yo tuve que conseguirle un walk Man con un casete de Selena y con los auriculares puestos  se volcaba en la cama con los ojos cerrados como si soñara pero no cantaba aquellas melodías, solo le gustaba escuchar a aquella joven en un nuevo ritmo que recién había entrado en Cuba.

  Al punto fue su obsesión con Selena que tuve que llevarla al cine América-el más grande de la ciudad de Guantánamo- que para entonces no tenía piezas de películas para proyectar en la gran pantalla y por un módico precio colocaban un viejo televisor en colores donde pasaban documentales y películas. Entre estos, la vida y el asesinato de aquella cantante texana, que en el pináculo de su gloria recibió un disparo en el hombro de su asistente Yolanda Zaldívar a la temprana edad de 23 años. Mi hija lloró cuando en una representación dramática de Selena en el lobby del Hotel fallece.

  Todavía no se había filmado la vida de la cantante, esteralizada por Jennifer López, que no sé si mi hija la vio-lo dudo pues yo me había asilado en Uruguay y vi el film aquí en 1997-. No creo que la hayan pasado en Cuba.

   Así  dejé a mi hija. En sus primeras cartas me mencionaba la canción de Barbra Straisand y de Nat King Cole, pero ya no me hablaba de Selena. Su talento para la música lo olvidó en parte por mi culpa, entre otras razones que no quiero mencionar aquí, al “quedarme”  en Uruguay.

  Años después, siendo ella una bella señorita vino al Uruguay a acompañarme y a trabajar.

  Le pregunte recién si se acordaba de las tardes en que cantábamos las canciones americanas y me dijo. –No Pa, eso quedo en el pasado y fuera de mis recuerdos.-

  Yo quedé triste por un momento pero la vida es así. No se puede estar anclado al pasado, ahora mirar hacia adelante y remover todo trazo de la cultura caribeña y norteamerica,  pero no le veo ningún entusiasmo por la música del Rio de la Plata.  

  Selena Quintanilla Pérez (Lake Jackson, 16 de abril de 1971-Corpus Christi, 31 de marzo de 1995) fue una cantante estadounidense de ascendencia mexicana de tex-mex, ranchera, balada, pop latino y cumbia mexicana, además de empresaria, modelo, actriz y diseñadora de moda. Le dieron cadena perpetua y ella en el documental murmura que entre la cantante y ella existía una conexión especial que se llevaría a la muerte como un gran secreto que solo le pertenecía a las dos.