How To Determine Stirrup Leather Length

From writers psychotic asylum

want to let you know

our most sweet and sharp

wishes for the holidays.

Bicycle That Looks Like Motorcycle

old papers

Dear Francis, my friend, the great writer Norberto Luis Romero welcomed me with a wonderful holiday story I want to share with everyone.


DEALER

Herr Rüdiger, with the engine running, waiting for the green light. On radio, the flute concerto No 1 in the great Mozart seemed to wrap isolating it from other traffic. Whoever is behind her eyes were like a gem aroused greed or envy of all, the red convertible buffalo leather upholstery, with original mahogany dashboard, chrome wheels. There was no other like it in the whole city. The light gave way and at least touch the car obeyed and took the lead. Was heading to work in the main street which divides off that city in Lower Saxony. The mountain breeze in his face gave him fresh, smelling of pine, and he imagined the sleek mirror full gestures of contempt or envy of those who followed him from a distance. But none in that city could compete with its luxurious machine: it was too expensive. He had earned with the sweat of his brow, his cunning, day after day at the dealership. Herr Rüdiger was the number one seller. Those poor devils envy
, enthralled, as cars were still humble, small, gray, that it had sold. After a hundred yards, the cars that were behind were many avoided not hide a smile superiority, it was like honey to bees.
stepped on the throttle and the rest followed suit so as not to lose sight of, not fail to have such beauty around, but could not fast enough to keep the distance and had to settle appreciate it from afar, shining like a giant ruby moving in the sun.
crossed the city followed by the frenzied crowd of cars they were walking on the throttle to the limit. And so it went, like a mad race, left the city back up to the mighty river, where the man stopped just inches impeccably edge. Cars that did not come back, followed by blinded the beauty of the noble sports car and it crashed one after another. The dealer was pleased how they disappeared swallowed by the raging waters. At that time, the gentle voice of the announcer on the local radio station announced that it was exactly nine o'clock in Hameln and the sun was glorious. Norberto Luis Romero

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Grantee Wikileches ... PATIENT ZERO

questions (allow): Do you really need that this geek photo will corroborate what we already know?

Let's see ... Spain, like the rest of the West-is abundantly sold the interests of the United States. The U.S. ambassador in La Moncloa walks like he owned the place ... Everyone told is more than enmerdado on CIA secret flights ... Berlusconi is a chauvinist and chorizo \u200b\u200bfascistón ... In Russia sent the bigwigs of the oil and his cronies ... In Iraq there were no weapons of mass destruction ... But some are so dull as to require that you told? And these are the big secrets that are baked in the oven of international politics? Why this nonsense that people know to retrasadodel people pulling their hair? Why hide it is not hidden from anyone we spend the taxpayers dough goose that cost us the secret services?

So that ultimately the Pentagon janitor happens to this photo thousands of official documents like the pages in the store choricea office? Is this what we are going to reduce everything? What's it? Do you OK? "And you sleep alone?

jodamos not ...

What will this menda jail for saying what is said every day everywhere? Because it has "spread" the Assange says it for months the guy who makes me coffee in the morning. Is equal to Alvaro, the poor, is a terrible international terrorist disguised as a modest cover of a waiter university.

Really, dear, no jodamos ...

I do not think. I do not buy. Forgive me, but I do not buy it. Here are a trap. Because neither of these things are secret, and this photo seems so clever and dangerous, and I can not assume that global stability threatened because someone tells us that the meeting in the Azores was a manipulative Getae club, which is already known to more confused in the neighborhood. Or behind this simplicity manifests the "Wikileches" and the ensuing media spectacle that has mounted the sarabande pathetic journalism is something else (Conspiranoids the world to work), or is that really the world is as crappy as I have always believed ... Is that the lightness of being is a plague. Total.

Of course, noise have mounted. Mogollon.

Do not Stop the Music ... And dance cursed.

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milk (and XIV)

Nothing was the same. Or rather I should say that everything was strangely different. Is what happens when they break the mechanics of everyday life, the absurdities are found resting in the shadow of everything and appreciated the true extent of the stupidity quiet routines.

Unrest before an incomprehensible message, part of a strange puzzle that she felt compelled to rebuild, Mila had taken to remove the sleep, appetite, even common sense. Meanwhile, the photograph that was icing on the gardener's shack completely occupied the minds of Fear to the point that their night walks into the room the girl had been drastically reduced. Now, we just have had the chance, dozing in the garden under the shade of elm centenary, disturbed soil that hid the bones of the Eye. Absorbed in that instant that it should certainly hide a terrible mystery as to do so insistent intuition expressed perverse. Evaristo, earless fool to wander into trouble that should far outweigh his poor intelligence, was in the hospital under the plans of the coma induced by the tremendous head trauma. The doctors made a wry face and stared at the ceiling when asked a forecast. And Mom was not Mom. Or was even less than before death. Upon learning of the economic disaster that had been plunged the family because of bad investments bastard her husband was locked in his room with several crates of bottles of gin. That took a week for two days showed no signs of life. Or arcades were heard and the other side of the door. There were thus reasons to assume that had finally burst. Anything but endure public shame of poverty.

Fear who is tired of mulling over the head enters the bedroom of Mila willing to find a resolution, whatever. The lies on the bed with a huge atlas open on her lap, ranging from those fucking fingers box has stolen sleep. He does not say anything because suddenly something comes on inside and understand that there is nothing to say. Merely gives the girl the picture kneaded the cemetery. She picks it up languidly. He looks for a couple of seconds. Smiles to see on the back of his mind something like a horizon after darkness so useless.

"This picture was taken in Tomelloso -. Mila said.

-O at Collioure.

-O Tomelloso history begins and ends at Collioure ...

"Let's go.

- And my brother?

Fear not answer. Simply, very serious, direct your eyes toward the window. Mila looks up and scans the garden through the glass. When you look closely you notice that the land under the great elm was removed again.

-Fear ... She whispers sketching a gesture somewhere between sadness and understanding.

"Yeah.

© Biedermann & Francis P.

AUTHORS NOTE: With this release, we completed the first part of Patient Zero and interrupt its publication in The Subcultural. Although still not clear whether its continuation will take place in this blog, in novel form or in any other format, it seems more than likely end up responding to the claim of the characters and readers to continue the story from the point where now the left. Until then.

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Dear Francis, is now in bookstores Coven, the new anthology of the editorial page break in which I participate with the story The escombral .

you and I agree that this compilations is a slippery endeavor, for it is always difficult to find the coordinates to keep it properly located with the passage of time, but a project with Pilar Pedraza, Norberto Luis Romero and Cristina Fernández Cubas can not be entirely negligible.

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Coven "Necróparis" terror between existentialism and dystopia

Our colleague Fernando

House, fresh from the movies with his cardboard suitcase and lustful expression, it becomes the narrative along with this novel NGC. This crazy project (opening editorial in the midst of the storm of the crisis) that the local captains Pily B.

The fact is, well I admit, I can hardly talk about this novel so Fernando and I have taken many turns to this post. As much as I can hardly talk about the things that make my friends, those people you do not find defects and that, precisely because of this, taken by friends. And is that Fernando and I are contemporaries in almost everything. In age, hobbies, vices and hobbies placing us in the past-present perfect equidistance. We are the children of the transition, yogurt, the first color television, the Mazinger Z on the afternoon Saturday and local cinema with Bruce Lee double bill. Also the last generation of children could still play in the streets of Madrid and, curiously, the last to remember the death of Franco. We therefore children saw their parents thought and living testimony to the great disappointment that lived-live-their elders at the hands of the embezzlers of dreams. Of course, represent the first generation of English guys who could effortlessly evade child labor coconut, which has known deficiencies of past or has ever lived a war or its aftermath. People in Transition. Those that are so modern and liberated, we have been forgetting to educate our children properly.

These are, in effect, to deny it. And if the story is not for free thoughtless, but because all this is somehow present in the novel by Fernando House. His first novel (and we must insist on it precisely because it seems).

I'm not the kind that has the argument of the stories that interest me and I tend not to fall into easy gratification, and therefore do not expect that neither of these things now. But I guarantee that if you are of us, if you are us, "Necróparis" you look very close a novel, a story written for you, who speaks of you and with you. A story that makes the fears, successes and failures of a generation flag and terror pretext for an intelligent, approachable, recognizable, genuine and real. Possibly, very real. A story for the campfire, written without bombast, from the lean approach storytelling as it could have a night at any gathering of friends: a love story in midlife crisis and looking back forward. That has a lot of our past, our present, of who we are and what we do not want to be. Of the mistakes we made and we do not want nor can we afford afford to commit. Because there is nothing so terrible as losing what you love, that's what you hold and that you define. The object that you have worked for decades and can be undone in one second by an oversight, a blunder, a mistake, because your life just turns ... Almost never thought anything could happen.

There is no greater fear, after all, that you are not sure if you trust in yourself, or your senses, where appropriate. Yes Fernando's novel is an existential (from within), but we must not forget very dystopian (from outside).

At the same time we face our fears more devious and dangerous (The Jekyll and Hyde), immerses us in a chaotic world, inverse, that is subverted. The world in which below-the lumpen are organized, armed, will revolutionize are fighting for their piece of the pie and get it. The inverted world-perhaps in the near future, in which we, the orderly, well kept and fed, well organized, well served, the top in short, may run the risk of becoming the dispossessed. In the bottom because there must always be someone underneath. Always. At the end of the day all of us, children who have never had to break his face with no one to eat, we have grown in the balm of acquired rights without struggle, without welfare combat, would we be able to win the fight to those who have made a virtue of necessity?

before responding to it well. Fernando Chamber has already done, and I assure you it's scary.

very afraid.

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PATIENT ZERO (XIII)

Sometimes changes regular arrive and slowly, like drops of serum on the arm of a terminally ill patient.

Other times they are a tornado, an avalanche that changes everything, and that prevents us from discourse, much less respond to its consequences.

Mila entered his bedroom trying not to damage the strange package with no weight given to him by the clueless gardener on behalf of his father. For its lightness, must be extremely fragile. After very carefully unwrap it, only had a box in his hand completely empty white cardboard. On one side he found the faded imprint of a stamp could still read Tomelloso Senior Residence . It seemed one of those boxes that were used in some institutions for avoiding medication containing trademarks. Neither the package nor the seal or the inscription nor the people had any meaning for her, so I left it on the bedside table and, without the presence of those attending the vigil, he slept, his dreams were waiting, impatient.

**********

Something happened in the yard, the biggest came and went from one place to another, Fear was a light sleeper. As it took to get to the garage, a police officer had been planted at the gate preventing entry to members of the family and service. Whatever it was, had happened in the gardener's shack, which along with storage and garage, made up the huge vessel of a plant located a few meters of the mansion. The rounded up to the window of Evaristo and saw him there, right there: they had impaled the head between the bars of the gate, leaving the ears in the course of the maneuver. It seemed alive, but unconscious. A policeman tried to remove there and the other advised him to wait for firefighters, who apparently were on their way.

From his position, Fear could be seen inside the house very poor fielder, dirt, and a single ornament on the wall nailed with four pins: polaroid photo of a cemetery looked like the pictures that I had seen in a book of Collioure cemetery, the place where they buried Antonio Machado, was curious to remember the place, considering the contempt he felt for the poems of this kind.

Fear not know why, but he knew that had to be done with photography.

Sometimes changes come to us with the blaring music of a parade marching by our house.

Other times they come in a box empty.

© Biedermann & Francis P.

Woman Strangling A Man Vedios

smoke in the bottle in the Gothic Week

Dear, next Sunday, at 17:00, I'll be talking with my friend Fernando Marías
about smoke in the bottle ,

part of the events taking place from modern Gothic Week Madrid (Parque del Retiro, Casa de Vacas)

If you want to join the chat, we are happy to have you with us.

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The Man Who Killed Durruti


Dear Francis, I break my silence, you know what I'm caught up to the end of the month "to celebrate the reissue of The Man Who Killed Durruti , the first novel of our brother Pedro de Paz. I say, and point

celebrate because we are talking about a novel that, by our absurd vicissitudes of publishing scene, has long been out of print, despite having been unanimously acclaimed by the critics, out of reach for many readers who eagerly wanted to access it.

I leave you with some lines drawn on the work of the author's website: Synopsis

Barcelona, \u200b\u200b1937. The commander Fernández Durán, a former member of the oversight body of the security police commander and current Republican Army during the English civil war, is required by his superiors to a curious mission: to investigate the mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of Buenaventura Durruti, leader anarchist who died in the front of the Ciudad Universitaria de Madrid in November 1936. To It moved to the capital in the company of his aide, Lieutenant Alcázar where, after a series of vicissitudes, its findings will lead to a surprising conclusion. Author's note

After eight months writing short stories as a training, it emerged, also initially intended as an account of small size. The aspects related to the English Civil War have long fascinated me and so particularly, the figure of Durruti. After two months in which I tried to gather as much documentation as possible about the subject, I sat down to write a short story in which, in fictionalized form, exposed all the theories about death the legendary anarchist, threaded through a story line of police who tried to character as a homage to follow the canons of the genre, in particular, the style developed by Conan Doyle to give life to his famous Sherlock. Once I set to work and because of the huge amount of documents collected and information gathered, just could not stop, thus leading to my first novel (short novel but finally after all). The text was written between the months of November 2002 and February 2003 and presented to the First International Short Story Competition "José Saramago" (2003), built in winning a unanimous decision of the jury. One of the most bizarre and amazing of my life. With my first novel, first introduced me to a literary contest and won. Something you mean, I suppose.

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PATIENT ZERO (XII )

never had been known for their intelligence as Evaristo.

The Magin had given him little more to fix and clean pools gardens if demand levels are low and the owners did not ask the impossible. Also defended decently with messages not too complex gossip tinkering here and there because all the cuts that Mendel's laws had given his mind, he had joined the wrong way into the language. However, Spartan loyalty bordering on obsession, to the late father of Mila has always been unwavering. At the end of the day, if I had a roof over their shelter, a savings and a half sound reasonable age just around the corner was thanks to the efforts of the man whose absence no one wept except the gardener idiot. Still reread with tears in his eyes, night after night, old Marcial Lafuente Estefanía novels with which the Lord taught to read decades ago.

But remember crying and would not be sufficient to pay outstanding bills-well knew, and still had the silly Evaristo something to do with his benefactor before he left for good. The letter had been waiting for years had come as did the man who would arrive the night before she disappeared. In fact, Evaristo spent all those years at the bottom of the canyon, living as if nothing had happened, to fulfill its role as a necessary spring machinery whose function unknown. Passing above the pitying looks of the rich who used him as an overflow of conscience over the visceral disgust, atavistic, he felt for the lady of the house.

And with the letter the very end. Or the beginning of something. Her shyness was not enough to discern effectively.

was not yet noon and already had made the case and put his only suit. The same herringbone suit that gave Mr. Mila when she made her first communion. A lack of proper time had not relocated since then, but years of closet in that house which was home wet had worn to the point that showed every appearance of being very old. And smelled of mothballs.

From the window of the hut Mila noted that the girl was crossing the garden with a slow pace. He carried a book in her hands. That book fucking not taking off for a minute and that, somehow, Evaristo knew that was the key with which she had opened wide the gates of perdition. Then he jumped in and began to rummage in the pocket of the jacket worn.

In fact, it's time.

the cleaner now, with this gesture of stubborn determination that only outline the oligophrenic know, out of the hut and the girl is about dodging the jets of the sprinklers. The apple of his eye, the ceiling of its dark and shameful desires. The zenith of his masturbatory delusions. And by his side he brings the little package wrapped up a quintet of bargains words: "by your father." Then, just before vanishing in the same place that has become, look askance at the upstairs window, the one from which that boy again Fear, observes the scene, and the gardener's face is drawn a face of irrational hatred, crude, barely discernible pathological and perennial stupidity. Grit your teeth until you feel pain in the jaw and into the dugout.

Robina then closing the gate behind him, perhaps, that is a personal account to settle before leaving.

Mila, perhaps surprised, you may terrified of the puzzle, the packet includes cubic stupefied resting on the palm of your hand.

© From the text: Biedermann & Francis P.

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Dream that was very rude

I dreamed that a Guei phoned me and I do not know who he was, but got stuck in one of those situations where it is too late to admit you do not know who the person you're talking about and pretend it is and follow the conversation with the hope of being struck twenty at any time. I was busy and did not want to talk to him, but that poster of The Oatmeal ( click ) there was no cutting. So suddenly a strange force came over me and say, you bastard, ME VALE MADRES everything you're saying. But IMMEDIATELY I felt guilty and asked for forgiveness, said he did not mean that (Haha), she was stressed and "in my days" (though not true) and that in fact what I had in high esteem and that interested me much each of his words. And do not even know who was the cue!

interpretations "? I'm a fucking wimp.

Incidentally, the other day I dreamed of zombie holocaust, and many survivors were final thought: why so crappy zombie holocaust.
-
And indeed, had not posted because many days I could not sleep cool, because of a horrible symptom of hepatitis that is itching all over his body. But Jony and sent me to a pulp rather powerful So apart from that it is milder. I'm getting better and say that until I look less yellow. Keep you informed.

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Sometime during the night I dreamed I was going to Colima and knew Sv Highness, and we fell well and I liked her kittens and kittens I liked them and everything was fine fine fine. In the afternoon she went to work and I put a tourist and I was a Araceli bike riding and Andreinski , taking advantage of the proximity of Guadalajara had also gone for a walk. I was glad to see them all. Then

always dreamed that she did go to Tokyo (Air Canada still curse you!). At the airport I met a Japanese who spoke English and was very pretty. I had a kind of "handicraft workshop" that was like a Fusion but Bazar 829374832947 times more cool. My hotel was very small and ate delicious restaurant (more cravings hepatitits: noodles). One afternoon I was walking with my Japanese, with Cory-de-la-preparation-of-Sweden now and with a mysterious man, who suddenly stopped to hair and make us all and of nothing. And I thought: why am I wasting my time this way, letting a pluck me eyebrows Guei right in Tokyo?

I also dreamed that I canceled all my credit cards "for participate in gambling. "I neither know how to play poker. And I'm going to start a fight when I awoke, fiuf, good.

And most importantly: I dreamed I took a banana shake as I Aniuxa seemed a tweet last night, so today I woke up to eat all bran with banana and I'm very happy.

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Dreams Dream III hepatitis hepatitis hepatitis Dream II

I dreamed I was in college, preparing a "statement" (that foolproof method using the teachers to idiots and ensure that their students do not learn anything and be bored to death for two hours) on the evolution of language in primates. Photocopies the teacher gave us, yes, they were little mother, so I suffered with my work.

I suddenly realized two things. A: I was doing things right, or wrong for the UNAM, because it explained things and joke and updated information including that he had found elsewhere (for Internet), rather than enumerate concepts "summarized" in a "schema" nicely drawn with marker on a sheet of bond paper squares (pagüerpoint historical background ... a moment, I suspect still on the bond paper). And two, the copies were in English, or so, would that make my esquemita translated accurately because my classmates, victims of ridiculous classes chick-chicken secondary and high school level, had spent the rest of their lives too busy watching channel 2 (and then watching Channel 11 to "cover" their crime) and to learn a foreign language, and then my statement would be his only source of information to study for the test (the basis of their education).

And I get very angry. Just like old times.

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I

dreamed that, even with hepatitis, going to a party, at the home of Niche and Sof. I arrived very pretty and arregladita for anyone to notice me yellow. Court: it was late at night in a Walmart buying a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Scared me a lot because he did not remember anything after that arrived and sat down and served me a glass of lemon agüita. That meant he had put SOMETHING TO MY DRINK, specifically alcohol, and my diseased liver had caused blackout I knew from the first sip. How much would it take? Am I going to die? Why had allowed my friends? They wanted to kill me? Why not also gave me aspirin and medicines studs and processed via the liver? SNIFF.

Then I woke up and threw my lime Gatorade.

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Post completely useless with the setlists of the concerts from Dream Theater to which I have been

(long and boring post)

I think it's the band that most times I've seen live. No even know why I'm fanssss touching on "music for musicians" and I'm all ignorantota. Surely I started to listen just to impress guys (I spent months pa gave them the coup, a Dream, not the guys) but I finally nailed with Scenes from a Memory, which was then sounded, and then with everyone else and since I liked-liked and here I am, more than ten years later, listening on a Sunday night.

The first time I saw little of me had become fans-of-truth and did not know much, but we still very early to the National Auditorium to buy tickets "most expensive." Mario, and I got Edemege a very decent third row side (right side, that of Petrucci). I can not find my ticket to post photos! :-(

During the concert, the August 27, 2000 , Edemege played an air-keyboard so ridiculous clavadota and Mario and I make fun date. Here the playlist:

1. Metropolis Pt 1: The Miracle and the Sleeper
2. Overture 1928
3. Strange Déjà Vu
4. Fatal Tragedy
5. The Mirror
6. Just Let Me Breathe
7. Acid Rain
8. Caught in a New Millennium
9. Another Day
10. Home
11. Erotomania
12. Voices
13. The Spirit Carries On
14. Learning To Live
15. A Change of Seasons
16. When Images and Words Unite Medley

I finished conquer. What rolas so cool.

then took the Six Degrees of Inner Turbulence , and I went to buy the very day of release at Tower Records Zona Rosa while still existed. My little boyfriend at the time also was a fan (I think it was all we had in common, that and the pleasure from eating more than we needed) and went to his house to listen again and again. We loved it. Months later announced

coming Mexico. That cué and I spent the coldest night of the year and wet year (January 2002) outside the National Auditorium to have "the best" tickets. And what we get? Fourth row. Reputísima fourth row. I was that there was no indignation. SNIFF. Here the ticket:


(quihubo with my eyes ")

That March 3, 2002 once played:

Moment! The setlists I'm taking from the setlist.fm (taken in turn mikeportnoy.com) and then says they opened with The Glass Prison, but I swear I did not touch. OCH. But I find no way to prove otherwise, do you remember? Copy-hit:

• 1. The Glass Prison
  2. Strange Déjà Vu
  3. Surrounded
  4. Burning My Soul
  5. Another Hand / The Killing Hand
  6. Lifting Shadows Off a Dream
  7. Through My Words
  8. Fatal Tragedy
  9. The Great Debate
  10. Another Dimension
  11. Scarred
  12. 2112: Grand Finale
  13. Blind Faith
  14. Keyboard Solo
  15. Lines In The Sand
  16. Pull Me Under with snippet of "Master of Puppets"
  17. Home
  18. The Spirit Carries On
  19. Take The Time

then Mario and I got into a truck and went to visit Monterrey, the March 5, 2002 . We had no ticket, but my friend Tom had made friends with Jordan Rudess and that cué going to give him a courtesy, which in turn was going to give to us. A mere hours did not show tickets, and there was no box office and there was no resale or Twitter or phones or anything. Mario and I were angustiadísimos. But mere hours did appear:



They played these rolas (again, I doubt The Glass Prison):

1. The Glass Prison
2. 6:00
3. Strange Déjà Vu
4. Surrounded
5. Burning My Soul
6. Another Hand / The Killing Hand
7. Misunderstood
8. Lie
9. The Great Debate
10. Peruvian Skies
11. Pull Me Under
12. Home
13. The Spirit Carries On
14. Take The Time

Fue de los mejores conciertos of my life. I was so excited that touched 6:00. After the encore came with costumes you see they found in the backstage: Mike Portnoy with devil horns and tail, Jordan Rudess with robe and mask Monkey Scream, James LaBrie with a yellow dress ciertopelo had seen (even more ) as a lady, and Petrucci with palmita hat like this:

The Chinese obviously not got no disguise, but at some point in the dime (Home), Petrucci was to put his hat and attention, JOHN MYUNG He laughed. So as you read: we saw that was probably the only laugh that cué in public. Jojo. A follow Home The Spirit Carries On, and they were so funny that they were wrong to go laughing and laughing and had to start over. Oh, I spent so well. In 2003 came

Train of Thought and Mario and I bought it in Tepito, one day I went for a video camera. Dream In 2004 he played in Monterrey, openers, Yes, but we are no longer lanazamos because what roe ps Yes. This time we missed:

• 1. About To Crash
  2. Learning To Live
  3. Machine Messiah
  4. Trial of Tears
  5. Stream of Consciousness
  6. The Spirit Carries On
  7. Solitary Shell
  8. About To Crash
  9. Losing Time/Grand Finale
  10. Metropolis Pt. 1: The Miracle and the Sleeper

Luego salió Octavarium and that did come to Mexico City. It was 2006 and I already had the blog and posti regard. Click here to see the anecdote, but then the setlist:

• 1. The Root Of All Evil
  2. Panic Attack
  3. A Fortune In Lies
  4. Under A Glass Moon
  5. The Mirror
  6. Lie
  7. Peruvian Skies
  8. Fatal Tragedy
  9. Solitary Shell
  10. About To Crash (Reprise)
  11. Losing Time/Grand Finale
  12. As I Am
  13. Endless Sacrifice
  14. I Walk Beside You
  Sacrificed Sons
  16. Octavarium
  17. Wait For Sleep
  18. Learning To Live

On that tour also played in Guadalajara and Monterrey. CHALE. Not to be lost to us these setlists:

• 1. The Root Of All Evil
  2. I Walk Beside You
  3. Afterlife
  4. Under A Glass Moon
  5. Caught In A Web
  6. Just Let Me Breathe
  7. Home
  8. The Glass Prison
  9. This Dying Soul
  10. The Answer Lies Within
  11. Never Enough
  12. Octavarium
  13. The Spirit Carries On
  14. Pull Me Under / Metropolis Pt. 1
  15. Highway Star

• 1. The Root Of All Evil
  2. Panic Attack
  3. A Fortune In Lies
  4. Under A Glass Moon
  5. Caught In A Web
  6. Just Let Me Breathe
  7. Through My Words
  8. Fatal Tragedy
  9. Endless Sacrifice
  10. I Walk Beside You
  11. Octavarium
  12. As I Am
  13. Pull Me Under
  :-(

again in 2008, on tour Systematic Chaos. Apendejé and I did not buy tickets because as I was going to ride that day Nuevayor, April 29, but mere hours after I left and was all abandoned, but here is the post which tells, in addition to the concert, how Manuel D'Argence desboletaje rescued me from and sold me a ticket to the fourth row, little mother. The setlist:

• Also sprach Zarathustra
  2. Constant Motion
  3. Strange Déjà Vu
  4. Blind Faith
  5. Surrounded
  6. The Dark Eternal Night
  7. Erotomania
  8. Voices
  9. Forsaken
  10. Take The Time
  11. In The Presence Of Enemies
  12. Schmedley Wilcox

And then if I went to Nuevayor and bang I see. Post here and setlist here:

• Also sprach Zarathustra
  2. In The Presence Of Enemies
  3. Beyond This Life Misunderstood
  5. Forsaken
  6. Erotomania
  7. Voices
  8. Repentance
  9. Take The Time
  10. Schmedley Wilcox Trial Of Tears, Finally Free, Learning To Live, In The Name Of God, Octavarium

"Pasaron los años", sacaron the Black Clouds and Silver Linings in 2009 and have just come, the March 7, 2010 , the auditorium as usual. Although we were in row thousand of the area "preferred" we saw it, and the repertoire was not soooo good but ps does not suck, played Hollow Years had never heard live and gave me goosebumps:

• 1. A Nightmare To Remember
  2. A Rite Of Passage
  3. Hollow Years
  4. Keyboard Solo
  5. Prophets of War
  6. Wither
  7. The Dance of Eternity
  8. One Last Time
  9. In The Name Of God
  10. Pull Me Under / Metropolis Pt 1
  11. The Count Of Tuscany

Two weeks ago I saw in Quebec. One day before the concert I walked out walking with Laura, editor of Eve. Of Suddenly I saw a metal coming towards us and I thought: "A metalhead 'middle age'." He wore a shirt of something or metalera, shorts, sunglasses and a coffee (coffee with hot flashes who did!). By the time we meet I realized I was JAMES LABRIE.

Plop.

And you know what I did? Nothing. Ten years ago we went to necearle the hotel where they were staying (the Fiesta Americana Reforma, hehe) to see if we could autographs, without success. Two years later I went to an autograph signing of Jordan Rudess, all cool it, and I do not know what year (2001 or 2002 probably) I went to a clinic Mike Portnoy drum (jojo I could not understand) and I have my autographed picture with him



But now ... ps now what. What could I say? "I'm your fan, I've been listening to ten years." What huevota, poor Guei, had to leave sightseeing. Could perhaps speak of the Monterrey concert in which Lady visited, but the moment never occurred to me. Oh, I do not regret a little fan take a picture of silly, but why. "Ai pa the other." If it was like Portnoy yes it is all cute and friendly and could speak to all things "alternative" as ... his beard.

Ay.

The next day I heard the following songs, which were little because openers ranging from Iron Maiden:

1. As I Am
2. A Rite Of Passage
3. Home
4. Constant Motion
5. Panic Attack
6. Pull Me Under / Metropolis Pt 1

The Québec metalheads around me no and I concoían a Dream worth mothers. Sniff. But I loved it. I just took this photo:



was weird seeing them in daylight, but is there in the dusk hipernorte around 9. And

. In total, eight have gone to their concerts, "quihubo?

Chilango