GuigoDrawing

Power is the primary reason of living. Having hunger to look for it or not is the question. Money, sex, politics, war: the well-succeeded men in these spheres are acnowledged with glory and admiration; those who don't share the same Luck fall in the sands of Forgetfulness. Maybe Luck isn't the only path to glory, as ancient sagiens would say. It is needed to have capacity: it is needed to be Lion and Fox. To know men to subjugate them and to know yourself to set yourself up. The path is devious and dangerous, full of lions and snakes... But I cannot fear! It is the promise of an empire that puts itself in front of me. I live! I stand up, then

Looking from up there, in the sky, We must look like a sea looks for ourselves. Looking from up there, far and high, Humanity is a tree and people, its leaves. Not even if they wear hat or tie, Not even if they change and paint themselves, Not even if they blink and shine, Not even if they are killers or thieves. People are all the same. No way That someone can be singular or only In any place or anyday. The leaves of a tree are far too many To be seen in a summer day, Though each one is bright and, mainly, Shine with the sun of May.

Showcases, cars, clothes, crowds, coffee shops, restaurants, museums, turistic points. William de Paula was fifteen, but he felt like a child among the giant buildings and the cry of the teeming New York street. Will, as he liked to be called, was passing in front of the huge window of a coffee shop when someone held his arm. He stopped and looked at the man who held him for an instant, reactionless. "Why don't you take a snow globe?" The boy didn't remember of having seen the stand beside the window, but there it was: a precarious wooden skeleton, shelfs full of snow globes covering the background and a plaque on top with the name "Melchior'

Garoa is presenciating the formation of three big groups, all of them coming from the crime underworld. Their reason? Find, steal, kill and destroy all their enemies and end all the silent wars that take place in the metropolis. All of the participants start the militias within knowing that it will make the silent war become roaring. Runing through the rain, Antonio's steps threw water to the wet ciment. The three guys running after him would kill him if they chased him. His breath was getting exausted when he turned the street corner and saw an empty alley. He ran up to there, the three guys still turning the corner when he jumped into a tr

Knowledge. Creativity. Inspiration. Inborn gift. What is necessary to create? As this is a phylosophic text, it is not telling people the true truth about this issue, but it is going to give the authour's opinion, so that who reads it can reflect about that. Knowledge is essencial to create a book, a drawing or any kind of art, if the creator wants it to have a good quality - and nobody should write, draw, take a picture, sculpt something that could come to be something bad. Creativity is a human aspiration, but it is necessary to have knowledge to have it, because creativity is nothing but ideas of the world the creator sees, reads and hea

"I'm not interested in preserving the status quo; I want to overthrow it" Niccolo Maquiavel I was born in one of the largest cities in the world: Garoa. It's located in the middle of a place where there used to be a tropical forest, which nowadays is an intrincated forest os cities and roads. As every metropolis in the world, Garoa has huge levels of criminalty and people live scared of getting out of their houses. The crime that has become part of the every day living of people in Garoa is only the tip of the iceberg. Under the water, there is a hidden underworld of crime, which is maintained by the drugs, the prostitution and, above all, t

Last night, I sat down to my piano and felt the ivory keys go up and down below my sad fingers as I played the first movement of Moonlight Sonata, a cold pale light getting into the room through the two windows at my left side. I was thinking about what comes after this mortal life. I still don’t have the answer… Is there a Paradise? A Hell? A possibility of coming back to watch somebody I left behind? Or is death an endless rest? Maybe a dark and cold emptiness? By the time that affliction made my heart give a cold hard beat, the window opened and the freezing wind howled through the mysteriously open space. I stopped playing

In a crowded street of New York, a man took people’s attention just by making some tricks of magic. He made a rabbit disappear inside his topper and then brought him back from the bottom of the hat, giving it to a boy who had a lot of freckles drawn to his cheeks and fiery red hair, covered by a small white cap, just like a sailor’s one. After that, he pulled a white dove from his sleeve. The bird flew beautifully, taking sighs from the pretty ladies who watched it. The New York from the eighteenth century was always too busy to stop and watch a show like that. But the children and the women, who didn’t use to work, used al

The snow fell slowly, reinforcing the layer of ice that hid the dirt roads and the fields. The sun traversed the gelid air, giving an unparalleled shine to the pale scenery, turning it into a beautiful Nivôse morning; the only morning scenery my generation knew. When I was born, the King Rorem had already taken the throne from his brother and the Icy Age already used to lay Andrallê to waste. Everyone knew that Queen Glacie had cursed the kingdom and that Andrallê men were fated by her to spend the rest of eternity in cold days, with scarce harvest and watching to each other die from hunger and cold. Some people used to say