#companero

[blinded-by-solar-eclipse]

SLYTHERIN YONG JUMPED OUT YA’LL WITH THAT SINISTER BACKGROUND MUSIC WHAT

P.S: Find her and return her to me, thanks-

[degeneratedworker]

"Nixon's Peace", Cuba, 1972

[notsoterriblymisanthropic]

I am alone with the extraordinary evil and violence that is being visited on this country, and as I walk I can feel hope being sucked out of me as if I were bleeding it. I can feel all the rage of Chile filling me and there is nothing inside me or outside to counter that despair, not even tears. I can't find a tear inside me to cry for my dead President and my dying land and my dry heart. I am hollow, adrift, someone who does not know who he is or what to do with his life. It is then, when I am most lost, midway through my life, just past the age of thirty-one, that I see that man. In truth, he sees me first. He sees me as I cross a street, he reads my face as I cross the street, he understands everything I am feeling as I cross the street, and as I turn to him momentarily, for a split second that no camera could capture, no spy could register, that man, a Chilean worker, bronzed, short, muscular, determined, dignifed, that man I have never before seen and would probably not recognize today, that man closes and opens his left eye and then he is gone, he vanishes as if he had never existed. He winked at me. Just that. No more than that. But that wink said it all. It said to me: No es para tanto, compañero. Things are not that bad, compañero. It said: Vamos a salir adelante. We'll find a way out. It said: No está tan solo como piensa. You're not as alone as you think. He saw me there in the pit of my sorrow and offered no more than his encouragement, proof that I was not really alone, that he was there even if we never saw each other again, that we could communicate even if the soldiers patrolled the streets and there seemed no place of refuge and they were beginning to torture prisoners a few blocks away, forcasting with the opening and closing of his eye how we would start rebuilding the country that had been stolen from under us, bit by bit, wink by wink, under their very guns and boots. But, above all, it said to me that I was recognized, that I belonged, that he spoke my language, and that language was not Spanish and of course not English but the unspoken language of solidarity, the gesture of one man who had not lost hope toward another who was on the verge of losing it. It was a welcome, I thought, a wink of complicity that told me I had ceased to be a stranger and had finally become a compañero. Compañero. A word for which there is no adequate English equivalent, because soul mate, buddy, friend, comrade, even companion, do not contain, like an echo, the Spanish word for bread - pan - and it is that pan which speaks most profoundly in compañero of two people who break bread, of that other who is a brother even if you have never met him, of trust.

Ariel Dorfman, Heading South, Looking North

[herdemee-blog]

"Önce ruhunun karanlık yanlarıyla tanışmalısın, doğru."

[illustray]

Nobody asked me but I’ll say it anyway: Democrats need to find themselves a good sport for their top candidates to play so…

open.substack.com/pub/garrisonkeillor/p/what-needs-to-be-done-for-starters

[djbalius]

#ayer #pinchando en #discoteca @nuevouglymataro junto a mi #companero @soulphunx_dadeep . (en The Ugly Mug Mataro) https://www.instagram.com/p/CU2dFctsXLV/?utm_medium=tumblr

[fsidnei]

#ami #companero #friend #matogrosso #mt #cba #cuiaba #cuiabrasa #brasil #brazil #br (at Ditado Popular Cuiaba)