mama năo que brinca mais

A robar corazones voy al molino,
a robar corazones voy al molino,
porque la molinera,
porque la molinera,
porque la molinera, morena, me robó el mío.

i threw the sanbur-encrusted yellow duck to the floor and laid on the mound of pillows and sleeping bags covering the couch with my french bilingual dictionary and the article Le Japon est "d'accord pour discuter" sur la possibilité... and duylinh read about public transport in Managua on La Prensa
there are five names i know for cassava: yucca, manioc, mandioca, brazilian arrowroot, tapioca. along with potatoes, it was first domesticated in south america. last night we went to fiesta and bought a large cassava, some bolillos, basil, beer and stew meat. late at night the shoppers at fiesta are mexican waitresses with their children buying huge large sacks of beans, onions, tortillas, jalapeńos, tomatoes, and lard; guanaco and chapín day laborers come in pairs and buy crčme fraîche, tamales, beans and jocotes, single women buying huge bags of dog food, and me buying fried cassava, green onions or gummi bears

it has occurred to me that traditional latin american songs whose lines end in morena or negrita are songs of women telling their problems to the maidservant

duylinh made some baked pork ribs with the red marinade and i made the cassava stew. neighbors came over and ate everything. i have been dreaming of a system of low-friction trackings around my ceiling and a harness i can sit in which allows me to maintain a reclined position, so i can glide around the apartment for whatever reason