tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1002087862135637372012-02-16T04:21:08.104-08:00Memorias de un AdrianoAdrianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10903186415056898586noreply@blogger.comBlogger61100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100208786213563737.post-36414800541076784942009-04-18T11:45:00.000-07:002009-04-18T11:57:25.489-07:00(etp, ecc)<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2XFtwNdDLRE/Seof9rwHMOI/AAAAAAAAAAo/k6EPav-daNs/s1600-h/Bastilla.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326104653896036578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 263px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2XFtwNdDLRE/Seof9rwHMOI/AAAAAAAAAAo/k6EPav-daNs/s400/Bastilla.jpg" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/100208786213563737-3641480054107678494?l=desmemoriasdeadriano.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Adrianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10903186415056898586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100208786213563737.post-70231100140024071622009-04-18T05:15:00.000-07:002009-04-18T05:24:52.583-07:00(Cigarrillos... humo... puntos suspensivos...)<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ivr0Jx7Yckw&amp;hl=" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" fs="1" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always"></embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/100208786213563737-7023110014002407162?l=desmemoriasdeadriano.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Adrianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10903186415056898586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100208786213563737.post-10991509427958488102009-04-18T05:08:00.000-07:002009-04-18T10:09:38.383-07:00<em>un día del cual tengo ya el recuerdo.</em><br /><br />(César Vallejo. "Piedra negra sobre piedra blanca")<br /><br /><em>Sucede, sin embargo, que es verano.</em><br /><br />(Thelonious Monk)<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326004934347247778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 252px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_2XFtwNdDLRE/SenFRPe-0KI/AAAAAAAAAAg/3tdV715sVpw/s400/paris.jpg" border="0" /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/100208786213563737-1099150942795848810?l=desmemoriasdeadriano.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Adrianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10903186415056898586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100208786213563737.post-90390878930626188482009-04-14T11:42:00.000-07:002009-04-14T11:53:28.994-07:00<div align="justify"><em>Existe un momento en las separaciones en que la persona amada ya no está con nosotros.</em></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br />Gustave Flaubert<em><br /><br /></em><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0_yA53yXrgY&amp;hl=" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" fs="1"></embed></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/100208786213563737-9039087893062618848?l=desmemoriasdeadriano.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Adrianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10903186415056898586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100208786213563737.post-16367245446274989872009-04-13T10:47:00.000-07:002009-04-13T11:38:12.623-07:00<em>Ahora que ya nadie llora a los ruiseñores y todo el mundo escribe poemas...</em><br /><em></em><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rjT86g9gTKk&amp;hl=" width="425" height="344" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" fs="1" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always"></embed><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/100208786213563737-1636724544627498987?l=desmemoriasdeadriano.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Adrianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10903186415056898586noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100208786213563737.post-29960663261933381762009-04-13T07:11:00.000-07:002009-04-13T11:38:51.207-07:00<p align="justify"><em>Y el vaho que asciende de los valles, tienen que hacer como que no es humo, sino la nostalgia que se evapora por las grietas del sueño de los Valientes.</em></p><p align="justify">Odisseas Elytis. "El sueño de los valientes".</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/100208786213563737-2996066326193338176?l=desmemoriasdeadriano.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Adrianohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10903186415056898586noreply@blogger.com6