OSCAR JOSE LOPEZ
Born in 1973 he prepares his doctoral thesis on the relationship between the Generation of ’27 and cinematographer. He collaborates as a columnist for the newspaper “La Opinion”. Coordinator of the literary magazine the underground house, has published stories, poems, essays and articles in various journals and anthologies, some of whom have also earned awards in various fields- and is the author of poetic platelet New Gods (Notebooks Laptops, Murcia, in press).
If you want to get an idea of where the road passes its literature, I’m afraid you will have to read, since each of the things you read or which would influence witnesses. ‘Little personality’. He rather talks about a deeply emotional nature of insatiable curiosity. He loves, for example, in the lyrical terrain, heterónimos, and among his favorites include Oscar Tropovski author of the poems and praise of Pilar Sarabia bala–author of fifteen years in Berlin -. ‘Creative promiscuity’. Okay, we’re getting there.
A PLAYGROUND FOR ETERNITY
Miranda in the mirror was more open legs on the couch in the real Miranda leaned trembling. It was like a makeshift examination before a relentless unforeseen court. Saliva was water dew tomorrow intrusive windows deposited in both fleshy petals of her mouth. And saliva was carried by the index Miranda to mix with that other water dew hot morning through the open windows deposited in the round, fleshy, perfect fruit except the slot that halved to show part of its content, appealing for invitation. I could feel those invisible eyes putting all your attention on it. Why mom bought this haunted house populated?
Miranda wondered as he continued stroking his crotch dark pink, that part of herself that was itself, feeding itself, absorbed in their own liquid breathing. Why we moved into this old house almost in ruins, before Mom and young director of the school where he had gone to work, Mom’s first friend in the village, make it a habitable place, rather than living?
The truth is that within a short time had miraculously managed to turn this site into a hopeless garden perfect for everyone, Miranda and his brother … and games for Mom also supposed Miranda; and for the young director, as so frequently he visited them, often with gifts. And ghosts, sure in a garden perfect game for them too.
One day her mother with a huge manual astronomy deployed in her lap, explained why his name Miranda is one of the thirteen moons of Jupiter available. But no more: its surface is the strangest, and by far among those of all celestial objects in the solar system. The most irregular and fascinating, which with ridiculously small tops that leave our proudest land ridges, potholes and chasms occur for which you would take you weeks to fall to the bottom.
Miranda looked fascinated mom, though perhaps only he could see, rather than its face, the fantastic and rabidly orange surface of its namesake TV that his mother had just described with such scientific accuracy and at the same time with this fascinating ability of translation towards the most unexpected, idyllic, impossible places that only have dreams. Miranda opened further their little legs, not letting his reflection or be at a disadvantage throw against him, and that the glass could not be seen too, the mixture of water that came together reacting between her legs, she flowing, warm feeling in his fingers.
So hot, in his fingers, and while fresh, as are all the recent discoveries. Miranda began to enjoy the sparks as he had never enjoyed anything before: her dolls, games, books and models of astronomy, and the morning was blowing her hair because coming intruder, whistling through the windows, and played with them like a mother could thus demonstrating his love for her child, her favorite child, the chosen forever, the favorite for eternity.
Come on, Miranda, eat cherry.
The Miranda in the mirror trying some obscene laughter, the Miranda on the couch and still appreciated them and stimulating their internal stream and sparks. The first time I saw my mom crying. When? Since I can remember mother cried forever. Always alone, but often surprised Miranda. The spying silently, crying. Maybe I missed dad, she knew that there was a dad once. She could not miss him, as did his mother, because she never knew. He said his brother did miss him, but he did not, of course, got to know. You do not miss Dad, you said Miranda, but a ghost. A ghost.
One more than all the ghosts that inhabit silent, invisible, by spying, our strange lives. But his brother twisted his head, stubborn, and showed his incomprehension, did not understand the words, explicit, clear, was very clear, explanations of it. Sometimes he infuriated by his stubbornness. It was like all the kids at school: a bunch of apes. Why were so stubborn, so short, the guys ?, Miranda wondered.
Of course, the young director of the school was something else, he was not like the other boys; Miranda understood to make Mom happy. The first time he saw below him mom, when? Ah, yes he recalls. It gave back half without making the slightest noise went to his brother, to wake him, and dragged him into the bedroom Mom. What they do, brother, what they do, whispered.
Are the Cheating
Mom moaned, with open legs, clawing back, extended chin toward the ceiling, and he sank his taut, beautiful ass, with a regular cadence between the legs of mom. His brother tried to talk her back to bed, said it was wrong to spy it, but she kept looking, very serious. He also continued to stare, dumbfounded. Then he took out his thing and started masturbating. She was amused by the gesture and the thing wiggle face idiot who put so he giggled; very slight, but not enough. Mom and director stopped, as if they had been frozen.
Miranda and his brother had time to return to his room quietly, before the manager came out to check their presence. But he was disappointed; the truth is that some teachers had become when to be quiet, when moving around the house. They were like ghosts, yes. Two more ghosts in a haunted house, she explained Miranda his brother to the boredom of it, too big and too realistic, “do you say, what nonsense, what you say, do not understand” too stubborn, stubborn, to I believe in ghosts, in Miranda things, things go, yes.
Eat your cherry that, ‘he said someone Miranda and Miranda again go through all the other times he had caught mom and principal on top of each other, making it that … what he called his brother? Fuck, yes. Or kneel facing each other, is that this took turns, it was not exactly the same but something would have to fuck to do, supposed Miranda, because the effect was very similar. The director made his mother very happy, that was clear, but it is also true that mom still sometimes still crying.
What immense sorrow of mother, like an ocean swimmer sad as the director, however expert they were his strokes, he would be unable to overcome all ever. But what beautiful, her sadness. Miranda felt the sadness, now, to remember it, knotted at the back of her sex, huge, beautiful.
Eat your cherry, Miranda ‘I repeated, but what Cherry had to eat or when to end the test? Who, apart from Miranda in the mirror, he was to judge, and what was or were examining?
Ugh closet -from his brother came out unexpectedly, with its deep in a huge erection under the skirt of his shirt cock. I will blow his cock.
Eat your cherry, Miranda Miranda repeated, but the other, from the glass in the mirror. The breeze rocked the hairs on the sofa Miranda was to also caress the cock of her brother. His brother, again, said “ugh” and a pure semen framework emerged from the small hole and was propelled into the powerful mirror glass. The Miranda in the mirror tested a white smile, to Miranda on the couch liked seeing the semen spilled on the mouth of his mirror image.
The waters were still ongoing, down, and Miranda stuck his tongue between his teeth as if he could hold them up as from this dam flesh. A second arc seed now spotted the dam, and the next two or three, and smaller and that marked the end of the activity supplier, was lovingly collected by the breeze mother, in her hand open bowl-shaped under the tip Boy’s cock. Miranda smiled to respond to your reflection, but he intimidated the presence of something between his teeth between his lips.
His brother ran to the stairs, his head disappeared quickly down the bars of the railing and the floor of the room. I went to that big house, newly created home for all of them to the area where the ghosts were perhaps less obvious, but remained, as up there, a huge playground for eternity. Miranda knew the eternal place. She knew eternal, in that time the flames were in crescendo sex but at the same time seemed to stop; in such peak, as if they had always been so since time immemorial. Algid, magnificent, eternal. The Miranda in the mirror returned his gaze on the couch Miranda expectantly examiner invitatory.
Miranda followed causing currents and flames until the curtains of the attic were suspended on the windows and Western spirits because the breeze was still, in his whisper that was speechless, ecstatic, like a dancer suspended suddenly in the air, paralyzed. It was undoubtedly a world palsy, all of them. It was the stillness that had to get to Mom stop mourn, for his brother meneándosela continue forever, so that the young principal remained the stealth carrier momentary happiness mom. For the ghosts followed, they spied them all forever, Miranda burn in flames newly discovered also that game forever, never grow to its curious twin mirror, never grow two, playful, hungry, creating ghost and therefore goddesses, goddesses gardens created for them by themselves.
Therein lies the secret of all their lives, the conspirators gardens, never grow, algid flames forever, chisels for anyone who would use that closed and perfect as dollhouses or fairy tales happiness. Time ceased to run and it ended to close, and become the perfect order, immovable, eternal, while Miranda, victorious in the mirror, goddess of cherries and gardens of eternal games engine flows that destroy and create the worlds, worlds like this, closed, eternal, perfect, but with the deepest chasms and irregular, too, and amazing, wonderful, the whole solar system, while Miranda, at last, the end came, it was time, and came, he came. He ran.
