Under a red book alert. I slept in a pool of tintazul. Yellow days spilled into my glass of the thirties. I want to paint the pink clouds, there is still time. Discovering the universe cm in my left hand. The right hand always so busy I have sometimes forgets what she feels for her sister's hand away. They love both my hands. They kiss. Caress. I remind you that I am. I get out of bed dreams were glued on eyelashes pm sleepwalker. The board expects me to warm up the surface. I will prepare a cake. I'm the first bite into the bread and looking for a piece of cheese. I rolled up in lettuce and refresh me. I'm ready to go into the world of my dreams. Came running with old memories stored in the heart of a new time. IS THE TIME. Should I start. I'll brush my wishes. Colors will build badly worn ......( EXTRACT FROM BOOK AIRAM)

ARTIST FROM THE AGE OF SIX YEARS. SELF-TAUGHT ARTIST OF THE ART OF NAILS FROM 1990 AND AUTHOR OF TWO BOOKS "ASOR" (2009) and "AIRAM" (2010). MEXICAN ROCK YOU LIKE THE GENERATION OF "THE CAVE" Rockdrigo, JAIME LOPEZ. NINA GALINDO, Real de Catorce, STAFF, ARMANDO ROSAS, Teixeira LEON CHAVEZ, Gerardo Enciso, ETC. AND ANOTHER ONE GROUP CASTING ENGLISH. LATEST AND LILA Dawns And Astrid Hadad ETC.

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MAYBE, would be a truism, WHICH COULD BE SAID ABOUT THE AREA, THAT OUR SOCIETY HAS ASSIGNED TO WOMEN.

AS we all know, women have been transformed into a being who is often confused, EVEN IF SAME, WITH MANY OF COSTUMES (WITH EVERYTHING AND MASKS), WHICH IS REQUIRED TO USE TO SEE YOU ALLOW ANY. WOMEN THIS WAY MISS YOUR SPIRITUALITY AND MISSION MUST BE GENERATING LIVE LIFE. FOR MORE TO SAY, THE WORLD OF WOMEN IS A ONE WORLD, barely glimpsed, even by women themselves.

ROSA MARIA VEGA, IN HIS WORK, A PROTEST BY ENDORSES, PRACTICALLY RAISED TO CRY, THE DEEP WOMEN'S HOPES OF THESE TIMES AND ALL THE TIME, FOR ALL SOCIAL CLASSES, INCLUDING MINORITIES TO HAVE A PAYING JOB. DEMOCRATIC ATTITUDE IN TRUTH, FOR WOMEN OF ALL SOCIAL CLASSES IN ACCORDANCE WITH COMMON FEATURES, ONE BEING THAT THE CUTS: OBJECT OF WOMEN, AMADA and hated AT A TIME, praise, and contempt DESIRED. BUT ABOVE ALL SUBJECT. TRANSFORM OBJECT IN USE AND EXCHANGE. ASI, WOMEN CHANGING, AND NOT ANY MORE IN THE SPIDER WOMAN, THE POPULAR SHOWS OR THE SIREN TO DROWN TO MARINERS, OR IN THE MUSE OF THE POETS, IF NOT ALSO IN WOMEN-BOTTLE, WILLING TO MEET HUNGER AND THIRST FOR OTHERS-lamujer-VAGINA, lamujer-lips, eyes, face, breast, belly ... FRUIT, land, flora, THE END, ALL THAT IS "THE" ON THIS EARTH, THE "MAYOR.

ROSA MARIA VEGA, LIVE AND FEEL ALL THAT EXPRESS. LIKE DAUGHTER, MOTHER, comrades, brothers, workers, artists, writers ... WOMAN ... CAN BE THAT WOMAN, DREAM IT, YOU MAY DREAM.

AV Jose Silva

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EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK "ASOR"

BACK TO THE NIGHT, there where the stars went out, got dirty and tired love words. Sinuous curves and bulky buttocks. Spreading her legs to eternity. bore a noble army of peace-loving soldiers. To achieve peace, the army life and death struggle against the warriors incoherenes, a madrezuela children, who, all your bile spat parirlos ...

Who made the roads could mourn for them to walk by women of grass and singing hymns silent, did not get far, because a stream of outrageous sentiments have been barred. And only one, the choice should be the first to cross. Asor She was so fragile, so small, so useless, so intense, so devoted to the passion that I do not doubt for a second and throwing himself decisively crossed the river with shouts and cries.

He reached the shore and from the other end shouted the other: cross! Forget just feel! And so they did, some died, others became severely damaged and a few were left unscathed.

Women continued on their way to grass. Now your song is no longer silent, have light, shape, right. And finally came to a large apple orchard, blue, red, yellow, white, black and metal. They ate, slept and woke before dawn with bloated belly, very hungry for love but not pleaded and returned to eating their favorite apples. The next day before dawn melancholy pregnant gave birth at the same time.

Those who ate apples blue, gave birth to all intellectuals, those who ate red apples all artists, those who ate yellow all single men, those who ate black men all work and they ate METAL, lambed ALL BUT ALL WOMEN. Just at the time of delivery, women in grass withered and their bodies were only a few green twigs up to put their children on an altar. Now that 2000 years have passed by yesterday, the memories of forgotten howl on moonlit nights and am not going to have good and bad that lizards fed with hot potatoes and milk melon ... Because ... the whole time I know, is the teacher who saw us walking barefoot bleeding through the centuries, as the crimson red blood of our lipstick. Because time knows us and knows we are the same, that hurts us, we cried and we repeat it in the full grace of being women of grass, mint, yerba santa.

AT NIGHT changing your name does not walk into the bowels of the universe who are you? Broken plates, filled my glass with pieces, open up your notebook, ciérrame your memories. I was late, the truck did not pass that night, that long night, I came and went in your life.

Now burn the trees on my mind off. Milagors not rain, we ate when there was no need. My body smells like freshly painted wood. Your hands and your mouth are labrocha. I'm back. I'll stay, I warn you.

Sleep comes, I have to get up, open the window and pull up stones from the ground up for cocinartelas at breakfast. Dawn, get up from the table. Did you sleep well? At night there was unrest. There are stones crescent sauce, I like to soak in milk, papaya, as when we lived with crocodiles paper. And we were not afraid. For everything we love we spill silence, for all that hate what we say to screams. It is tempting to embrace the unknown. Experiment. But it hurts the change. Nobody is going to be. The neighbor, partner, friend, sister, mother, daughter ...

NOS is far, sleep yesterday, your voice speaks, says that after shadows will love and your body reminds me so much to absences, I leave the house, take your hand to get lost among the people who dwell in your embrace. We take what we like the dawn. All I want to have it over your eyes when you think of the song of the sirens. Call me when your eyes. When your eyes cry grape juice and drink the tears and you kiss my lips, that's what I love most. I visit old friends in the morning. I will open the door. We will combine our mouths to recognize. We'll take tea. Tell black words. Paint elephants. Rebuild time. We say goodbye. We forget. Collecting back I never trodden steps and take them to my illusions to fill them with them. Everything is back the clock, my origin, my ancestors and the memories. Time flies, get tired and lie down in space and let humans and are not afraid to dream. Ay! Time ever. My Lord, take care not to lose, have mercy of events. Seconds may not be your eternal pain, your minutes are merciful, your hours are charitable, that your days will excuse us for weeks, months and years do not count. Anything for you, for me, for all that time not ruin it, do not forget, DO NOT MATE.

ON SHOES bloom my ways. Your ways are dissolved in the distance. We are products of the past. Eat the memories. We exceeded the distance. We get wet and laugh, because wine, as I arrive. The change of our hunger. Wanted before corn and beans, now we just need air ... (CONTINUED)

ROSA MARIA VEGA (FRAGMENT ASOR)

The female figure is the main element of MI WORK.