<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830</id><updated>2012-02-19T13:13:38.647-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nevermind</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-4823498193921436958</id><published>2008-07-21T07:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:49.435-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost in between nowhere</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SISl3fBvmXI/AAAAAAAAACE/mwMQUnVrIHA/s1600-h/Imagen010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SISl3fBvmXI/AAAAAAAAACE/mwMQUnVrIHA/s320/Imagen010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225483840296819058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Where is it supouse I should be? Looking after some lost dream or maybe just wondering why I couldn't do it? It's the strange feeling of knowing there is something more in that island or maybe something missing after leaving? I like the way my way changes so many, today here tomorrow there, being just lost in between nowhere.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-4823498193921436958?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/4823498193921436958/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=4823498193921436958' title='25 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/4823498193921436958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/4823498193921436958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2008/07/lost-in-between-nowhere.html' title='Lost in between nowhere'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SISl3fBvmXI/AAAAAAAAACE/mwMQUnVrIHA/s72-c/Imagen010.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>25</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-1645890580069712441</id><published>2008-07-10T13:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:49.809-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Más afilado... y duele demasaiado</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;Q&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;ue se tiene que aguantar? Hasta cuando callar? Quiero explotar, quiero decir lo que siento, pero creo que no puedo, que no es justo, que es mejor aguantar lo que queda, que tampoco es tanta para después disfrutar de la vuelta, de volver a la rutina y monotonia de la que tanto me quejaba y necesitaba escapar...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;El "ruido" de los niños.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;El ensayo de los sabados.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;El domingo por la tarde con mi "colla de burinots"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;Las escapadas a ningún sitio pero que me llevaban a conocer lugares secretos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;Pensar que te tenia cerca aunque nos vieramos tan poco.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;La imagen de la montaña de Montserrat cada mañana me hacia sonreir.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SHZxWZ7-Q5I/AAAAAAAAAB0/LrF7nv3xun4/s1600-h/DSCN1380.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SHZxWZ7-Q5I/AAAAAAAAAB0/LrF7nv3xun4/s320/DSCN1380.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221485447716160402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-1645890580069712441?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/1645890580069712441/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=1645890580069712441' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/1645890580069712441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/1645890580069712441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2008/07/ms-afilado-y-duele-demasaiado.html' title='Más afilado... y duele demasaiado'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SHZxWZ7-Q5I/AAAAAAAAAB0/LrF7nv3xun4/s72-c/DSCN1380.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-5358965421623345156</id><published>2008-07-01T13:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:49.956-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Poc temps ... Massa temps</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SG_QptN-OuI/AAAAAAAAABk/t38xD3MjGUc/s1600-h/P5230106.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SG_QptN-OuI/AAAAAAAAABk/t38xD3MjGUc/s320/P5230106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219619908077107938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:100%;" &gt;Fa nomes un mes i mig que estic aqui i ja em sembla una eternitat. Suposo que des de casa aquest temps és poc, però des d'aqui aquest temps és més que una eternitat.&lt;br /&gt;Quan cada dia treballes entre 10 i 11 hores, quan arribes a casa i l'unic que tens ganes de fer és no res, que sembla que nomes visquis per treballar, i això em repateja, em molesta massa. Per que? Doncs perque potser la feina no es el que m'esperava, perque esta lluny de tot allò que t'estimes es complicat, perque aquesta illa no te "vida", no te entitats que es moguin pels "pobles", li falta quelcom que em faci sentir que val la pena, que l'esforç no es en va, perque ja tinc molt clar que treballar a un zoo se que no serà una opció de futur per mi, es una feina poc agradable, més enllà del que veu la gent quan hi va, ja que el 99% del teu temps te'l passes netejant o bé tallant peix (en el meu cas ja que els lleons marins menjen peix).&lt;br /&gt;Enyoro treballar amb nens (amb tot el que crema això), enyoro els seus somriures i els seus crits, el moviment constant, els crits de seu i menja-t'ho tot, vull tornar a sentir l'energia que em transmeten, ja que els lleons marins no em transmeten res d'això i menys amb la gent amb la que treballo (l'Almudena es salva).&lt;br /&gt;A més hi ha una persona que m'ha dit que haig d'acceptar que la meva felicitat esta a Catalanya, al Baix Llobregat, a Olesa de Montserrat, allà on esta la meva gent...i els animals que siguin lliures!                                                                           &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-5358965421623345156?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/5358965421623345156/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=5358965421623345156' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/5358965421623345156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/5358965421623345156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2008/07/poc-temps-massa-temps.html' title='Poc temps ... Massa temps'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SG_QptN-OuI/AAAAAAAAABk/t38xD3MjGUc/s72-c/P5230106.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-6595448239703559036</id><published>2008-06-30T13:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:50.151-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Majoreros y Godos</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SGlAvoZU2eI/AAAAAAAAABc/A04RR41SWqI/s1600-h/P6280150.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217772830327101922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SGlAvoZU2eI/AAAAAAAAABc/A04RR41SWqI/s320/P6280150.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Por que los majoreros llaman a la gente de la peninsula Godos? Son gente realmente extraña para mi, no los acabo de entender, ya que para ellos lo mejor del mundo mundial es Tenerife (porque tiene el Loropark y alguna gran superficie, digase Ikea, Decathlon ....). No son capaces de ver más alla de estas islas, aunque claro para los godos de Madrid lo mejor del mundo mundial es esa ciudad, al igual que se hablas con un catalan, lo mejor del mundo mundial esta en Catalunya, aunque creo que los catalanes somos un poco más abiertos de miras y sabemos que más alla de nuestras fronteras hay cosas maravillosas por descubrir (como minimo la catalana que escribe). Pero ese no es el tema... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Aqui en esta isla la gente o no ha salido de ella en la vida o lo más que ha visitado son las otras islas de las Canarias, no os parece un poco triste? Creo que esta gente necesita un poco de cultura, un poco más de fuera hacia aqui, para que se den cuenta de lo mucho que tiene que ofrecer el resto del mundo. Aunque la cultura que más cerca les queda simplemente la desprecian porque son "moros". Pero por favor... estan en un punto socialmente evolutivo nulo, se dedican al turimos (digase alemanes principalmente, aunque tambien abundan los ingleses y puede que te encuentres tambien franceses) o bien a la pesca, por suerte es una pesca poco dañina con el medio marino, todavia es una pesca muy artesanal, y el pescado ni tan solo es para el pueblo, es para el turismo... Supongo que algún día abriran los ojos o bien acabaran como en Mallorca, hablando en aleman entre ellos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-6595448239703559036?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/6595448239703559036/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=6595448239703559036' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/6595448239703559036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/6595448239703559036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2008/06/majoreros-y.html' title='Majoreros y Godos'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/SGlAvoZU2eI/AAAAAAAAABc/A04RR41SWqI/s72-c/P6280150.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-6398761572816542898</id><published>2008-05-27T14:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-27T14:19:28.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'>INDEPENDENT?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Què és ser independent? És potser ser autosuficient? En quin sentints pot ser autosuficient? Tot plegat des d'aqui se'm fa extrany pensar en aquesta independencia com unicament una autosuficiencia. Ens agradi o no estem lligats a tantes i tantes coses que aquesta independència es com una mentida que ens volem autoimposar per dir que ens hem fet grans que em fa riure. No vull ser independent ni autosuficient, m'agrada dependre de les petites coses del quotidià, dels petits detalls que la rutina ens dona, una seguretat que certament fa imposible aquesta independencia. Poder anar al bar a veure el partit de futbol (o simplement anar al bar per estar una estona amb els amics mentre per la tele fan el partit?), sortir a fer una cervesa als bars del poble, anar a comprar te on saps que t'agrada... son petites coses que et fan dependent. Cert que depens d'allo al que et vols lligar, o simplement el lligams que s'han creat amb el temps, pero es cert que hi son, i que desfer-te'n d'ells no es tant fàcil com volem creure. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Des d'aqui les coses suposo que és veuen diferent, certament, les coses tenen un altre caire des de la distancia i la soledat, tot és extrany i tot es diferent, ni millor ni pitjor, simplement un altre ritme, un altre aire al qual t'hi has de tornar a fer, has de tornar a crear aquests lligams, una certa "rutina" (o digueu-li com vulgueu) que porta temps, que porta coneixer gent i llocs, habituar-te a allò que no coneixes per tornar a crear aquesta dependencia de la qual en som tots una mica esclaus. No es fàcil crear-los (qui ha dit que ho sigui), ni tampoc es instantani, per tant suposo que tampoc es gens fàcil "trencar" amb els que tens fets. Quan dic trencar no vol dir oblidar, ni de bon troç, simplement es que totes aquestes petites coses que ja tens per ma deixen de ser-ho, tendes, carrers, amics que veus cada setmana, gent que et creues pel carrer i saludes simplement perque porteu tota la vida vivint al mateix lloc i s'ha creat un cert lligam ...  Independent? Ningú no és 100% independent, sempre (i quan dic sempre suposo que és sempre) crees dependencies amb gent, llocs, hàbits... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;object height="336" width="420"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/x1makd&amp;amp;related=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/x1makd&amp;amp;related=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="336" width="420"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1makd_usa-protector-solar_shortfilms"&gt;Usa protector solar&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Cargado por &lt;a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/mauroar"&gt;mauroar&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-6398761572816542898?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/6398761572816542898/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=6398761572816542898' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/6398761572816542898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/6398761572816542898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2008/05/independent.html' title='INDEPENDENT?'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-4205909317625172885</id><published>2008-02-12T10:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:50.440-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Llençant els records</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/R7HtK-43agI/AAAAAAAAAA0/BXFjGthlgDg/s1600-h/Marta+P7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/R7HtK-43agI/AAAAAAAAAA0/BXFjGthlgDg/s320/Marta+P7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166171020506655234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:lime;"&gt;Avui es un d’aquells dies que et poses a fer neteja de calaixos i caixes, plens de records i de bons moments, petites coses que et fan somriure. Que passa quan fas neteja? Doncs que has de triar quins records vols guardar i quins decideixes llençar. Son decisions un tant extranyes, no crec que per ningú sigui fàcil, tot i així, avui m’he decidit a fer-ho. La pitjor part ha sigut llençar una capsa que un dia de Sant Jordi em van deixar a la porta de casa. Aquesta capsa tenia un dels regals més bonics que m’han fet mai: era una capsa de música amb forma de tronc d’arbre (just quan esta tocant a terra que se li veuen algunes arrels), amb una petita porta que hi posa “El follet”. Quan l’obries sonava la cançó del Follet de Gossos. Fa anys que es va espatllar però mai he tingut valor per llençar-la, fins avui. Abans de decidir-me l’he obert, he mirat cada detall, tot i que el misteriós regal ja no hi sigui allà el record del moment d’obrir-la i escoltar per primer cop com sonava seguirà en mi... qui sap?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-4205909317625172885?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/4205909317625172885/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=4205909317625172885' title='2 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/4205909317625172885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/4205909317625172885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2008/02/llenant-els-records.html' title='Llençant els records'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/R7HtK-43agI/AAAAAAAAAA0/BXFjGthlgDg/s72-c/Marta+P7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-3776029823004868808</id><published>2007-09-19T02:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:50.772-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt;Agafa’l ràpid,&lt;br /&gt;Que ve cap aquí&lt;br /&gt;Ja la tinc!&lt;br /&gt;Demana un desig i fuga.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;L’estel ha desaparegut i&lt;br /&gt;Tu ja no estàs aquí&lt;br /&gt;Per veure-ho&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Has fugit, t’allunyes,&lt;br /&gt;Poc a poc t’has perdut&lt;br /&gt;Moments que ja mai&lt;br /&gt;Més t’importaran&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ara ja no queda res&lt;br /&gt;D’aquella bonica amistat&lt;br /&gt;Que juntes vam viure&lt;br /&gt;Tots aquells anys&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;T’haig de dir adéu,&lt;br /&gt;Se que no puc triar,&lt;br /&gt;Tu vas fer ja la teva&lt;br /&gt;I jo no hi formava part&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Així doncs, espero que&lt;br /&gt;Algun dia puguem&lt;br /&gt;Retrobar-nos,&lt;br /&gt;Com dos velles amigues&lt;br /&gt;I recordar aquell dia&lt;br /&gt;Que vam agafar l’estel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#ff6600;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111841515893878242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RvDoxmby7eI/AAAAAAAAAAs/HjEM5DCxUqw/s320/Marta+P8.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-3776029823004868808?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/3776029823004868808/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=3776029823004868808' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/3776029823004868808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/3776029823004868808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2007/09/agafal-rpid-que-ve-cap-aqu-ja-la-tinc.html' title=''/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RvDoxmby7eI/AAAAAAAAAAs/HjEM5DCxUqw/s72-c/Marta+P8.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-7495316218166424483</id><published>2007-09-14T07:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:50.938-08:00</updated><title type='text'>ÈXTASIS BLAU</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Fum, música i amics.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Gent que es mou sense&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;gaire ritme.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Allà al mig, rodejada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Només cal que &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;em deixi portar,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;escoltar la música&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;i guiar-me per ella.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;M'agrada estar amb ella&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Estem juntes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;més d'una hora,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;però a les dues &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;se'ns fa curt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Ens estan buscant,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;haurem de sortir...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;La darrera caricia,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;el darrer petò.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Ja es hora de marxar,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;pero sé que hi hauran&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;altres nit, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;altres llocs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;i més gent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;També sé que no &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;podré oblidar-la mai.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Potser només &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;es l'èxtasis blau&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;que em fa sentir &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;tot això.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110074361018485810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RuqhjphWjDI/AAAAAAAAAAk/j-u0b4LRRnU/s320/IMAG0042.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-7495316218166424483?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/7495316218166424483/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=7495316218166424483' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/7495316218166424483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/7495316218166424483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2007/09/xtasis-blau.html' title='ÈXTASIS BLAU'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RuqhjphWjDI/AAAAAAAAAAk/j-u0b4LRRnU/s72-c/IMAG0042.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-244933509418365098</id><published>2007-09-13T13:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:51.158-08:00</updated><title type='text'>As the time passes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RumhOZhWjAI/AAAAAAAAAAM/QAJZFEI4jjo/s1600-h/IMAG0036.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109792520969554946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RumhOZhWjAI/AAAAAAAAAAM/QAJZFEI4jjo/s320/IMAG0036.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;Look around, everything is dark.&lt;br /&gt;Look trough the window.&lt;br /&gt;Look at that light, it’s far away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope it's far away from me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;I'm just walking and walking&lt;br /&gt;Always try to find the right way.&lt;br /&gt;Always try to take my own way.&lt;br /&gt;Is it the right? is it the best?&lt;br /&gt;Where is the way far from dark?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Althought the snow is still falling&lt;br /&gt;My life is staying quiet for a while&lt;br /&gt;Enjoying the sensation of that cold &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;Alone in darkness but still alive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe the summer brings someone&lt;br /&gt;Special as nobody else it will be for me&lt;br /&gt;The time passed and summer has gone&lt;br /&gt;As you can see ... I’m still alone&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-244933509418365098?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/244933509418365098/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=244933509418365098' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/244933509418365098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/244933509418365098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2007/09/as-time-passes.html' title='As the time passes'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RumhOZhWjAI/AAAAAAAAAAM/QAJZFEI4jjo/s72-c/IMAG0036.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8189529910350216830.post-453737954393974401</id><published>2007-09-11T03:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T22:50:51.415-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fragments</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Que rapid que passa el temps, ens hem fet grans en un obrir i tancar d’ulls, hem creat amistats inseparables en questions de mesos, em estimas mesos, plorat dies i tot plegat es nomes l’inici del viatge, que sera de nosaltres en 5 anys? I en 10? Sera un altre obrir i tancar d’ulls? Tenamoraras d’una mirada que nomes dura uns segons pero que ets capac de recordar i estimar durant anys, per que es tant important el temps? No vull creixer, no vull haver de pendre decisions que facin mal a la gent que m’estimo i m’aprecio, pero se que de tant en tant ho haig de fer, encara que se que tot te la seva explicacio. Tot s’aplega al meu cap, tot esta massa confus, massa barrejat dins meu, de vegades m’agradaaria poder comencar de zero, deixar la meva memoria en blanc, els recors serien quelcom per gaudir nomes en moments de solitud o bona companyia, poder experimentar de nou, cada nova caricia, cada nou peto i nomes aixo, noves sensacions. Ara mateix tot sembla el mateix, homogeni i monoton, no hi ha res que realment em faci sentir res d’espcial, perque es tant sols el tornar d’un vell record.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;Poder tornar a tindre l’inocencia d’un nen, la cuiositat dels seus ulls nus, un somriure sincer que no espera res a canvi, les mans brutes d’experimentar coses noves, l’anima viva per poder ompliar-la d’energia cada mati, els pulmons plens d’aire fresc que aprofitaria fins l’ultim suspir i el cor ple de puresa que sap estimar fins a l’ultim minut de cada dia. Cada llagrima seria un sentiment real, sense cap vaguetat en ella, cap superficalitat, tot de dins en fora i anar-se omplint de nou, poc a poc fer un cami que em dura fins a llocs on podre viure sense que la monotonia em faci sentir que m’estic morint per dins. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RumlEJhWjBI/AAAAAAAAAAU/ldfeJnBxui4/s1600-h/5+octubre+070.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109797245433580578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RumlhZhWjCI/AAAAAAAAAAc/9qjdG8TnSqc/s320/IMAG0120.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8189529910350216830-453737954393974401?l=bluemarta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/feeds/453737954393974401/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8189529910350216830&amp;postID=453737954393974401' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/453737954393974401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8189529910350216830/posts/default/453737954393974401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bluemarta.blogspot.com/2007/09/fragments.html' title='Fragments'/><author><name>Martha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17431696116417078578</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AHdHmGGg4OM/RumlhZhWjCI/AAAAAAAAAAc/9qjdG8TnSqc/s72-c/IMAG0120.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
