INVITADO

#Diariodeunconfinado by Felicitas Rebaque

MasticadoresEspaña

A LAS OCHO DE LA TARDE… EL SONIDO DE LAS ALMAS .

Felicitas Rebaque

Hasta las ocho de la tarde el tiempo parece estacionado en unos puntos suspensivos infinitos.

Las calles silenciosas guardan el recuerdo de los pasos transeúntes, de las risas y algarabías de las gentes en su ir y venir trepidante. El corazón de la ciudad, de la tuya, de la mía, ha entrado en shock. Con frecuencia te asomas temeroso a la ventana por ver si algo se mueve fuera, porque tienes el pálpito que el reloj que marca los días se ha parado. Y al menos, en lo que a cada uno respecta, así ha sido… hasta las ocho de la tarde.

Ya no hacemos planes a largo plazo porque en verdad el futuro es incierto.Vivimos el presente a golpe de número de muertos y contagiados, con la angustia en el corazón y el miedo en…

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#Lockdowneffect

Gobblers / Masticadores

Iridescent – by Quinny Martínez

Picture taken from Pinterest

***

My view of colors through this old lens have changed; poems shared three weeks ago seem to be written on another plane of the universe, they become more intense, shortening the distance between imaginary, and the beating of a reality that resists. Discretion wears an iridescent black, accompanied by a different, distant and heartbreaking death ritual. Skeptics in my environment have become sacred. At home we have mutated, we are being touched by the obscene cloak of his holiness COVID19: he commands and seizes breaths from the poor and the rich interchangeably, he has shaken the ego of those who believed they were kings of the human and the divine; he has snatched Aprils and has quarantined the colors of spring.

I see things differently; it hurts, but I resign myself to these macondian holy rituals, praying is now…

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#Diario de un confinado

Barcelona / j re crivello

“En estos días, los fallecidos parecen acercarse cada vez más a mí”, escribió. “El primo de un vecino murió. El hermano menor de un conocido murió. El padre, la madre y la esposa de un amigo murieron, y luego él mismo murió. Las lágrimas no llegan cuando la gente llora”. Fang Fang, escritora China de la zona de Wuhan represaliada.

Diario de un confinado es la expresión de lo auténtico de Masticadores, sus editores han decidido abrir un diario de 250 palabras donde publicaremos textos para referirnos a lo que estamos viviendo. Puede ser irreal, puede ser político, o un dibujo, o puede ser tan solo la muerte de un ser querido (y publicaremos tan solo su nombre)

Invitamos a todos a dirigirse a nosotros y los 13 Masticadores publicarán opiniones, dibujos o textos. #Diariodeunconfinado

Gracias (fleminglabwork@gmail.com)

Esta primera lista comienza cada día por los siguientes participantes, entre medio…

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Pan y uvas by Aneizar L/9

Masticadores no para, bonitas historias de “pan duro” en tiempos difíciles…

MasticadoresdeLetras-USA

María era pequeña, pero tenía un corazón muy grande. Todas las mañanas subía a lo más alto de la montaña y dejaba un pan y unas uvas. Su madre sin saber por que su hija iba a la montaña, un día decidió seguirla. Como cada día María preparo la bolsa y metió un pan y un racimo de uvas. Cogió el camino para subir a la montaña y en ningún momento sin percatarse de la presencia de su mama. Al llegar a la cima deposito esos pequeños manjares y se recostó sobre una piedra a esperar. La madre se quedo detrás de unos arboles observando que estaba por llegar. De la arboleda contraria, de entre las sombras, una anciana en muy malas condiciones, acercándose, cogió lo que la niña le llevo y sin despertarla deposito sobre ella una piedra muy parecida al carbón. Cuando María despertó contenta guardo su recompensa…

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Crater by Quinny Martínez

#Stayathome and enjoy reading with MASTICADORES!

Gobblers / Masticadores

Picture taken from Pinterest

***

I open my legs and wait for you to arrive unnoticed…

Waiting so hard that I start to drain copiously,

I have a huge crater in my lower belly, as if the jugular of my crotch was undergoing a ruthless attack by its worst enemy…

Wish you were here to see you enter through this trembling door of desire …

It is as if the other side came in my search.

It’s hot,

sweat takes over me,

stuck in a huge pool of desire and lustful despair, but I love to feel this way,

feel that despite the passing of the years I do not lose the desire of you.

I masturbate slowly,

I imagine your tongue playing warm with the exact point of my desire,

trembling again,

embraced by the overflowing pleasure that your memories profess me…

I like you,

I like having you…

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Dedicated to you by Quinny Martínez

Aquí seguimos, acompañando la cuarentena con una variada oferta de contenido para explorar. Masticadores no para!💖

Gobblers / Masticadores

Picture taken from the Internet: Leonard Nimoy – Bullshit of the world

***

Today you are sad because he called you stupid fat girl…

you call crying and heartbroken because after he possessed you like an animal,

after being between your crutch like a beast, he called you stupid fat girl… I am not surprised, and on top of that:

¿He says goodbye leaving a note in which he told you that it’s better if they don’t see you altogether because of his image?

¿Because you are a fat girl?

¿Was he blind when you first met?

¿Why now?

¿Why would you tolerate this behavior?

I am speaking with rage!

¿Did you see your reflection on a mirror?

He is an asshole! Cry no more woman, each pot has its grind, each woman has a man, and you need to get ready.

I know you, and you are a great…

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Scrutiny by Quinny Martínez

Masticadores no para!!

Gobblers / Masticadores

Picture taken from Pinterest

***

Delivered to the end

seeing the inevitable and unexpected in others,

scrutinizing the morality of the carnally inscrutable.

¿What for?

¿Why should we think about it so much?

¿Why repent if we have refused in freedom?

Waking up our sleeping animals,

overlapping the carnal, denying for moments the implicit sense of the divine,

worshipping the sanctity of the vain, the pagan, and the forbidden.

Succulent delicacies under the sweat of our sexes amid the sweetness of lewdness.

Removing mold, confusing feelings, limited glances and refusing a lot at the end, in the search of the waste of nothing.

Passion is infinite, it is not ignored, it must be felt, choosing how, when, where, and with whom.

¿Who in their seven senses can refuse a naked cock before the eyes of a consensual passion?

¿Who in their seven senses can refuse a vulva that cries tears…

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IF YOU DON’T WANT TO LOOK AT THE SKY by Manuel Calderon

Gobblers / Masticadores

IF YOU DON’T WANT TO LOOK AT THE SKY

If you don’t want to look at the sky
If you don’t let go to the moon
If you buried the light of your being
so, the anguish has knotted
to the insomnia of your body fainted
melting the crystal of your brain
Run like a river through your blood
looking for the neurons that ceased to exist
in the metamorphosis of your uncertain hours

I can arrive with love in your help
if you let me rescue the tatters of your soul
that they nest in the hardened emptiness of your chest
Shared pain decreases its intensity
If I spread my touch by the edges of your heart
going through the intriguing night cells
would make to flourish your footprints turned into shadows

I could make to speak to your mute reason
dissolving the silence full of absences
When I…

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The "V" Revolution by Quinny Martínez

Masticadores no para!!!

Gobblers / Masticadores

Picture taken from Pinterest

***

Starving vulvas,

curious vulvas,

eagerly vulvas,

shy vulvas,

fearful vulvas,

skeptical vulvas, vulvas who do not believe it,

vicious vulvas in the search of the definitive proof of the spark that will leads us to the great fire, to that something different…

cornered fingers, mischievous smiles, women’s in the need of that sweet thing.

Lovers with reduced hours, wondering. Blank claim sheets, unworn pens.

Ladies and gentlemen, the lustful revolution of women has more public allies with very good reputation, proven…

Creations oriented to satisfy the demand without questions,

bed or sofa companions, who even under water make that unique wish come true that at times condemns us:

ORGASMS!

Full orgasms and unknown explosions, indescribable peaks of pleasure that have displaced promiscuous thoughts to the scolded corner.

Gadgets at low prices, accomplices who land in the right place, at the exact time, and with that…

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Poesía y erotismo…

Si pasas hoy por este jardín de letras, te invito a dejar algún verso erotizado en los comentarios como ejercicio de evasión. Hoy 21 de marzo la poesía cobra más sentido que nunca, poesía confinada pero no muda, poesía que se riega como la verdolaga en playa, y que nos invade de alegrías, recuerdos o melancolía. Cuéntame alguna cosita en verso, en prosa o como mejor le apetezca a tu boca…

Felíz día a todos los que como yo están en el camino de los versos, y que comparten su poesía desde estos espacios paralelos que hoy cobran mayor importancia por la situación actual. Que no nos falten poetas para mantenernos cerca, conectados y fluyendo…

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5 best American Writers

Masticadores no para, aquí empieza el contenido de esta semana para entretener el confinamiento.
Masticadorers do not stop, here begins this week’s content to entertain the confinement.

Gobblers / Masticadores

“Cat in the Rain” — ErnestHemingway

by Biblioklept

“Cat in the Rain”

byErnest Hemingway

There were only two Americans stopping at the hotel. They did not know any of the people they passed on the stairs on their way to and from their room. Their room was on the second floor facing the sea. It also faced the public garden and the war monument. There were big palms and green benches in the public garden. In the good weather there was always an artist with his easel. Artists liked the way the palms grew and the bright colors of the hotels facing the gardens and the sea. Italians came from a long way off to look up at the war monument. It was made of bronze and glistened in the rain. It was raining. The rain dripped from the palm trees. Water stood in pools on the gravel paths. The…

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Umami by Quinny Martínez

Umami es el preámbulo de lo que vendrá…

Gobblers / Masticadores

Dressed in a lustful black, he entered that door that saturday night; he looked at me from head to toe; I was expectant, exalted, perfumed, made up. Resolutely and decisively wanting to touch him. He kissed my mouth softly while my carnal self, struggled to maintain composure and not stick my tongue until I could ring the bell that adorns the portal of his penetrating and delicious voice.

I warmed up; I could feel the blushing of my red face after those kisses of good omen. We went out to the street holding hands, while the taste of his umami was still on the tip of my lips, pricking my tongue to say something “inappropriate.” I felt the power between my legs; it was a real first date, the first conscious date of my adult life, it was perfect, an erotic dream come true. I was living every minute like…

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Flooded by Quinny Martínez

Gobblers / Masticadores

And you ask me why?

I wish you were under my skin,

At times I wish you could eat with the taste of my tongue

I’m wrapped in the savor of your wine.

So many desires,

in love with how much your presence can turn me on,

you can’t imagine the speed of my libido,

you can’t imagine the condensation and the constant knocking of my hunch.

I love you at every moment,

I love you by owning us.

I miss you when the source of your caresses starts to run out,

my need is not allowed to be blackmailed with my budding hands,

I no longer supply when I masturbate, my desire has an owner and his excitement is selfish.

You can’t imagine how many ghosts you have freed in me, or how many living ones you have frightened.

What a sweetness of mouth you have,

that delicious thing…

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Dilemmas of an immigrant by Quinny Martínez

Gobblers / Masticadores

Not all the immigration stories have a beautiful start, or a great ending, hope is the only way to transform frustration and keep fighting.

A few days ago, as the new year started, sitting inside a bar with a friend, immigrant also, expressing my feelings about my life, and reviewing situations. I am a journalist, i came to this country six years ago, with my suitcases full of hope and trying to better my incomes, to cover the needs of my family; it was a difficult moment for me, but I decided to try, and when I try, I set all my eggs inside this basket, wanted to reach the goal of having a better life, regardless of hard work, just needed an opportunity, knowing it wouldn’t be easy. But I never expected it could be this hard. In my country, security issues are an everyday thing, and freedom is…

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Extra ball by Jorge Aldegunde

Recommended!!

Gobblers / Masticadores

I stare at the feeble light in the room. The guy in the white coat proceeds mechanically: I can feel a cold needle against my strapped arm, and a syringe being emptied. I start to feel absent, weird. As if my soul started to lift off my body. Am I really dying?

But I still feel their ominous presence everywhere. They’d slay me with their own hands if they could.

The doctor takes my pulse. Laconically, he states I have passed away at 5.27h by lethal injection.

I remain motionless for what seems to be an eternity. Presently, he comes back:

“The show is over”, he says coldly.

At last, I utter a triumphant smile. I can embrace a second chance: redemption and a new life in return of my loyalty and service to the Government. That was the deal.

Before he left, he gave me a knowing look full…

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Hello stranger… by Quinny Martínez

Gobblers / Masticadores

Humidity does not stop raining.

Hours go by and I still have that feeling under my skin, hopelessly staying in a state of voluntary excitement, almost floating.

Humidity does not stop raining.

It is as constant as the copious snow of the north, that has decided to coincide with you; together they dance to the beat of these carnal emotions, which little by little take shape to become a stabbing passion.

Humidity does not stop raining.

You drill not only my head; your stay has been so intense, that it has forged a crack that runs through my chest,

humidity does not stop raining,

following the path in the middle of my navel to stay there, where humidity does not stop raining,

humidity does not stop raining,

but inevitably thinks at times in a female climb, questioning, overwhelming my feelings, and asked again and again: who is it? 

I understand…

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5 Best American Writers: Walt Whitman — Gobblers / Masticadores

Song of Myself (1892 version) By Walt Whitman. I celebrate myself, and sing myself,And what I assume you shall assume,For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul,I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d […]

5 Best American Writers: Walt Whitman — Gobblers / Masticadores