One of my favorite combinations are blue with orange, like a soft fire rotating inside a cube of ice in a blue artic ocean. The angel is in a corner of a church in Arequipa city and I guess she’s going to the university for the way she covers her chest with the book.
Yesterday I got a new and cheap glass for my old spectacles, I’m searching in internet models to buy, and well, at least I got some work to do so in a pair of months I could get adequate glasses. Today in the bus was a foreigner girl, judging by their bags from the market, her cared nails and formal dress she lives here; tourists are practical so they use the minimum and usually use colorful clothes from the markets. I still find quite exotic the ladies with white or black skin because in our country we all are usually mixed so we have several shades of tanned skins; she has one of the clearest tones of skin I saw, for that and the bit I heard of her accent I guess she’s from the north of Europe.
With more days in Flickr also I see something I don’t understand, I’m receiving, besides friends bloggers, “followings” from people I don’t know (that’s normal) and apparently haven’t seen my photographs (that’s not normal) Seeing their profiles they follow tens of thousands of people (!). Usually our native etiquette would say me that in correspondence I’d to follow them but in this case it seems that the follows are not a gesture towards me but towards them. I hope to be wrong but I believe it could be another symptom of the facebook phenomenon: there is a hunger for followers and likes and the endorphins they produce. Some time I thought in disable the option of likes in my blog but actually I use it to discover bloggers of persons that put their heart in their work and art and it wouldn’t be fair to let gestures of acknowledge and at the same time close that option in me space. So actually if I drop a like in your space it’s not a check of read post but I truly appreciate it; if I don’t drop one is just because that post is that I appreciate your post but it’s not for me. But they aren’t to me something more than a kind gesture.
The angel of the afternoon.
Qhapaq 