Restaurant. Interior night.
- The war has no rules!
High voice made me look away from the eyes of my women to the group of six men who dined at the next table. My wife is blonde boat and half a year and playing tricks on me with a coworker. I know because the sms are informers and for now sometimes treat me with a love that knows a conscience and I never asked forgiveness. Between the two of everything has gone wrong always, but that does not stop caring. At the wedding banquet broke up with my parents and when the boy had dyed his hair. Then I knew that I no longer wanted, but kept me on the mortgage and because I make dinner every night. The girl is now two years and it seems all is fair as the rain and adorably quiet and silence.
AtWe both like dining out and looking into each others eyes as if we still wanted, she plays that I want and I pretend that I want when I want, then go home and fuck each to his: she thinking I cheat and I think that I cheated. All is well.
- I can not accept what you say! Deny that war is subject to the law of war is to make an exception that denies its own exception: any transgression needs your standard; justify torture, or death of innocents in war, war is to deny the exception to the coexistence is to give a letter from the independent nature of its opposite, peace, and therefore ethically unjustifiable.
The discussion of the next table grabbed my attention and for a moment I felt envious of their voices and their reasons locked in a trench in which I would have liked to throw myself headlong, hot with them, drinking and not see my wife's eyes and lips in front to will not see me, without feeling from the first time my fingers scraped the dry vagina, from the first time and no time was the first time.
One of the table shaking his index finger indignantly oppose any possibility of being each other's opinions, this one raised his hand a glass foreshortened invisible while hinting at the Saint Vincent accused, it was called, Cubata conversations unrealistic. Vicente, more outraged if anything, got up and with his finger at the ready glared at his interlocutor with a look at which words gave way to an ethic that he knew of premises or arguments, an ethic that is a war that is not .
And I looked at my wife and I said no and she said no and I said why do not you, not your love, your lips, your lies, your Tequiero your children your kisses your rules your desires your fears your cold your desire your reluctance. Not you. And she got up and went to wait at home or went with her lover, do not know, and I got up and went to them and said,
"My name is Amadeo," I can sit with you?
And they stopped arguing and were amazed at me and told me to sit down and I spoke to had never been at war or had done his military service, but that war every day, every thought, every see, and view them as together discussing ideas just no payments or installments, drinking so close together in the same trench, had made me feel a little better, I remember those times had he believed in fighting or in want, those Saturdays of sunrise on a bank of some garden believing in what he said, believing in what I said, and the bartender poured another round of white marc and I was already there with them in the Durruti Column , they said, and spent two or three hours, and talked about Quico Sabaté and Facerías and I told them I did not know who they were, I was actually heard on the radio to Jiménez Losantos, and they laughed and said they had begun my conversion and I think everyone was already drunk when we started to sing the International, and we proud to be free or at least believe it.
And dawn came and we parted with a hug and I felt that for those hours had regained a way of looking different and so would have dreamed could look back to my wife, and when I met and the dawning of each day was reflected in this morning and now I'm just at my house, happy and sad to learn that only hope that she goes there with my children, although it is not, and walked slowly, stumbling and whistling, thinking aloud in my new comrades, thinking that we have abandoned our women and our children are the children of others. We were thinking that only we who are alive, we feel, compared to some trench comrades makes us think, against any war or any idea that makes us embrace column and form a memory or a dream that can be called Durruti or whatever you call it.
More information:
Buenaventura Durruti:
http://es.wikipedia .org / wiki / Buenaventura_Durruti
http://www.sbhac.net/Republica/TextosIm/Durruti/Durruti.htm
http://www.kaosenlared.net/noticia/discurso-buenaventura-durruti -great-revolutionary-anarchist
Durruti Column
http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milicia_confederal
http://agora.ya.com/barricada36/1936/durruti2.html
http://www.alasbarricadas.org/forums / showthread.php? f = 19 & t = 42049
http://guerracivil.forumup.es/about3816-guerracivil.html
Quico Sabaté
http://es.wikipedia.org / wiki /% C3% A9 Francesc_Sabat
Josep Lluis Facerías
http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josep_Llu% C3% ADs_Facer% C3% Adas
http://www. rebelion.org / noticia.php? id = 55389
