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Times are changing and technologies are changing as well. In an era of social networks and continuous availability there are plenty of options to reach out to professionals quickly. One of them is WhatsApp. Companies are exploring the popular messaging service more and more. Can it help freelance professionals to find new work?
Read this interesting article by Pieter Beens:
Every end of life is not even expected, sometimes, to think because we don’t know what to think when an end is waiting to take us away from life, the definition will be a mystery we don’t know what is the game of life, none an instruction, no rules, just one thing that’s “our self” if we had a breakup. If we had a fight, if we are out of mood or different hazards, we suffer from life is tactful to manage, sometimes you are more about someone than on yourself. Your journey walks by you and you are the first passenger to it,
If you are mean good for life, including everything that comes under to it if a tragedy or surgery goes through to you or cause you every time say enough to that because it shouldn’t matter you ever begun is known to you.
But end not…
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The red light starts
everything in complete sintony.
the car moves 3km
The red light again
a tree on the side,
then the green,
an old woman on the street
an odd couple walking
the yellow light appears
hand with hand, heart with heart
it lasts 30 seconds
an old man dying
my clock ticking
a new person breathing
the car´s engine working
the yellow light again, 30 seconds
the air scrolling
my heart beating
clouds in the sky
enlightenment,red light 20 seconds
everything in complete alignment
metallic sounds, glass flying
nothing is in alignment anymore
everything is fast and slow
“Cada día sigo sacando espinas de lo profundo del corazón. En la noche sigo encendiendo sueños para limpiar con el humo sagrado cada recuerdo.” – Natalia Lafourcade, “Hasta La Raíz.”
Every day I continue to remove thorns from the depths of my heart. In the night I continue lighting dreams to clean with the sacred smoke every memory.
I don’t think it ever really goes away. On great days they are merely an echo, very weak voices that are being overpowered by love and excitement. Other days, the not-so-good ones, they are screams that demand to be heard, they scream words that are like salt being poured on an open wound that just won’t heal.
Let me set the stage, I was in second grade. I used to walk around daydreaming about what I wanted to do when I grew up: a dolphin trainer. My days were filled with those…
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You, I see you.
You, glare, you, cringe, you, silent laughing and walking away.
There you are going back to pretending you are not amused by the sudden change in a crowd you feel estranged by.
You, subjective objectifier.
You hate the laws of physics, you hate formulas, anything exact, anything that doesn’t allow you to leave fingerprints for an answer.
Multiple choice exams are excruciating, you try to find a hidden message between equations, you are certain that exponents and roots have nothing to say to to you.
Still, you’ve always had this thing for discovering imaginary riddles in things that don’t want to hold a conversation.
You introverted social creature, you Kafkian character.
You, make-believe sociologist
You, dream catcher, dream-let-go-er .
You, you thought things would turn out differently, didn’t you?
You thought the answers would’ve emerged with the experience acquired, you believed the promises of blue elders…
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