tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68841054447686192942024-02-02T12:04:21.625+01:00Cristina García-CaminoCristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-87204597595763511112013-08-30T16:35:00.000+02:002013-08-30T16:35:04.591+02:00imagen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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...."Más vale una imagen que mil mentiras". <i>J. Fontcuberta</i>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-50249005324808224062013-08-10T19:34:00.005+02:002013-08-10T19:34:32.948+02:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeNIsWcUXxTDQ7L5h9Amjmxc66NynPa1ZKreK57mnot1h7Mdky4Jw6F9NzxKWWui3r90Nzhkt1IoK69nO3OjTlHV7De_GxzQuYSjQAK5iZXFRLdxxhRn5fK8SAEx2EZz6ya4bFoxyIGal/s1600/DSC_0045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeNIsWcUXxTDQ7L5h9Amjmxc66NynPa1ZKreK57mnot1h7Mdky4Jw6F9NzxKWWui3r90Nzhkt1IoK69nO3OjTlHV7De_GxzQuYSjQAK5iZXFRLdxxhRn5fK8SAEx2EZz6ya4bFoxyIGal/s320/DSC_0045.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
No habrá sino recuerdos. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh tardes merecidas por la pena, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
noches esperanzadas de mirarte, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
campos de mi camino, firmamento </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
que estoy viendo y perdiendo...</div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; overflow: hidden;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">J.L.Borges</span></div>
</div>
Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-59442761175825120372013-07-31T10:35:00.001+02:002013-08-10T19:35:43.126+02:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRIMYu6fhkg3Xw7g_-kHSfD5au9hlT7UUv20dsyDILThtFSJmGd9FebN37cJJvXtVTlIS5jlywmXsu6PM7G78r_mHqYJaUT6ya-16pUdp5Pe1F4LS7C8vDzoTspdLyy9M_pdiwEbV12KuE/s1600/DSC_0020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRIMYu6fhkg3Xw7g_-kHSfD5au9hlT7UUv20dsyDILThtFSJmGd9FebN37cJJvXtVTlIS5jlywmXsu6PM7G78r_mHqYJaUT6ya-16pUdp5Pe1F4LS7C8vDzoTspdLyy9M_pdiwEbV12KuE/s320/DSC_0020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000;">Algunos días no viene el ruiseñor,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #660000;">otros dos veces.</span></div>
Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-55512240915417080992013-04-19T00:17:00.001+02:002013-04-19T20:08:04.850+02:00frio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHU2X4ptwJoyePgGMWdCdRHDuqR7pcgy3_e2gNRmBPCGuy69mWnhqBM49mq1rntu5YvAuxz_XKdbhr-W7x8NcCuLwHuQ74yGOiLpg2Hx2iAJQSoYTpWWrfWQIc_tyFXIrHZUckPLBAFpgh/s1600/2013-01-13+22.34.52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHU2X4ptwJoyePgGMWdCdRHDuqR7pcgy3_e2gNRmBPCGuy69mWnhqBM49mq1rntu5YvAuxz_XKdbhr-W7x8NcCuLwHuQ74yGOiLpg2Hx2iAJQSoYTpWWrfWQIc_tyFXIrHZUckPLBAFpgh/s320/2013-01-13+22.34.52.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tu cabello en sus manos; arde en las manos el vigilante de la nieve.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A. Gamoneda</i></div>
Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-70606899540105507792013-04-18T08:56:00.001+02:002013-08-30T17:05:42.472+02:00Amor<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8isyMN7WG8YxE1HV0T97kmxuVtkOhejWVLosunRhL8TCguMYcpb86qbQljfL7g07B17w5KOhyLqtyrKhawBt7NH0pEXlzcv8bUaZV4CMXTj7Z1PmxVgyy0Eth4Czura0KYk824LeCorL/s1600/nido.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8isyMN7WG8YxE1HV0T97kmxuVtkOhejWVLosunRhL8TCguMYcpb86qbQljfL7g07B17w5KOhyLqtyrKhawBt7NH0pEXlzcv8bUaZV4CMXTj7Z1PmxVgyy0Eth4Czura0KYk824LeCorL/s320/nido.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Amor y mar </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
comparten las mismas sílabas </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
por la raíz mojada por la sal.</div>
Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-44810349291562574582013-04-18T08:32:00.004+02:002013-04-18T08:32:43.718+02:00Humildad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcb3vSI1VR3tYb0D1NiwhlnpfwaprE-BEcN91sLW_LKZJj3HyPszRolTnXyaL8yGRITc0jPRWHPzS3MR91zVnVIjZs0qv7x7WOAZqSBYym8zkwmraY4Q1_ha-N8ANX4DRiDGS1N2TWbFB/s1600/DSC_9979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcb3vSI1VR3tYb0D1NiwhlnpfwaprE-BEcN91sLW_LKZJj3HyPszRolTnXyaL8yGRITc0jPRWHPzS3MR91zVnVIjZs0qv7x7WOAZqSBYym8zkwmraY4Q1_ha-N8ANX4DRiDGS1N2TWbFB/s320/DSC_9979.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
....Humildad que da grandeza.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Machado</i></div>
<br />Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-33011050398135588692013-02-15T20:37:00.000+01:002013-02-15T20:37:22.390+01:00video cel wansze<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyew2BVvW9VcG4d6HF2ajgPCIbeLMVp2ESON-WVTChxRE-vsIQTVp6MgguasxeyN6zOAGmpTmHbzEDqDOcLRQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-39968535887078601562013-02-15T11:35:00.001+01:002013-04-18T08:33:54.457+02:00Así era<span style="color: #9bc9bb; font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="ASÍ ERA"></a></span><span style="color: #9bc9bb; font-family: Georgia;">Así era</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9wDVrPXct4vj9Xtb719Pk1QvyC4RhjN8TPbmyu6ikwK6PlPFDfFcPg28QOUjNwAh66TxI3hkuD-REPOri9dSOfN0ERsmM-T5dWT-sQ9zEtVtgoLRnWdsoa_5RdlxIDt0rnMIByU8SlLl/s1600/DSC_0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9wDVrPXct4vj9Xtb719Pk1QvyC4RhjN8TPbmyu6ikwK6PlPFDfFcPg28QOUjNwAh66TxI3hkuD-REPOri9dSOfN0ERsmM-T5dWT-sQ9zEtVtgoLRnWdsoa_5RdlxIDt0rnMIByU8SlLl/s320/DSC_0003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #9bc9bb; font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-87127473661326157982013-01-13T10:07:00.003+01:002013-04-18T08:45:09.162+02:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">Como una mariposa extraña,<br /><br />como el incierto<br /><br />vuelo del pensamiento inacabado,<br /><br />como las gaviotas frente a frente<br /><br />te has ido hacia el jamás.<br /><br />pero queda tu voz,<br /><br />tu encanto de tristeza contenida,<br /><br />tu vuelo hacia el amor,<br /><br />toda tu risa...<br /><br /><i>Luis García-Camino</i></span></div>
Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comSalamanca, España40.9701039 -5.663539700000001240.9221419 -5.7442207000000014 41.018065899999996 -5.582858700000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-25898408385752834692012-12-31T15:17:00.001+01:002013-01-13T10:10:52.754+01:00Instante<em><span style="color: black;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: black;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: black;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: black;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: black;"></span></em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3BDQAMCghBH0Xk0mFu6L3mV7C9B0j7ST4Y-LmTnkI8sPeFz_i3Uu4sxGcSnRqdGSe7f4I9nDQ6NRQ_eQGZiiapKWUaQwo6j1mj6brWjgPH_T3mIW_9tSxeSwqCNC88O3J_1HpI-3cpoj/s1600/barn6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3BDQAMCghBH0Xk0mFu6L3mV7C9B0j7ST4Y-LmTnkI8sPeFz_i3Uu4sxGcSnRqdGSe7f4I9nDQ6NRQ_eQGZiiapKWUaQwo6j1mj6brWjgPH_T3mIW_9tSxeSwqCNC88O3J_1HpI-3cpoj/s1600/barn6.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<em><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: purple;">Todo lo que es hermoso tiene su instante, y pasa.<br /> Importa como eterno gozar de nuestro instante.<br /> Luis Cernuda</span></em>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-55355467711217474742012-09-24T21:09:00.004+02:002013-01-13T10:08:58.426+01:00la mano ajena<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQh97gIu8-8oF8UZupCqRtRLeigzk2TDcrlJ1JubZVmB-CU1d3t4Ew3uqSAiy12_p3w1FUROo9CGAReToWwfpCHRSw_dQdazgBYh-WQVl5m4Dnw15-rotLr-VZrJWCMxGwHZ_-7AXSbLVQ/s1600/josearena6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQh97gIu8-8oF8UZupCqRtRLeigzk2TDcrlJ1JubZVmB-CU1d3t4Ew3uqSAiy12_p3w1FUROo9CGAReToWwfpCHRSw_dQdazgBYh-WQVl5m4Dnw15-rotLr-VZrJWCMxGwHZ_-7AXSbLVQ/s320/josearena6.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Por los besos<br />
Estos mis ojos<br />
Escuecen con la sal<br />
Cuando pasean.<br />
Mercedes RibaCristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-5680606727593390682012-08-14T16:25:00.001+02:002013-01-13T10:11:56.832+01:00loslímites<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIXKYVKViA0tQvwafOg9HaS69YHPVfGH-zmmfJ6gnjA5LrZ0dRb6rBqcZpHBQp7CJXbiGdEmgIMaoIdtzTQNUrAlcq3Z1kVlCqWVeqgdV9H2VEIPLNLzYaIgSph2HKrkVt8Jdfjc6snUJ/s1600/rauqel+szalai1.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIXKYVKViA0tQvwafOg9HaS69YHPVfGH-zmmfJ6gnjA5LrZ0dRb6rBqcZpHBQp7CJXbiGdEmgIMaoIdtzTQNUrAlcq3Z1kVlCqWVeqgdV9H2VEIPLNLzYaIgSph2HKrkVt8Jdfjc6snUJ/s320/rauqel+szalai1.tif" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Veo la sombra coronada por la sustancia roja del crepúsculo </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Cierro los ojos y arden los límites.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="color: #cc0000;">Gamoneda</span></em></div>
Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-27888930315680184022012-08-12T12:12:00.001+02:002013-01-13T10:09:57.791+01:00palabras<a class="my_play my_27" href="http://www.myspace.com/idieguez/music/songs/road-to-marocco-10608166" style="background: url("http://x.myspacecdn.com/modules/common/static/img/playbuttonsprite.png") no-repeat 0px -85px; border: 0px currentColor; display: inline-block; height: 27px; margin: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-indent: -9999px; width: 27px;" title="Road TO Marocco">Road TO Marocco</a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<script defer="true" src="http://www.myspace.com/music/buttons/js"></script><span style="color: #783f04;">Aes tónicas, la eme, superuve,</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">letritas que se ponen a crecer</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">en el patio con niños en la boca,</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">en su chiquilleria y sus hierbajos,</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">su percentil, su tabla de planchar,</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">su voto y su pelea de justicia</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">las letras que se bañan</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">como las nadadoras, las atletas</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">en el azul intenso de la boca,</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">se ponen a crecer, se hacen mayores</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">salen al mundo, duelen, se estremecen</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">y escriben la alegria, el abandono,</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">las redes de agujeros sobre el cuerpo</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">como una tapia rota y demolida</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">que se deja querer por las palabras,</span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="color: #783f04;">No hay forma de poderle a este festejo.</span></div>
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<em>M.A. Pérez López</em>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-34066519374516263722012-08-11T16:36:00.002+02:002013-01-13T10:12:27.725+01:00La Música<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzex8ZYSu7GZD5P93TpsVqm6sd-LEUQCfryOEzut17uNpncZO-9QeOKCuyNQEIMsasu9N1NDCS-tiPe-HCIEnTGg_DCTCW8ryN2IS3gI8T4SlqLANuglNnk0FB9k38L2rsfw-63FMhPUBc/s1600/ieronimus+catedral+nueva.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzex8ZYSu7GZD5P93TpsVqm6sd-LEUQCfryOEzut17uNpncZO-9QeOKCuyNQEIMsasu9N1NDCS-tiPe-HCIEnTGg_DCTCW8ryN2IS3gI8T4SlqLANuglNnk0FB9k38L2rsfw-63FMhPUBc/s320/ieronimus+catedral+nueva.tif" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<h6 class="yiv2000820598uiStreamMessage">
<span class="yiv2000820598messageBody">'La
música atrae a su oyente a la existencia solitaria que precede el nacimiento,
que precede la respiración, que precede el grito,que precede la espiración, que
precede la posibilidad de hablar. <br />De este modo la música se hunde en la
existencia originaria' Butes, Pascal Quignard</span></h6>
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Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-38340877347794786792012-08-07T19:20:00.001+02:002012-08-07T19:20:33.508+02:00Razón de las lágrimas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLc9q-BG88qgWzhPbrhzWttLxvaAL-jR6TXUIxQ-4oGWmEMx5D_-1VAvrxT0kBJuwbPNPDqWWERfTbBARAPTrfIIa9S8g4dvEQquGv_lNXg9X_HrHhJn1GbEtZzPe4Mul0Y4M4mb4S-_p6/s1600/josito2.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLc9q-BG88qgWzhPbrhzWttLxvaAL-jR6TXUIxQ-4oGWmEMx5D_-1VAvrxT0kBJuwbPNPDqWWERfTbBARAPTrfIIa9S8g4dvEQquGv_lNXg9X_HrHhJn1GbEtZzPe4Mul0Y4M4mb4S-_p6/s320/josito2.tif" width="272" /></a></div>
Acaso los amantes acuchillan estrellas<br />
Acaso la aventura apague una tristeza.<br />
Mas tú noche, impulsada por deseos<br />
Hasta la palidez del agua.<br />
Aguardas siempre en pie quien sabe a cuáles ruiseñores.<br />
<em>Luis Cernuda</em>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-89840069843758388732012-06-28T12:32:00.003+02:002012-06-28T12:32:59.391+02:00oscuro silencio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioL9dNEUAHfwi04-wFd3clPY991evZWZT48mcd854AfNTXLytfzF1W6HcL5S1YaP6ubkhtllbRFetlKNERoUo2Js3fUFtCvZf0SueYcyVd6uyAxHCwWPCL9ODKBll25KoQ64spFtcAB1d_/s1600/DSC_2011.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioL9dNEUAHfwi04-wFd3clPY991evZWZT48mcd854AfNTXLytfzF1W6HcL5S1YaP6ubkhtllbRFetlKNERoUo2Js3fUFtCvZf0SueYcyVd6uyAxHCwWPCL9ODKBll25KoQ64spFtcAB1d_/s320/DSC_2011.tif" width="320" /></a></div>
"Queda la duda de amar lo frágil un segundo y que la noche se lo lleve con el corazón latiendo"<br />
Estrella SánchezCristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-20242236503233086522012-03-12T11:48:00.000+01:002012-03-12T11:48:24.789+01:00Fantasía Siento la música<br />
como un carrusel de caballos azules<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7c65U4O8VTEqvtWt4wzcORYsE7B7GOf2crqztHR34p1uVtdEEe_UI-awSKrpBy4eYFqt1ldlFIfZpvUtav1BhPdBqeiF-u6aiqsb88Gmc_VoX_SJ0OtavfP9hu3ydglch2dBafZSUNdSm/s1600/DSC_6975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7c65U4O8VTEqvtWt4wzcORYsE7B7GOf2crqztHR34p1uVtdEEe_UI-awSKrpBy4eYFqt1ldlFIfZpvUtav1BhPdBqeiF-u6aiqsb88Gmc_VoX_SJ0OtavfP9hu3ydglch2dBafZSUNdSm/s320/DSC_6975.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>sin finCristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-64961828110464773262012-02-29T09:37:00.000+01:002012-02-29T09:37:57.485+01:00Debo mucho a quienes no amo<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span> </span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Debo mucho</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">a quienes no amo.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">El alivio con que acepto</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">que son más queridos por otro.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUU0K5bqg106Dd0q_CpfKlqSNXinff2IsY16dp7j7u5fc3Rj-ltY5m6aPjUFz8otpLukpD6i5o-g8k-WupwkP6sR-BwaR6hxmH8B2eSRtX5pR160OBvUPQTBeD-WhsJQHJpFY677z7RIO/s1600/espalda+copia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzUU0K5bqg106Dd0q_CpfKlqSNXinff2IsY16dp7j7u5fc3Rj-ltY5m6aPjUFz8otpLukpD6i5o-g8k-WupwkP6sR-BwaR6hxmH8B2eSRtX5pR160OBvUPQTBeD-WhsJQHJpFY677z7RIO/s320/espalda+copia.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-23187138768219970592012-02-21T19:46:00.003+01:002012-02-22T08:40:25.317+01:00yo ví el cansancio y la ebriedad azul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7up7Q8IgDpXiCqLLlzWA9C4us4ucV7rtzXuzx_ZD9pm9J9VCb_vsOPDaFIZDFOaUtiueR4wmcAhheB0vX3UQuyPObA02kboHmmP8pLadt6tEIILGkaw5HTlmQrXOhFm-3PZ0yAq4kDlD/s1600/caos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7up7Q8IgDpXiCqLLlzWA9C4us4ucV7rtzXuzx_ZD9pm9J9VCb_vsOPDaFIZDFOaUtiueR4wmcAhheB0vX3UQuyPObA02kboHmmP8pLadt6tEIILGkaw5HTlmQrXOhFm-3PZ0yAq4kDlD/s320/caos.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>yo ví el cansancio y la ebriedad azul<br />
y tu bondad como una gran mano avanzando hacia mi corazón<br />
ví los espejos ante los rostros que se negaron a existir: era el tiempo, era el mar, la luz, la ira.<br />
Antonio GamonedaCristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-32761918541983629002012-01-14T13:55:00.000+01:002012-01-14T13:55:20.218+01:00Te quiero<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07eqMQZQ4xrMRF9IAQ8mr45nksn4gR6Fov0LPv26oojpCJNJW5RCXF4KoeXrW3HtFmLKJ72mP8AodaCWXzVO3JHfj3I-Znjc7V8NgsAURN9vEO3ZaOieeTHQV16mmT_gYYLF-mi3pPmjF/s1600/DSC_8704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07eqMQZQ4xrMRF9IAQ8mr45nksn4gR6Fov0LPv26oojpCJNJW5RCXF4KoeXrW3HtFmLKJ72mP8AodaCWXzVO3JHfj3I-Znjc7V8NgsAURN9vEO3ZaOieeTHQV16mmT_gYYLF-mi3pPmjF/s320/DSC_8704.JPG" width="320" /></a>porque el amor y el mar tienen la misma raiz mojada de la sal.</div>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-28633434428521943112011-12-31T10:33:00.000+01:002011-12-31T10:33:48.333+01:00mi alma: carrusel vacío<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeKPsuXhdpt6mdn9SomG5TpnFDOHiuIRnd2OIDLIGCfHlsTQWtIBOraCkDE9b9jKGO6oAZbidpkolAXYzfM6yZUrWZmmc_v8fv3LdyRuzoSJ8z0wwP1izsyq4rLb7FBhoB6f4dXhZe5wDL/s1600/bodeg%25C3%25B3n+musical.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeKPsuXhdpt6mdn9SomG5TpnFDOHiuIRnd2OIDLIGCfHlsTQWtIBOraCkDE9b9jKGO6oAZbidpkolAXYzfM6yZUrWZmmc_v8fv3LdyRuzoSJ8z0wwP1izsyq4rLb7FBhoB6f4dXhZe5wDL/s320/bodeg%25C3%25B3n+musical.jpg" width="212" /></a>Mi alma: carrusel vacío en el crepúsculo.</div>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-83115417829126280772011-11-26T15:58:00.000+01:002011-11-26T15:58:10.791+01:00AlegríaEn mí la siento aunque se esconde. Moja<br />
mis oscuros caminos interiores.<br />
Quién sabe cuántos mágicos rumores <br />
sobre el sombrío corazón deshoja.<br />
<em>José Hierro</em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUxfYKLKrnrlwmutw3iJawOpSqLLCVC_h2aaFt_Vr_VM0YIyTi4p4ur8p66hNcB6fM5jsF10IOld3E2bdivzobmmd81T1lSd3RB_BinYZmXnlaAbQChf9hCOTs8wob_-IQLqBDLMGjEgO/s1600/amor+de+hombre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUxfYKLKrnrlwmutw3iJawOpSqLLCVC_h2aaFt_Vr_VM0YIyTi4p4ur8p66hNcB6fM5jsF10IOld3E2bdivzobmmd81T1lSd3RB_BinYZmXnlaAbQChf9hCOTs8wob_-IQLqBDLMGjEgO/s320/amor+de+hombre.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-20950543321988753002011-11-03T23:41:00.000+01:002011-11-03T23:41:27.017+01:00el desamor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivd4PFmqL_ohNsuTrCziE3XuY7kZELEZz_mNQccHzRJ2qQ0qU-on_VpPMrGAlSqjNHlyWWI-rDlLbGHUSKe5kW9LFyjCkL8CRlEnXYlEmt3Mrxb6UdK5o_BheooiDfwWRZChviZxcQ8ylD/s1600/DSC_6322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivd4PFmqL_ohNsuTrCziE3XuY7kZELEZz_mNQccHzRJ2qQ0qU-on_VpPMrGAlSqjNHlyWWI-rDlLbGHUSKe5kW9LFyjCkL8CRlEnXYlEmt3Mrxb6UdK5o_BheooiDfwWRZChviZxcQ8ylD/s320/DSC_6322.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">La vida sin ver a los amigos vivida</div><div style="text-align: center;">es sueño, con certeza , o muerte</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Rumi</em></div>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-61763096275192104322011-10-24T12:45:00.000+02:002011-10-24T12:45:11.506+02:00El amor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuZX3NaUQiJq2b5DjxqUvoPU3AsbMxRmjz9-agyBqd-80Fd1Cp7RckrkbxD7PODr0Za2jMXQVfOJ30HumcSO_jyUJkuCsXt4hNSRESH3KPNeKn8jIsuM3f5ho3uqRtBG9-ffRVdaYFiIr/s1600/DSC_8345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuZX3NaUQiJq2b5DjxqUvoPU3AsbMxRmjz9-agyBqd-80Fd1Cp7RckrkbxD7PODr0Za2jMXQVfOJ30HumcSO_jyUJkuCsXt4hNSRESH3KPNeKn8jIsuM3f5ho3uqRtBG9-ffRVdaYFiIr/s320/DSC_8345.JPG" width="138" /></a></div>El beso nos hace bilingües<br />
El sujeto pasivo y el complemento agente.<br />
!oh la transitividad del verbo ser!<br />
En el amor también hay evanescencia.<br />
<em>Miguel Ruiz</em>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6884105444768619294.post-69646095397251827012011-10-08T21:26:00.003+02:002011-10-08T21:50:44.672+02:00cigarretes<object height="132" width="353"><embed src="http://www.goear.com/files/external.swf?file=69a8125" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" quality="high" width="353" height="132"></embed></object><br />
Después de todo, todo ha sido nada,<br />
a pesar de que un día lo fue todo.<br />
Después de todo o después de nada <br />
supe que todo no era más que nada.<br />
Grito !Todo! y el eco dice !Nada!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRNXDVx68L5Gu_a_heLuJiWC4KAZq9GRwxhEzWcLuh30U-jP-r_-N0anMe1c5mAJbBN6eryEmUNeK8iybx-TDBmVrOFGTZyMkJrFKCuH406qkgRhV8yLrh3BKvQ8YReR-o0XeP_wJ7tT3/s1600/DSC_4186+Cristi+3%25C2%25AA+azul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRNXDVx68L5Gu_a_heLuJiWC4KAZq9GRwxhEzWcLuh30U-jP-r_-N0anMe1c5mAJbBN6eryEmUNeK8iybx-TDBmVrOFGTZyMkJrFKCuH406qkgRhV8yLrh3BKvQ8YReR-o0XeP_wJ7tT3/s320/DSC_4186+Cristi+3%25C2%25AA+azul.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>grito !Nada! y el eco dice !Todo!<br />
Ahora sé que la nada lo era todo,<br />
y todo era ceniza de la nada.<br />
No queda nada de lo que fue todo<br />
(era ilusión lo que creía todo<br />
y en definitiva era la nada.)<br />
Que más da que la nada fuera nada<br />
si más nada será, después de todo, <br />
después de tanto todo para nada.<br />
<em>J.Hierro</em>Cristina García-Caminohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13379310534879472201noreply@blogger.com