tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86394571329222108482011-07-30T23:48:53.673-07:00Arte, fotografía, diseño, literatura...Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.comBlogger811100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-74841518896340670972010-05-28T15:01:00.000-07:002010-05-28T15:04:40.619-07:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/TAA9bZcmTxI/AAAAAAAAADc/qMkb9DScTLE/s1600/What+We+Talk+About+When+We+Talk+About+Love+-+Acrylique+sur+canevas+-+50.5+x+40.5+cm.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 256px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476444687779122962" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/TAA9bZcmTxI/AAAAAAAAADc/qMkb9DScTLE/s320/What+We+Talk+About+When+We+Talk+About+Love+-+Acrylique+sur+canevas+-+50.5+x+40.5+cm.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">What we talk about when we talk</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">about love</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre lienzo</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">50.5 x 40.5 cm</span></div><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-7484151889634067097?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-67566722962567198152010-05-28T14:55:00.000-07:002010-05-28T15:01:00.112-07:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/TAA8ZHjuxhI/AAAAAAAAADU/Mgcsa7fcg-c/s1600/Tango+-+Acrylique+sur+canevas+-+101.4+x+75.9+cm+-.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476443549105833490" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/TAA8ZHjuxhI/AAAAAAAAADU/Mgcsa7fcg-c/s320/Tango+-+Acrylique+sur+canevas+-+101.4+x+75.9+cm+-.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Tango</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre lienzo</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">101.4 x 75.9 cm</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-6756672296256719815?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-88683253565659780512010-03-12T16:22:00.000-08:002010-03-12T16:23:53.756-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5ra9kMrr4I/AAAAAAAAADA/UCI3FHyImmY/s1600-h/06-+Magicien+-+Acrylique+sur+bois+-+30+x+30+cm+-+2010.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447907450481782658" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5ra9kMrr4I/AAAAAAAAADA/UCI3FHyImmY/s320/06-+Magicien+-+Acrylique+sur+bois+-+30+x+30+cm+-+2010.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"Magicien"</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre tabla</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">30 x 30 cm</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8868325356565978051?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-73558334140865828602010-03-12T16:19:00.000-08:002010-03-12T16:21:20.075-08:00<div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5raLEXxugI/AAAAAAAAAC4/eeIwGwSoPW4/s1600-h/18-+Amn%C3%A9sie+-+acrylique+sur+papier+-+101.2+x+149.5+cm+-+2010.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 209px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447906582944922114" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5raLEXxugI/AAAAAAAAAC4/eeIwGwSoPW4/s320/18-+Amn%C3%A9sie+-+acrylique+sur+papier+-+101.2+x+149.5+cm+-+2010.JPG" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">"Amnésie"</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre lienzo</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">101.2 x 149.5 cm<br /></span></div><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-7355833414086582860?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-32520495099651330662010-03-12T10:48:00.000-08:002010-03-12T10:50:37.669-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5qMyCocFHI/AAAAAAAAACo/0VN2qus7R5E/s1600-h/13-+L%27obscurit%C3%A9+-+Acrylique+sur+toile+-+50.9+x+40.5+cm+-+2010.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 254px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447821490585867378" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5qMyCocFHI/AAAAAAAAACo/0VN2qus7R5E/s320/13-+L%27obscurit%C3%A9+-+Acrylique+sur+toile+-+50.9+x+40.5+cm+-+2010.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"L'obscurité"</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre lienzo</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">50.9 x 40.5 cm</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3252049509965133066?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-16409206123815963912010-03-11T19:07:00.000-08:002010-03-11T19:09:32.667-08:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5mwD4NUDMI/AAAAAAAAACg/POloRt--H3o/s1600-h/Je+ne+t%27aime+plus+-+Acrylique+sur+toile+-+75.8+x+101.2+cm.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447578804955647170" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5mwD4NUDMI/AAAAAAAAACg/POloRt--H3o/s320/Je+ne+t%27aime+plus+-+Acrylique+sur+toile+-+75.8+x+101.2+cm.JPG" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Je ne t'aime plus"</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre lienzo</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">75.8 x 101.2 cm</span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1640920612381596391?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-16275689829608899962010-03-09T12:13:00.000-08:002010-03-09T12:15:28.338-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5asMO4VVHI/AAAAAAAAACI/_K49pCmiyQc/s1600-h/Toy+soldiers+-+Acrylique+sur+toile+-+35.5+x+28+cm.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 251px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446730125503976562" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5asMO4VVHI/AAAAAAAAACI/_K49pCmiyQc/s320/Toy+soldiers+-+Acrylique+sur+toile+-+35.5+x+28+cm.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"Toy soldiers"</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre lienzo</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">35.5 x 28 cm</span></div><div> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1627568982960889996?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-30343679331357354632010-03-09T12:11:00.000-08:002010-03-09T12:16:06.550-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5arq-LxQHI/AAAAAAAAACA/cphPzIwncOY/s1600-h/La+fuga+-+Acrylique+sur+bois+-+30+x+30+cm.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 316px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446729554086412402" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5arq-LxQHI/AAAAAAAAACA/cphPzIwncOY/s320/La+fuga+-+Acrylique+sur+bois+-+30+x+30+cm.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"La fuga"</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre tabla</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">30 x 30 cm</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3034367933135735463?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-43524207579232809802010-03-09T12:07:00.000-08:002010-03-09T12:16:55.184-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5aqxlaaPJI/AAAAAAAAAB4/xwW0qWohVsA/s1600-h/El+resplandor+-+Acrylique+sur+toile+-+50.5+x+40.5+cm.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 255px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446728568184388754" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S5aqxlaaPJI/AAAAAAAAAB4/xwW0qWohVsA/s320/El+resplandor+-+Acrylique+sur+toile+-+50.5+x+40.5+cm.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"El resplandor"</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre lienzo</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">50.5 x 40.5 cm</span></div><div> </div><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4352420757923280980?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-49867198810029867402010-02-11T13:28:00.000-08:002010-02-11T13:29:38.394-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3R2gMaBIqI/AAAAAAAAABw/CIgDCBIcxHY/s1600-h/15.JPEG.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 264px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437100945601274530" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3R2gMaBIqI/AAAAAAAAABw/CIgDCBIcxHY/s320/15.JPEG.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"Chocolate",</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico, lápiz y marcador sobre papel, 33,9 x 27,9 cm.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4986719881002986740?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-15944637960034953382010-02-11T13:25:00.000-08:002010-02-11T13:26:28.474-08:00<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3R10pFKGOI/AAAAAAAAABo/zSGFY7Vq3xc/s1600-h/18.JPEG.JPG"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 239px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437100197384165602" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3R10pFKGOI/AAAAAAAAABo/zSGFY7Vq3xc/s320/18.JPEG.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"> "Vietcong"</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre madera, 40,1 x 30,2 cm.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1594463796003495338?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-53867610717243848522010-02-11T13:22:00.000-08:002010-02-11T13:24:08.250-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3R1L1kudUI/AAAAAAAAABg/FuNhbcDhB3M/s1600-h/13.JPEG.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 257px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437099496363160898" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3R1L1kudUI/AAAAAAAAABg/FuNhbcDhB3M/s320/13.JPEG.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"L'héritage III", </span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">acrílico sobre tela, 51 x 40,5 cm.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5386761071724384852?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-88389738203713414172010-02-11T13:19:00.002-08:002010-02-11T13:21:44.160-08:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3R0pwXnx3I/AAAAAAAAABY/bakJEtNJcaw/s1600-h/20.JPEG.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 255px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437098910850467698" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3R0pwXnx3I/AAAAAAAAABY/bakJEtNJcaw/s320/20.JPEG.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">"El soldado desconocido"</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico sobre tela, 50,8 x 40,4 cm.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8838973820371341417?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-37264436979970654482010-02-11T13:10:00.002-08:002010-02-11T13:15:25.404-08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3Rynz1sYPI/AAAAAAAAABQ/99cd7H1qArM/s1600-h/17.JPEG.JPG"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437096678398910706" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3Rynz1sYPI/AAAAAAAAABQ/99cd7H1qArM/s320/17.JPEG.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"> "La trahison"</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Acrílico y marcados sobre madera, 30 x 40,1 cm.<br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3726443697997065448?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-8713514321091642872010-02-11T12:59:00.000-08:002010-02-11T13:18:56.565-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3RwSMxxOWI/AAAAAAAAABI/CNVFFdSfhuc/s1600-h/16.JPEG.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437094108112959842" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_F8TQLT9e6A0/S3RwSMxxOWI/AAAAAAAAABI/CNVFFdSfhuc/s320/16.JPEG.JPG" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A partir de hoy voy a dedicar el blog sobre todo a mi trabajo como artista plástico.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Esta pintura forma parte de una serie basada en la memoria, en los recuerdos de infancia.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">"Les enfants allemands", acrílico y marcador sobre madera, </span> <span style="font-size:85%;">47,3 x 22,2 cm<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">El título original está en francés, porque forma parte de trabajos surgidos en el contexto de la Maîtrise en Arts Visuels et Médiatiques en la UQÀM (Université de Québec à Montréal).</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-871351432109164287?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-9699732044167504662009-07-30T08:26:00.000-07:002009-07-30T08:27:13.075-07:00Ella se abrigaba con ideas tibias. <br />Él prefería caminar en la nieve, sintiendo el frío en la cara.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-969973204416750466?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-165447259602645332009-07-29T07:35:00.001-07:002009-07-29T07:35:34.471-07:00Él era el sonido de la lluvia.<br />Ella, el silencio de la nieve.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-16544725960264533?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-17372806331988024892009-07-27T06:04:00.000-07:002009-07-27T06:05:14.027-07:00Ella leía cada libro exactamente hasta la mitad.<br />Él inventaba la otra mitad, creando finales incorregibles.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1737280633198802489?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-50306262748247136372009-07-25T06:15:00.000-07:002009-07-25T06:16:47.282-07:00Ella tejía sueños escandalosos, mientras él dormía.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5030626274824713637?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-50837345317306721792009-07-24T05:13:00.001-07:002009-07-24T05:13:37.527-07:00El viento les traía recuerdos que los atravesaban, dejando marcas humeantes en sus cuerpos transparentes.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5083734531730672179?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-28200184432669188472009-07-23T06:44:00.000-07:002009-07-23T06:45:13.735-07:00Él jugaba a mentir. <br />Ella, a creerle.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-2820018443266918847?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-39261091402155541212009-07-22T07:10:00.000-07:002009-07-22T07:11:05.197-07:00Sus aviones de juguete bombardeaban enemigos imaginarios, escondidos en metáforas de paisajes.<br />Ella filmaba las escenas en las que los aviones se acercaban peligrosamente a los paisajes cambiantes de las sábanas.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3926109140215554121?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-17351267838780581072009-07-21T06:49:00.001-07:002009-07-21T06:49:36.142-07:00Ella imaginaba barriletes transparentes. <br />Él diseñaba paracaídas de plomo.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1735126783878058107?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-46022313784025486412009-07-20T07:55:00.001-07:002009-07-20T07:55:47.835-07:00Ella escribía en la pared soluciones para problemas que no tenían. <br />Él las copiaba en una libreta, inútilmente preocupado por el futuro.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4602231378402548641?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-88900320632956792042009-07-20T07:54:00.001-07:002009-07-20T07:54:59.748-07:00Ella habría heridas con el filo de sus uñas rojas. <br />Él cerraba esas heridas con hilos de saliva y sangre.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8890032063295679204?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-14299614797530165992009-07-19T08:24:00.000-07:002009-07-19T08:25:16.086-07:00Ella rozaba con sus dedos el espejo en el que él ya no quería reflejarse.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1429961479753016599?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-83128569164151098232009-07-18T10:10:00.001-07:002009-07-18T10:10:47.845-07:00Ella oscurecía con la noche.<br />Él nunca encendía las velas, evitando molestarla.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8312856916415109823?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-55951847122064363052009-07-16T06:18:00.001-07:002009-07-16T06:18:55.354-07:00Cuando el agua les llegaba al cuello, ellos se sumergían, desafiantes.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5595184712206436305?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-32882077881523995202009-07-15T15:47:00.001-07:002009-07-15T15:47:29.995-07:00Ella se divierte haciendo brotar silencios de la punta de sus dedos. <br />Él mezcla esos silencios, dibujando sonidos extraños.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3288207788152399520?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-11924371623741168932009-07-15T06:36:00.001-07:002009-07-15T06:36:23.752-07:00Él sentía lágrimas cortándole el rostro, sin causa aparente.<br />Ella conocía la causa, pero prefería callarla, evitando privarse de esas lágrimas de tremenda belleza.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1192437162374116893?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-64351052435720182942009-07-14T06:35:00.001-07:002009-07-14T06:35:58.669-07:00Ella creía ser la lluvia. <br />Él estaba seguro de ser el viento.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-6435105243572018294?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-63997042105745256632009-07-13T07:04:00.000-07:002009-07-13T07:05:18.046-07:00Ella quería que ese momento fuera eterno.<br />Él le mentía, diciendo que eso era imposible.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-6399704210574525663?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-44976810978328252942009-07-10T07:01:00.000-07:002009-07-10T07:02:21.696-07:00Las rosas rojas se marchitaban en el espejo. <br />Ellos seguían espalda contra espalda, riendo a carcajadas, hablando de floreros vacíos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4497681097832825294?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-50759557707036148292009-07-09T06:13:00.000-07:002009-07-09T06:14:02.163-07:00Ella tejía redes con gotas de lluvia.<br />Él dibujaba esas redes con grafito, sobre la foto de una lágrima.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5075955770703614829?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-44149467494668574992009-07-06T06:35:00.001-07:002009-07-06T06:35:48.212-07:00Ella tropezaba, a veces, con algunas palabras. <br />Él tenía tremendas dificultades con los puntos suspensivos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4414946749466857499?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-77349861306645584402009-07-05T08:59:00.000-07:002009-07-05T09:00:07.523-07:00A él le dolían algunos colores.<br />Ella sabía cómo hacerlo sufrir, manipulando dulcemente toda la gama de rojos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-7734986130664558440?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-85239698553721392892009-07-04T05:51:00.000-07:002009-07-04T05:52:14.228-07:00Ella nunca abandonaba su jaula de platino.<br />Él la protegía, cambiando la cerradura cada noche.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8523969855372139289?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-32694570744220596132009-07-03T06:32:00.001-07:002009-07-03T06:32:59.312-07:00Él convivía con fantasmas.<br />Ella intentaba verlos en cada visita, pero los fantasmas se adherían a las paredes, siempre invisibles.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3269457074422059613?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-216138541627597762009-07-01T06:23:00.000-07:002009-07-01T06:24:16.064-07:00Ella atacaba pompas de jabón con fósforos encendidos.<br />Él dibujaba las diminutas explosiones en una pared inmaculada.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-21613854162759776?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-26355815587998103552009-06-30T08:10:00.001-07:002009-06-30T08:10:23.805-07:00Ella soñaba que él soñaba con ella. <br />Él lloraba un insomnio sin remedio.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-2635581558799810355?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-85808815865909452772009-06-29T05:07:00.001-07:002009-06-29T05:07:59.164-07:00Él quería perderse en un paisaje inventado.<br />Ella lo buscaba en el mapa de un territorio desconocido.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8580881586590945277?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-4698594774459221872009-06-28T06:06:00.001-07:002009-06-28T06:06:30.608-07:00Ella cortó con sus dientes la red que los mantenía unidos, encerrados. <br />Él se llevó una gota de su sangre, parecida a una lágrima.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-469859477445922187?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-24470576078581806622009-06-26T05:30:00.001-07:002009-06-26T05:30:14.486-07:00Ella no confiaba en la vigilia, solamente creía en los sueños.<br />Él le decía que su vigilia podría ser un sueño ajeno.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-2447057607858180662?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-70006357599181398042009-06-25T07:33:00.000-07:002009-06-25T07:34:11.414-07:00Él se sabía un vampiro. <br />Ella se reflejaba en el espejo, abrazando nada.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-7000635759918139804?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-91643929234383699212009-06-24T05:38:00.000-07:002009-06-24T05:39:01.360-07:00A él el fuego le brotaba de los dedos en momentos inconvenientes. Ella lo ayudaba, apagándolo con una mezcla precisa de palabras y saliva.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-9164392923438369921?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-27185211960884530882009-06-22T07:20:00.001-07:002009-06-22T07:20:23.300-07:00Él veía el viento arrastrando ideas oscuras. <br />Ella lo distraía mezclando palabras con colores.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-2718521196088453088?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-50247860202012086432009-06-21T06:02:00.001-07:002009-06-21T06:02:50.795-07:00Ella caminaba sobre el fuego, descalza.<br />Él la fotografiaba, con la frialdad de un cirujano.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5024786020201208643?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-11856378861485664352009-06-20T06:50:00.000-07:002009-06-20T06:51:09.352-07:00Él imaginaba barcos flotando en las profundidades.<br />Ella sabía con certeza que se trataba de barcos hundidos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1185637886148566435?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-27548257843448134922009-06-19T05:43:00.000-07:002009-06-19T05:44:01.013-07:00Él esperaba el estruendo de cada trueno con impaciencia infinita.<br />Ella rozaba con sus dedos la belleza silenciosa de los relámpagos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-2754825784344813492?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-89096382348791787072009-06-18T05:38:00.001-07:002009-06-18T05:38:44.023-07:00Él marchitaba fotos de flores azules.<br />Ella las regaba con lágrimas de risa.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8909638234879178707?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-32507074510077312582009-06-17T06:12:00.000-07:002009-06-17T06:13:39.041-07:00Él se perdía en las tormentas, <br />ella en la oscuridad de los espejos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3250707451007731258?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-7134947827918535332009-06-16T04:41:00.001-07:002009-06-16T04:41:37.920-07:00Ella miraba las hormigas. <br />Él veía una palabra dibujada en su lengua.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-713494782791853533?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-58418979704055694592009-06-15T05:53:00.001-07:002009-06-15T05:53:38.323-07:00Él dibujaba un tornado.<br />Ella, un colibrí que lo atravesaba.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5841897970405569459?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-80632130348003169902009-06-14T06:43:00.000-07:002009-06-14T06:44:17.137-07:00Él construía puentes con luces. <br />Ella apagaba el sol, haciéndolos visibles.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8063213034800316990?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-50967591793344308152009-06-13T07:25:00.000-07:002009-06-13T07:26:04.494-07:00Ella imaginaba colores breves. <br />Él dibujaba una luz en su sombra.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5096759179334430815?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-82438999270425410702009-06-12T06:03:00.001-07:002009-06-12T06:03:35.267-07:00Ellos imaginaban palabras, cerrando los ojos.<br />Ella, palabras dulces.<br />Él, palabras de guerra.<br />El silencio las mezclaba, inventando poemas que flotaban en la habitación.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8243899927042541070?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-61777503976952278562009-06-11T05:11:00.001-07:002009-06-11T05:11:39.968-07:00Ellos se veían cayendo en un pozo sin fondo,<br />preparando un colchón imaginario con el eco de sus carcajadas.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-6177750397695227856?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-59914442584350259792009-06-10T06:13:00.000-07:002009-06-10T06:14:04.286-07:00Ella dibujaba cadenitas de plata. <br />Él imaginaba el brillo del sol en los eslabones de grafito.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5991444258435025979?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-33376824169189931532009-06-09T06:15:00.001-07:002009-06-09T06:15:49.030-07:00Ella encendía sus sábanas.<br />Él dibujaba gotas de lluvia sobre el muro.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3337682416918993153?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-78487786711210789352009-06-08T03:37:00.000-07:002009-06-08T03:38:07.080-07:00Él redactaba palabras en blanco.<br />Ella las leía en la oscuridad, en voz alta.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-7848778671121078935?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-41521173239521536532009-06-07T06:13:00.001-07:002009-06-07T06:13:58.600-07:00Ella escribía soluciones para problemas inexistentes. <br />Él despedazaba papelitos con preguntas.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4152117323952153653?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-4165958563287814312009-06-06T07:48:00.001-07:002009-06-06T07:48:59.139-07:00Ella guardaba sus recuerdos en bolsitas plásticas.<br />Él, en cambio, los escribía sobre el agua.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-416595856328781431?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-9570231332475597982009-06-05T18:06:00.001-07:002009-06-05T18:07:33.650-07:00Él trazaba líneas rectas, nunca paralelas. <br />Ella unía las intersecciones con puntitos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-957023133247559798?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-90453491183083643682009-06-04T04:14:00.000-07:002009-06-04T04:15:15.693-07:00A ella le intrigaban sus silencios. <br />Él insinuaba no conocer los momentos adecuados para hablar.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-9045349118308364368?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-89506205594037432752009-06-03T05:02:00.000-07:002009-06-03T05:03:28.554-07:00La luz de las velas movía la oscuridad. <br />Ellos miraban el relámpago de sus sombras.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8950620559403743275?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-48660384594484614502009-06-02T04:43:00.001-07:002009-06-02T04:43:53.239-07:00Ella miraba la lluvia moviéndose por el viento. <br />Él le escribía una carta idéntica a la anterior, <br />pero sin dibujitos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4866038459448461450?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-90959982677933491002009-06-01T08:02:00.000-07:002009-06-01T08:03:13.158-07:00Ellos sufrían una rebeldía incurable. <br />Ella dibujaba corazones celestes. <br />Él los oscurecía con su sangre azul.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-9095998267793349100?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-14301800054830826282009-05-31T10:50:00.001-07:002009-05-31T10:50:58.286-07:00Él oscurecía todos los días a la misma hora. <br />Ella sólo sabía amanecer.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1430180005483082628?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-15499696756684502382009-05-20T08:13:00.000-07:002009-05-20T08:14:11.303-07:00Victoria regaba siempre plantas y flores, y disfrutaba de las mañanas luminosas hasta que descubrió las plantas y flores de su vecina. Como siempre, las plantas y flores de su vecina le parecieron mucho más lindas que las de su jardín, y se enfermaba de envidia hasta depositar en la basura toda la colección de productos químicos, fertilizantes y abonos con los que intentaba mejorar las suyas y poder así superar a su rival. <br /><br />Volvió a hojear cada revista, cada libro de jardinería, buscando el consejo mágico que le permitiera embellecer sus plantas y flores, pero no hubo caso. <br />Las de su vecina seguirían siendo mejores que las suyas, indefectiblemente. Y todo hacía pensar que nada cambiaría.<br /><br />Hasta que tuvo una idea tan brillante y simple que se insultó en voz alta por no habérsele ocurrido antes. Lo único que tenía que hacer era robar unos brotes del jardín vecino.<br /><br />A eso de las tres de la mañana salió, cuchillito en mano, con el sigilo necesario para no despertar a su marido e hijos. Cuando llegó a la cerca que separaba ambos jardines, sorprendió a su vecina que, cuchillito en mano, llegaba a robarle unos brotes a ella. <br />Las dos se enfrentaron rojas de vergüenza, se sonrieron con no más falsedad de la necesaria, y volvieron a sus camas pensando “yo sabía que mis plantas y flores eran más lindas que las de ella”.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-1549969675668450238?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-48174912762110364302009-05-13T11:34:00.000-07:002009-05-13T11:35:04.682-07:00Le pido una limosna a un espejo gastado<br />mientras sangra <br />imágenes repetidas.<br /><br />La lluvia enciende una promesa <br />en mi reflejo <br />y duplica una espera en las excusas de siempre.<br /><br />Y miento, y me miento<br />y culpo, y me culpo<br />sin contemplaciones,<br />sin vacilar.<br /><br />El viento mueve la lluvia<br />ocultándola en la noche,<br /><br />en la misma noche<br /><br />que ensucia mi respiración.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4817491276211036430?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-48247625032896403422009-05-07T06:59:00.000-07:002009-05-07T07:00:09.964-07:00Apretar el tallo de una rosa roja<br />apretarlo fuerte.<br /><br />Sentir las espinas hundiéndose en la carne,<br /><br />sentir la presencia del dolor,<br />la intensidad del dolor,<br />la pureza del dolor.<br /><br />Mirar la rosa roja<br />sintiendo la carne lastimada,<br />sangrante.<br /><br />Y seguir apretando,<br />apretando fuerte el tallo<br />de la rosa roja.<br /><br />Y seguir sangrando<br />ya casi irrespetuosamente.<br /><br />Y confiar en la belleza <br />de la rosa roja.<br /><br />Confiar lo suficiente<br />en la belleza de la rosa roja<br /><br />para seguir apretando fuerte<br />el tallo y sus espinas<br />y <br />sangrar,<br />sangrar, sangrar.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4824762503289640342?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-49579043876738108622009-05-01T12:25:00.001-07:002009-05-01T12:25:15.507-07:00La gitana juguetea con sus cartas<br />cada día, <br />y describe el futuro <br />a quien quiera escuchar.<br /><br />Las cartas nunca mienten <br /><br />la gitana sí, <br />por exceso de detalles u omisión.<br /><br />El futuro <br />se le muestra siempre<br />con tremenda claridad.<br /><br />Ella lo borronea un poco y miente,<br />a veces,<br />cuando lo que ve en las cartas abruma<br />de tanto aburrimiento.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-4957904387673810862?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-57572610365031487902009-04-29T07:07:00.000-07:002009-04-29T07:08:09.599-07:00El sol despedaza las nubes <br />y enciende los vidrios de la ventana <br />desde la que miro pasar <br /><br />apuros y corridas,<br /><br />preocupaciones de oficina<br />y vencimientos de impuestos,<br /><br />y hasta un perro callejero<br /><br />que ladra a su sombra<br /><br />como un humano.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5757261036503148790?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-58246889353134985422009-04-27T05:55:00.000-07:002009-04-27T05:56:26.486-07:0017-11-2004<br /> <br />Voy trazando un dibujito en un papel ordinario <br />con un marcador ordinario. <br /> <br />El hombrecito del dibujo me dice, <br />o yo sospecho que me dice,<br />o yo quiero sospechar que me dice <br />“éste no es tu lugar”. <br /> <br />Y lo rompo, y lo vuelvo a dibujar, <br />y me dice lo mismo, <br />y lo rompo y lo vuelvo a dibujar, <br />y me dice lo mismo, <br />y lo rompo, y lo vuelvo a dibujar,<br />y me dice lo mismo, y lo rompo..., <br /> <br />y así la noche entera, <br /> <br />hasta que el hombrecito<br /> <br />se calla.<br /> <br /> <br />18-11-2004<br /> <br />Dibujé de nuevo <br />(una sola vez) <br />al hombrecito que ayer me decía <br />“éste no es tu lugar”. <br /><br /> <br />19-11-2004<br /> <br />Hoy no dibujé <br />al hombrecito que me decía<br /> <br />“éste no es tu lugar”.<br /> <br /> <br />20-11-2004<br /> <br />Esta noche, el hombrecito que me decía <br />“éste no es tu lugar”<br /> <br />me dibujó a mí.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5824688935313498542?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-57521099093849070322009-04-26T06:08:00.000-07:002009-04-26T06:11:23.477-07:00En un ataque de oscuridad <br />rompí una luz en pedacitos <br />que enseguida <br />se desparramaron <br />en remotos rincones de la noche. <br /><br />Me apuré a juntarlos <br />pero llegó el día, el sol <br /><br />y algunos pedacitos de luz <br />se perdieron para siempre.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5752109909384907032?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-88568997174976351372009-04-25T06:00:00.000-07:002009-04-25T06:01:05.831-07:00Un pájaro canta afuera de la jaula<br />como con miedo <br />a sus ganas de encerrarse.<br /><br />La puertita está abierta,<br />y el agua y el alpiste <br />cantan más fuerte que el pájaro, <br />llamándolo.<br /><br />Pero al fin se escapa <br />volando un vuelo azul<br /><br />que lo aleja del alpiste, del agua<br /><br />y de la trampa de una puertita abierta<br />que grita su fracaso.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8856899717497635137?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-88818808821024328852009-04-24T04:29:00.000-07:002009-04-24T04:30:33.393-07:00Una trinchera se llena <br />de pajaritos<br />y las bombas explotan <br />al sur de la imaginación.<br />Los pajaritos espían y pían, escondidos,<br />y parece no existir nada que los haga callar.<br /><br />Ocupa todas las trincheras<br />el piar ensordecedor<br />y las bombas casi ni se escuchan<br />de tan insignificantes.<br /><br />Después, los pajaritos vuelan<br />en un reguero de plumas<br />que brota de la trinchera.<br /><br />La lluvia llenará de agua<br />el seguro agujero, para inundar <br />el eco de los pajaritos<br />que siguen cantando<br />lejos, lejos,<br />y seguirán cantando,<br />lejos, lejos.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-8881880882102432885?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-38472656079659283362009-04-23T06:34:00.000-07:002009-04-23T06:36:24.110-07:00Cada vez que debía salir sabiendo que podría demorarse demasiado, ella encendía cada una de las luces de su departamento, entendiendo así que sus espejos tendrían algo que reflejar y no la extrañarían tanto.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3847265607965928336?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-38534179147716808892009-04-22T04:44:00.000-07:002009-04-22T04:45:08.959-07:00Ella,<br />casi toda ella chorreaba lágrimas a montones cada día<br />viendo al cartero seguir de largo.<br /><br />Entonces, cada día<br />volvía sonriendo, preparaba un té, decía estar contenta,<br /><br />se suicidaba frente al espejo<br />apuntándose con el índice derecho.<br /><br />Sangraba un poco.<br /><br />Después encendía la tele, diciéndome cada día <br />que la despertara a las ocho. <br />Que no me olvide.<br />Que tenía que arreglarse, maquillarse.<br />Que a las nueve y veinte, más o menos, <br />el cartero vendría, tocaría el timbre y le daría por fin esa carta <br />que por nada del mundo ella querría leer.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-3853417914771680889?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-57818773442303010992009-04-21T05:44:00.000-07:002009-04-21T05:45:37.038-07:00El niño agujerea<br />una cucaracha<br />con un clavo oxidado.<br /><br />El insecto chorrea <br />líquidos pegajosos<br />mientras camina a ninguna parte.<br /><br />El niño se aleja<br />pateando el aire,<br /><br />pensando quién sabe qué <br /><br />con su martillo en la mano.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5781877344230301099?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8639457132922210848.post-54961899408697257042009-04-20T12:11:00.000-07:002009-04-20T12:28:15.321-07:00<span style="font-size:85%;">La nieve llegaba a la mitad de su puerta.<br />No me gusta salir, me decía,<br />me gusta escribirte cartas, me decía,<br />es lo único que me gusta, escribirte cartas, me decía.<br /><br />Y me las enviaba<br />y eran tantas, son tantas.<br /><br />Leo al azar algunas, de vez en cuando,<br /><br />después las quemo.<br />Me gusta ver el humo llevándose<br />palabras, puntos y comas, algunos dibujitos.<br /><br />Después pienso en ella, en la nieve, en las cartas sin leer.<br /><br />Ahora el olor a café ocupa todo mi espacio, todo,<br />no hay lugar,<br />al menos por hoy,<br />para cartas, palabras, puntos, comas, dibujitos.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8639457132922210848-5496189940869725704?l=juanmildenberger.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Juan Mildenbergerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08648080641471295147noreply@blogger.com1