My name is Maria Camacho and I am the Webmaster of this site


I'm someone

Walking the paths of life

In this minute


Planet earth

Breathing the air of freedom

In a place


Without name

I am like you

And perhaps


You are like me

Thrust into a world full of stars

All exploding and burning


In a vision of hell

I am a normal soul

Living a usual life


In an expanding universe

Filled up to the brim

With losers like me

Visit My Website

Myspace Quotes, Glitter Graphics, Hello Comments, Dividers, TagWorld layouts, and HTML codes

Yo Camino por el mundo
En un sitio que no se
Respirando la libertad

De un planeta sin nombre
Yo soy como tú
Y de pronto

Tú eres como yo
Viviendo como todos
Bajo un cielo lleno de estrellas

Que queman y explotan
Yo soy un alma normal
Paseando por ahí

En un universo inmortal
Lleno hasta el final
De tontas como yo

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CAMACHO: Apellido valenciano, oriundo de Francia. Una rama fundó nueva casa en Jerez de la Frontera y de ahí a Bolivia, Colombia y Venezuela.


Camacho: Valencian surname, originally from France.  A branch of it founded a new house in Jerez de la Frontera, and from there it went to Colombia and Venezuela

Ismael Camacho and his grandchildren


My father Ismael Camacho Arango died ten years ago.  As a cryonicist I can't accept that he lies under the mud.



I have memories of you

Happy events of my childhood

Shrouded in fog

Dimmed by the years


As I remember you

I dissolve in tears

A proud man

Has been reduced to dust


What lies under the mud

It’s not my dad

He’s gone forever

And only lives in my mind


 Apocalypses by Ismael Camacho Arango

Apocalypses by Ismael Camacho Arango


Why am I writing this? I know how it started but I can’t say how it finished.

Is this the most important moment for humankind? All of these questions come to my mind now that I’m going back to the primordial matter, and I will cease to be me.

Having been many things that start and finish in a moment, I wonder if I will I be something now that I’m about to end.

I hear shouts in the streets, hallucinated words, the crying of the dying and drunk men singing.

I had never seen or heard anything like that and I will never do again. Everything started in a simple way.

It had been a day like any other, when workmen went to work, wearing their overalls and their packed lunches.
They did something they call work where you move your fingers and muscles until the clock on the wall tells them to stop.

Rising on a side and going down the other, nobody noticed the sun. Primitive man worshiped it, the Inca made a toast of chicha from the highest points in the Andes, while some others offered the flesh and hearts of men.

Our father sun had decided to eliminate us, perhaps because he didn’t have any more chicha and hearts. He would leave our toasted ashes in the cosmic cloud, as a reminder of the children of the sun.

On that particular day, the news traveled fast everywhere. I had just got dressed, when the radio program was interrupted. Someone said: “Attention! Attention! Extra! Extra!!! Extra!!!”

I thought they wanted to sell soap for washing clothes.

“…northern lights in all regions, including the tropics. Several observatories around the world have tried to explain the phenomenon as a dense fog has descended over the earth, and the seas have receded. We’ll keep you informed of any more developments.”

Wondering about the northern lights, I heard some more news while cutting my sausages.

A plane had fallen down in the sea and a coach full of football fans had crashed in the mountains. The maid appeared by my side, looking worried.
“You must see this,” she said.

On opening a window, I noticed dense fog in the street. The neighbouring houses had disappeared, while shadows moved within the clouds like lost angels, and cars drove slowly in the whiteness enveloping the world.

I had not paid much attention to the news that morning, but as the maid went back to her duties I listened to the radio again. I would look for the northern lights in the internet before leaving for my job.

The local television station had been put together with the national radio as the world had never seen anything like that. Switching on the TV, I saw the presenter in a studio full of people.

“We bring you information about the rare things happening to the world,” he said. “Fog has invaded the country, and airplanes have been declared in emergency. We don’t know what has happened to them.”

I saw total chaos everywhere, as motorists crashed with each other in the harsh conditions, and then I noticed lights amidst the clouds.

I had forgotten all about my breakfast as I heard the news again.The White House had declared the USA in state of emergency and rumors circulated that a terrorist had planned the whole thing.

As I saw the lamp in the lounge moving, I thought something had to be wrong but the presenter kept on talking. I had to go to my job, but all of this talk about lights in the sky might be a perfect excuse to stay at home.

“Attention,” the presenter said. “We have just had a small tremor. Attention!”

As I left my chair, I had to hold the table to keep my stability. It had to be trembling again. After I managed to go outside, I heard people screaming, clouds of dust rising in the air.









People moving between the cameras, as everyone talks at the same time, and a man with big glasses looks at the screen in front of him.

One of his colleagues appears with a notebook.

“The sun is having hiccups,” he says.

Pushing back invisible strands of hair, Antonio studies the graphics where a sun full of flares looks at them from the darkness of space. He listens to his headphones for a few moments.

“It’s time for the news,” he says.

As Antonio sits in front of the cameras, the studio lights up ready for an audience hungry for news.

“Good morning,” he says. “Our sun seems to have more energy that its size requires, causing the fog and the lights in the sky we have seen this morning.”

The camera shows a row of cars lining the road and disappearing amidst the fog, as a few people argue with each other in the rain.

A fight starts between two men by a small blue car, but after punching each other a few times, they go back to their vehicles with sore faces.

“It is raining in Bogotá,” Antonio says. “Attention! An electric storm has developed over the city, with rain and hale.”

The camera cuts to the lights dancing amidst the fog as hail falls over the city.

Moving through the blanket of mist, people try to get away from the sea, while a picture of the sun fills the screen, large flares shooting out into space. Antonio’s voice interrupts the drama.

“Attention,” he says. “Mount Palomar has photographed the eruptions taking place within the sun.”

More images of the sun adorn the screen, flames reaching towards the planets threatening to finish with the solar system.

The camera cuts back to the reporter standing in the road, where the cars have started to move.

“It is still raining,” he says. “But we’re driving away now.”

The cars move down the road, thunder echoing around them, as the fog gives an air of unreality to the scene.

A few people dance in the back of a truck oblivious to all the problems in the world. The camera cuts to Antonio reading the news.

“Similar things have been reported all over the continent,” he says.

It’s five o’clock in the morning in Hawaii, where the auroras have been a beautiful spectacle. We can’t waist any time with commercials. We’re making contact with radio Barranquilla. Attention!"

A thin man appears in a studio filled with people and confusion.

“This is Barranquilla, transmitting for the national television. We have seen terrible things amidst the fog, as trucks and buses full of people wait for the traffic to move. We ask everyone to be calm.”



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Posted by: Maria Camacho on Oct 21 2007 04:17

Rosanna Ciancia


Yesterday you lived here

Small boots kicked in the snow

Nose running in a pink face

Unruly hair and a mouth pouting,

Kiss? You asked

As you rushed out of nursery

I pecked your cold cheeks

Colourful drawings still fresh

And pack lunches with banana peelings

Little feet chasing me home

As Sesame Street came on

We lay in bed entwined

Sweet memories, lost forever?

Your coat hangs in the corridor

Boots sleep amongst the dust

And happy pictures look at me

From the depths of pain

If I could bring back the past

And have you at home

So many things to tell

All waiting to come out

Perhaps I imagined you

In between sweet dreams

Where little feet chased me

Until they ran out of time

My mind sees you sometimes

From despair comes hope

And everything ends as fantasy

You were never born

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