First all the announcements:

As you know (and I had previously mentioned in my last journal), my good friend John and I alternately wrote and made a couple of illustrations for a delightful story titled "A Hatful of Wishes" . The first part is in 's journal and we will soon (as in "the next few days" time) share the second part in the same place, so if you haven't read it yet or have become interested in doing so, do not hesitate and visit John's account


Something to give you nightmares: [link]


Etsy accounts:
If you have an etsy account, mention it and I’ll gladly add it to my list ^-^

FSc > [link]

> [link]

> [link]

> [link]

> [link]

and Sonny's store

> [link]

________________________________________________________________________


Ken is finally back on the web! >

Speaking about coming back, the very talented and wonderful has returned to share her watercolors. Do take a look at her gallery ^-^ >

Another great writer and friend (and to top it all he's also a photographer and illustrator ) >

Do visit 's gallery it's a beautiful watercolor one ^^ >

By the by, underwent the beautiful process of metamorphosis and is now , so visit her winged gallery >

Also, please visit my friend and mentor >

And visit Fernando Echeverri's blog for awesome watercolors! > [link]


***


Ever since I was a child I enjoyed playing with quicksilver. My dad used to have a container filled with it and shook it to amaze me and my brother. I have at last purchased enough quicksilver to have a scrying pool in my house. I stare at it and touch it to make some ripples. The following story came to mind while doing so:
_________________________________________________________________________________


I looked at my shifting reflection. The ripples deformed my features each time I touched the reflective surface. It was cold to the touch and I liked it. Made me feel much better in this hot weather.
I lowered the container, taking care not to waste a drop of it. It was heavier than I thought, and it made me hold it in an uncomfortable position for a moment before it was put on the floor. I stared at it, delighted to see how it reflected the lamp, the ceiling and me, changing once and again, mixing all these objects in its surface. As I lowered my feet to it, I could feel the quicksilver resisting me, its cohesive nature giving some battle against my fingers. In the end, I broke the defense and managed to submerge them in it, all the way to the ankles. In my reflection I had no feet: I began in my head and ended in my reflection's head, we didn't have a discernible separation, our ankles united us both. "Me and my mirror-self have become one", I said to myself. I thought what it would be like to have your reflection everywhere once I entered the quicksilver pool and drank myself.
_________________________________________________________________________________


I believe that death should be quick. It’s much better if the person does not know he or she is about to die. The worst thing is that death sends its messengers and delays its arrival, for it gives the dying time to look back. To remember the past leads, most of the time, to regrets. "I should have done this or that...", "why did I do this?", "what did I do?", etc... are those horrid questions, those terrible conjugations of time and words that slowly kill us. It is much worse for the already dying. I hope I die quickly, perhaps I won't even notice when it happens. Maybe I did not notice when it happened?


Take care and I wish everyone who reads this the best of lucks.


-------------------------------------------------------


Conforme han pasado los años, mis temores se han disipado. Adiós a los tiempos en que rehuía a la oscuridad, a los ruidos de la noche, el monstruo que habitaba mi armario y otras criaturas fantásticas. Ahora, sólo le temo a dos cosas: los espejos y la eternidad. Los primeros por ser lo que son y no ser ellos mismos sino todo lo demás. Lo segundo porque, con la mirada del infinito, todo lo demás deja de tener importancia. Por si fuera poco, ambos se mezclan al poner un espejo contra otro, creando así, la reflexión sin fin.

Mario Benedetti murió ésta semana. He leído algunos de sus poemas y un par de sus historias, pero ninguna fue de mi agrado. Concuerdo con Dehesa respecto a que su obra no tiene la fuerza que las personas quieren adjudicarle y que su poesía tiende a lo meloso. No que sea malo, simplemente no me agrada. Me alegra que tanta gente los disfrute y los haga felices.