![](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/3.bp.blogspot.com\/-5y2NTWvo28c\/Tn8QY0sDcEI\/AAAAAAAAE38\/ZbJ3aToUwD0\/s1600\/Arco%2Biris%2Ben%2Bun%2Bpaisaje%2Bde%2Bmonta%25C3%25B1a%252C%2Bh.%2B1809%25E2%2580%25931810.jpg\")
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\nB\u00e9r\u00e9nice (La canci\u00f3n del eremita. Parte II)<\/b><\/p>\n De todas las migajas del cielo roto, destruido por los rayos, truenos y rel\u00e1mpagos que yo mismo he forjado, de la mitad de los lamentos ambulantes repletos de blancos y punzantes remordimientos, de cada una de las sonrisas necias y ruines que he dibujado en la arena ficticia de mis ensue\u00f1os verdaderos, en todos esos momentos, he aspirado esa mezcla de fluidos sin mol\u00e9culas que podr\u00edan matar a los angustiados, a los atormentados, a los avasallados. Pero, en mi caso, s\u00f3lo han servido para crear un monstruo irreal que arremete contra los engendros y endriagos que maldicen ocultos en mis adentros.<\/p>\n No soy un cobarde. Es posible que lo fuera en otra existencia, es posible que lo sea en mi pr\u00f3xima reencarnaci\u00f3n. No soy un cobarde. No soy un cobarde, pero de entre toda la mierda y la suciedad que comprimen mis pensamientos, hay uno anclado en alguna parte de la irrealidad absoluta que, con ojos sangrantes clama ante el temor a que un dios creado por los hombres diseccione mi ilusi\u00f3n menguante. Nadie puede tapar el grito de mi imprudencia; nadie puede llamarme perturbado mientras sonr\u00ede; nadie puede se\u00f1alarme con un dedo ves\u00e1nico cubierto de bilis que maceraba en el caldero de una bruja. Puedes escupir en mi rostro, puedes ara\u00f1ar mis opiniones, pero no puedes llamarme cobarde. No soy un cobarde. No soy un cobarde.<\/p>\n En alg\u00fan lugar de ning\u00fan sitio existe una peque\u00f1a sonrisa; la guardo all\u00ed porque es mi tesoro m\u00e1s preciado. Alg\u00fan d\u00eda la desenvolver\u00e9 con cuidado y la llevar\u00e9 conmigo a todas partes. Pero hasta que suceda, ese milagro pertenece a un personaje de ficci\u00f3n llamado B\u00e9r\u00e9nice Einberg. Ella ten\u00eda raz\u00f3n. Ella ten\u00eda raz\u00f3n. No soy un cobarde. No soy un cobarde.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Caspar David Friedrich, \u00abArco Iris sobre un paisaje de monta\u00f1a\u00bb (1809-1810) B\u00e9r\u00e9nice (La canci\u00f3n del eremita. Parte II) T\u00fa me conoces, sabes que no soy un cobarde; es posible que a veces lleve demasiado lejos ese juego en el que nunca hay vencedores llamado Misantrop\u00eda; es posible que mi coraz\u00f3n hura\u00f1o y mi cerebro retra\u00eddo y […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":3061,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center 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