I look up a silly story Cortazar in which readers rightly guided by their "shepherds" (all those memos I always paint something in literature, as well as critics, as well as "creators") thought they saw nothing less than a lucidísima, so brief, critique of the horrendous fact that is Argentina!, and go for a whole century to be an ugly fact and no sign of output, which happens on the other hand with Mother Russia (the universal revulsion that is Spain, speak my living tomb for forty years of suffering therefore nothing more to say); horrendous fact that you threw Argentina home to go to the house France or any other house, where they cook the beans of corruption and indecency, but not with the same shame the Third World. To which Cortázar, I think, in an interview with the television media of the time, 1977 in Spain, the only television, especially movies Franco to put up with what is happening in your particular property to which the fascists said Homeland (Patria, private house of Franco and them fascists. The other lodgers without a name, and when they put dumb, lifeless. SOMETHING LIKE NOW, BUT WITH SHOT IN THE NECK OR FROM A NINTH FLOOR Defenestration FROM WHICH THE CAST AND shackled O "IS SUICIDE" BECAUSE NO ONE SHOT), to which Cortázar said flatly "no", did not write that story from the instance of someone who has been expelled from his home and shackled to any other prison "homeland", but merely the silly story was based on a dream or a nightmare. Something pushed him out, something fell down with deep discomfort for him to wake up if it was a nightmare, but apparently with great joy as you read the story.
course it may well be a parable of both the fact that the absolute suffocation of what devolves, and is your home "home", you dispose of your townspeople horizons degrading to the caves (now that you showed, what made from their "horizons" of "modernity" degrading the absolute stupidity, the bad thing is you know that there is no place on earth where you can leave, knowing that I'm carrying in my teens) As, and Parable of the most current, the outlook for children who do not go home ever since living expenses paid table set and without detracting from the salary entirely devoted to the vices, that is to interact and rosary clubs and other meeting places, or euro cent for rent or mortgage ceiling that makes you to save your ass from the elements. And it seems that in his story Cortázar fool, which you have left an aftertaste clash of knitting needles, I do not think that you have left over (perhaps a Pyrrhic struggle filed with knitting needles, passing like a shadow lines against the evil of incest), feels infinite joy because the "decision" of the house Finally I take out the night air, he, or his protagonist and his sister, so they take out the clean air of the night despite the remaining fifteen thousand pesos together with all in the not too blessed home when key throws it, nothing more sales, a manhole.
I also feel that blessed night air of liberation, if by a culvert could throw the key ... EVERYTHING. Key to the World, Oh Lord!
and looked up the story of Cortázar ... But I think this is another story, a sentence reminding him, is "the devil's spit" can be?, Another phrase that Gomez de la Serna said about the destination, such that neither written in capital letters: "The best that there is 'supervisor of clouds', lying in a hammock looking at the sky."
A convenient destination that we would all ... Although we had to write stories occasionally silly. And all the fucking incest, or desires of the same, behind it?! And all the fucking pisotearte to the skull as if they would not stay with you and the juice, to no licuefactarte or pulverizarte, until you less than that: anything?! How many millions of hours spent writing (witness Cortázar, or any otr @ from beyond) to make it from you one, or ones, silly stories, or too more weight, as the start of "slime", which starts where it should end, if not tell anyone I will not, someone has to do even giving up the happy hammock "supervisor of clouds", or how many millions of hours worked for you is not even that, by the desire of all, all, everything around you to make yourself worse than licuefactarte, pulverizarte, based on pisotearte at all times until the skull is not you. .. anything, silly story?!
And I'm with destiny elsewhere, or another of my journals. As fate if anything, is that it gives to all. Although no rosary walks phraseology famous for almost every word in the dictionary! What Who pays those "supervisors" of the alphabet or dictionary and undeniably more work to enclose the phrase hastiante celebrity in each word of the language?
to end the world 
