Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Van Wind en Bloed of Wind and Blood
Van Wind en Bloed of Wind and Blood
Van Wind en Bloed of Wind and Blood
Page 1
Page 2
TRAVEL
Direction
Standing on the balcony, enjoying the caress and whispering voice of my friend the wind and
observing dripping droplets of water tainted by the rust of unmaintained gutters, at a worn
down hotel promising more on its web and delivering less than a lottery ticket ...I am faced by
what ye are facing... i bet.... is this life... is this yer dream?...does this make ye happy? does this
pleasure ye? ......
What pleasures ye ? what makes ye happy ? what will be yer dream life? ... are ye sure?....
Thoughts of regret, self pity and blame clouds reality of fact , that ye are here by choice... yer
own design...it was not yer friend the wind nor anybody else who placed ye here.... it was you
... and only you can change the direction of yer wind......
Miles
They come, they go, they stretch, they shrink, a corner here, a straight line there everywhere
a mile to coverno time to hoverno time to hover
Another notch, another town another city, crazy piece of puzzle on the road to self, perceived
destiny broken white that guides the wheel and red a temporary stop, every day a voyage and
another drop of sweat and blood and gasoline places to be reached and personal politics to
unlocktick tock the clock - talk, talk , the radio vocal companion filled with promise of a
smaller waistline, weather on the way , another shooting, a lonely tune in between the
marketing all contributing to the urge to get thereget there as time is short.very short
Green of pine and grey the lane - asphalt calling, wheels are rolling, haze of colors now
combined blocks beauty from the dreary mind, eyes once bright with creative light now dull
from travels burden
I look at ye but do not see thee - mind absorbed by future payday and long gone hay day
rolling rolling, onwards on the chosen path
Bladder screams and urine strangles overburdened kidneys suffering from caffeine and bull and
monster and their friends 5 hour eye widener lasts but twoeyes are rolling, legs are dead
and lungs are shot, air conditioning goes out an acid smell when plastic wires melt spurs cotton
fibers like a drunk to eagerly suck pearly drops and adding to the size of a telltale stain that
rapidly grows dark then dry with white a line not easily broken with only one token in the
round eyed wonder living in the lobby of the lonely nights motel each room a story to tell
and Meatloaf shouts two out of three aint bad
The crack in the corner slowly grows longer with every bump in the road . bug blood neon
green and gold a silent witness in curved wiper tracks a half moon of insect dreams and silent
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 3
Flying whore
Another airport, another night another flight, metal wings to carry me to my fight, fake leather,
plastic chairs, uncomfortable, unforgiving, no mercy and no escape, travel tired beings sharing
plight, searching for salvation, some dressed up and some dont care fat and skinny all paid
fare.. to home to work to play to pray smells of sweat and soap, human perfume, mixed
emotions, religions, thoughts and overpriced fast food combined with Chinese trinkets at every
corner a double 12 year to dull the pain for there is. no smoking anywhere.hairline thin
cables combine plastic plugs in boneless holes filled with hair of age progressed a blind tenor
isolates reality.. and, sets ye free for a moment.. until the call, to board awakens thee.duty
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 4
Time
Dreary wet and misery rain... soaking cloth and skin and bone... and soul. Although
streetlights bright, casting circular and hazy needles stabbing futily to disperse the dark lonely
stays the night...
Your shadows black... advance and retreat like sadness does when whisky calls.... Puddles on
the sidewalk reflecting a murky mess, and winter grass... gray... drowning slowly, sadly,
suffocating in the brown ... like so many a youthful dream when reality realized fiction is but
that... life must and will go on as life will and as destiny please, my friend the wind blows
another ode... how short are thee my time, how short are thee...
Choices
The mouth, now dry, the tongue, swollen .a layer, of tasteless muck, steadily growing like hair
upon the flesh definitely not fresh . Ye can clean the teeth, ye can gargle the alcohol free blue
wash.ye can try the gum and spray and such.ye can swallow the Coke, the water or the Gin
ye can burn another cigarette , ye canye can .but, the bad taste of a bad choice is just a
bad taste.sticking to yer person visible in yer voicea noise a violent testifier of a weakness
not overcome and then some
Break the bad, overcome the sad easily spoken by minds not yet madgive them some time
denial will patiently be just another supplier of eventual feeding the hungry beast the preselected path , a poor mans bain a never ending pain .Who to pay, oh who to pay. The
landlord or the wife who constantly bay..mouths to feed, not an easy deedand love ? where
are thee ? my friend in need Hollywood creation of romanticism, ye left me dry all I can do is
cry.. is cry.my drops a wasted time, as salt on asphalt does not generate an income and then
the piper comes calling. not for sorrow but for gold..
A tricked soul, sold ,sold. a poor purse now owesnow owes an cannot produce.every
level has his devil and the silver tongue convincing the innocent to participate in a moment of
laughter and a lifetime of tears did not explain or clarified the fears.Prevention the key to set
ye free.what can go wrong brother, what can go wrong ?......
Page 5
LIMA
The city is engulfed in grey every day be it smog or fog or any other cloud of depression or
bad news except for the now and then, and the two days of summer . Almost like London,
the sun seems to shy away from real reality, because it is ashamed of the new
humanity.There is dog shit on every corner, every sidewalk, every street and every walkway
. empathy and consideration of fellow man does not have a place in modern societyIt seems
that a car alarm constantly goes off, every two feet, and every two minutes without anybody
paying any attention to the effects of the intrusive noiseno control on polluting vehicles, no
matter if it be smog or noise or traffic rulesthe powers that be, blame everyone else but the
officials.. un or en charged of enforcing the law and they, in turn, never see anything wrong...
avoiding any conflict or discussion the city a chaos, the roads a wasteland, law enforcement
a lost cause except when you have money then the law is always on your side and everybody
else is fighting for survival..a free for all another wild, wild west.. where rules and common
people do not countas self-interest and personal gain, as well as instant gratification have
taken the place of courtesy, acceptance and humanity, and he who shouts the loudest and cries
the emotional most is judged as the correctthe live music is excellent, the historical sites
something to dream of, the food exceptional the people to be aware of.robbery is not
considered a crime it is just proof that you are a good citizen trying to survive a society that
you have no power over to determine your destiny and therefore you steal, you rob and you
feed the beast whenever the opportunity arise, and if and when your actions are questioned
the blame goes back to government which by the way, you selected...did I mention the dog
shit? In the end - It is your choice ... focusing on feces or at another wonderful sunset while
sipping on a cocktail with your sneakers full of crap and your wallet in the hands of a local drug
dealer.Pizarro ( or any other conquistador ) and his band of convicts left a legacy that is still
being felt in this century .. Politicians are corrupt, officials are corrupt, and every level of
society joins them at different levels ..There seems to be no end to the constant utilization of
the mass to ensure the mass remains a mass to be manipulated to ensure the elite stays in
power.what makes this different from any other nation??....as on every corner, every
sidewalk, every street and every walkway, anywhere, there are traps waiting for you to step
into their reality and rob your focus from the peace and beauty outside of the street level
mediocrity
The Sun
The sun came up today .as in any other day.and as it will in any future dayand as it
touched my skin, like it did before, I felt alive, more than I felt before as yesterday, is
yesterday and no morethe wind, my early friend who touched my face and offered me the
taste of breakfast from a wide variety of neighbors stays with me to gossip the doings of the
human beings in our neighborhoodI think I know them all But what will we do today ? A
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 6
Freedom
The night light breathing cold misty circles streetlamps, and blinding spikes of high beams
from flashy German engineering stabbing impatiently at underpaid valets scrambling to get VIP
vehicles in a temporary spotpatrons on the edge for access to the new whats hot JAZZ.. she
found a new spot Bayou CityNew York the Orleanscoupling now Houston stylestiff,
flexible, swanky, sexy combined a single Saxpure sound collecting lost souls to the bayou
mound
The Dude is dressed three piece pinstripe, black, blinking and silver dancing in the dark
mirror like cockroach killers pointed on his feet on his head velvet red fedora swank
creating shadows on his brow, a golden chain around his neck same size as his peck flashing
for all to see reminding slavery broken links not repaired which will never be a bruise
on our society
Diamond Breitling on his wrist, blinding flashing with a twist Chrysler , Buick a Merc a
BMnever Bentley be all a show.. .look at me, look at me reality TV his guide his god
his 5 minutes of empty victory. The cubic in earso last year but still a shining star when
trying to convince his wealth is real.
The lady on his arm beautiful and dripping charm a Nubian queen skin shiny black like
wet volcano stone from the deepest intestines of Kilimanjaro s heart ... her day job Walmart
everybodys sweetheart
Captured in a plastic smile pearly whites reminding images of nimbus clouds slowly drifting
over Serengeti plains the only place where peace remainsand Africa can demonstrate yes
hope her fickle ways they do exist skinny, full of bone, sometimes bloody and abused
present... still present with a twist
Her dress full of stretchTurquois green her bulging spleennon important as all that
matters is the dream.startling contrast grabbing eyeneon pink her shoes squeezing toes
into space not designed for flab on sale she grabbed her ample breast forced tight into
condom convicts without plighttwin prisoners without the will to fight flesh squeezed tight
her angry, pain filled voice a warningdo not pick a fight bitch.. ye will looselet me be.
I am me...everybody free
All keeping to themselves as ears tuned to the sound from artists on the mound, separating
selfish thought consistent call, a sax , a lonely trumpet howl sounds of times gone by.. Now
of what can or could and could not be Binding thee all our music and our song, free from
folklore, religion, politics and morefilled with feeling. love and sharing, human nature
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 7
Red
Jazzpiano, softly sweeping feathers on a drum, sax preaching passion , uncorked partner,
bottled green fills the voidMalbec , Merlot, Cabernet Rioja red... reflecting liquid mirror
of a lonesome mind... captive in the legs slowly crawling down the crystal clear, round,
voluptuous body on a skinny stem...fat foot, empty belly. transparent, thirsty hole, slowly
yearning for the filling blood of vine touch of lips, of human soul a breath a prism
capturing the dancing candlelight projecting flight into the night, a turn a swirlaroma to the
nose delivering subliminal... a melancholic smilegrape flowing clown in which many have
drown .. happy animal, everybodys friend, sorrow, sadness, heartbreak and design ageless
mute so astute centuries your presence rule the human fool tears, sadness, love, instant
karate, handsome and a prince...false confidence in every drop..
The Cat
I have no space...every corner and every place....fulll of hair ...here and there and
everywhere....no escape...no hope, they are everywhere..... my life a true reality....of .sneeze
and snott and alergy.....my nose well blocked...my life a bundle on hairball's clock...every
moment of every day they get their way....my eyes are burning while they are purring ...for
another meal and another touch... while sharpenning their claws ...my furniture they
attack...every chair and every table...nothing like the cat in any fable ...
For my wife
I knew I loved ye even before I saw yeworlds apart, once a broken hearttorn to pieces by the
unforgiving corners in a boxpent up screams of deep frustration inwards yelling the
depression an all consuming fog anchorless a ship. Now just wet and broken timbers on
a deserted shoreline. drowning in a sea of sorrows a soul adrift, a mangled mind in need of
rescue. constant swallowing of brine a burning throat begging for the soothing wine of
realizing fleeting images manifested in clouds of dream predicted outcomesfloating
imagination future in a crystal ball searching for a lifeline.
Far away a flower turns and face the sun, perfect petals as they move my friend the wind he
carries theeI hear ye call.I hear ye call. Destiny a light beam through oceans mist a
path.to Babelto Babel where none will understand ye.Across the mountains and through
the snowwhite tipped Andean towers stabbing at the sky, their lonely tears accumulating in a
roar a mother feeding sweltering forestsonwards onwards footprints in the sand share
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 8
Dogters
Blondekop, Blinke, blouoog kind
Beide eerste blik, n sonar foto,grys, en wit, en swart
Oombliklik vol van angs en hoop was nuwe vaderhart.
Twee maal verplaas die angst toe stereo hartklop klank verklaar dat naar in maag wel gesteld
was. en beide n meisiekind..
Die lewenspad het jul gevind....krom en vol draaie, met Pa se skoene op verweg paaie....slegs
onse bloed die bind... stemmetjies gekraak deur telefoon se draad ....slegs woorde.... van
hartseer van geluk van goed en van kwaad....Lee armpies op vadersdag se pyn geen raat.......
Denke en in bloed, storms van emosies woed....siel en hart se verhaal te moeilik om te
vertaal....opgekropte pyn en smart ... prys te betaal nooit meetbaar op enige skaal.
Pad het jy gestap van baba, meisie, tiener en nou vrou .... van fopspeen verlore na eerste liefde
en gebroke hart... nou sterker as tevore... lewens geluk jou beskore.
Ervarings in lewe se skole, leer gelooi as voorkop geplooi omskep jonge.... in nuwe wyse
wese.... die kleine kind klei, gevorm en gebrei volwasse nou is jy.... ...
Oombliklik vol van angs en hoop n oue vaderhart as nou jou eie keuse deure oopmaak in jou
pad...
Blondekop, Blinke, blouoog, dogterkind grootmens in n wink
Page 9
Swart Mantel
Gedagtes vol van gate herrinering wat weemoed bring mantel van depressie
swaar, swaar aan skouers hang n bose ring die donker roep en wind my vriend die lig die
las as hy die jas se nate binnedring
Somber nat ellende ren deurdringend, elke kleed...en vel en been ...en siel. Straatlig
helder, dof n nagtelike reenboog in die swart, wankelende sirkel vaag, skerp lig naalde vals
gate in die donker druk, word gou gevul eensaam bly die nag ...al wat raas is druppels val en
spat en wind die blaas
Die skadus swart wieg voorwaarts en dan terug, soos hartseer doen as Whisky roep ... poelle
langs die paddonker n gemors, en dood die eens groen nou, gryse grasstadig verdrinkend
staan , ongelukkig en versmoord in bruin ... Soos veel'n jeugdig droom wanneer die werklikheid
verskyn besef dat fiksie is wat fiksie is... die lewe moet en sal steeds voort soos lewe se
bestaan.Finaal bestemming n self gekose laanasseblief, my vriend, die wind 'n ander ode
waai ... hoe kort is jy my tyd , hoe kort is jy ...
Maar hy doen net wat hy wil en waai, en waai.. om elke hoek , om elke draain Gebreekte
fluit vir elke oor n melankolieke koor note van herinnering vir die groot man en die muis
hoe werklik vlugtig lewe is
Aanhoudend , harteloos en sonder siel ... die nimmereindigende wind , het alles al gesien en
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 10
Wind Verweer
Wind , Son en Winter spore diepgetrap lyne op sy voorkop lei na donker bodemlose holtes
onder oogvou op vou die vel geplooi jare se verkragting . soos leer gelooieens so soepel
....nou verwronge en gemerk
Hare soos vlooigras se sade gekoek platgedrukte grysheid onder laphoed se lasbeboste brou
beskerm, oorwelm en bedekblinke oog, rooi gevlek.gefokus op niksstaar na strate wat
nerens heen lei...In die verte in rek
Gebarste lippe die trek hul eerste soen ver in die verlede mond sonder tandewat oor is,
vergeel en vergete wat n hedeprewelend, bewe ...hul sagte gebede gefluister vir slegs sy eie
gehoor Want niemand anders luister
Sy tong is droog en gesweln laag van smakelose klei konstant die groei n sel glad nie vars,
soos klam hare op n hond geparsHy gorrel die blou trein en was sy mondhy kan kougom
kou ...sproei die peppermint se wasem
Hy kan sluk aan n kola, water of n Ginhy kan nog n koerant gerolde sigaretjie suig....hy kan,
ja, hy kan.maar die slegte smaak van n slegte keuse bly..n slegte smaak, deur of namens
hom gemaak n merk op sy persoon gelaat
Sigbaar in sy asem, n stille geraas, n geweldadige getuie van n vorige swakheid nie oorwinsy
lewensmaatsy kruis as samelewing se gespuisself aangestelde regters in n warm huis.heel
tuis, heel tuis
Kry n werk, en hou op drink, magtag ma jy stinkmaklike woorde uit monde van mense wat
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 11
Page 12
Plaasmoord
Niemand kan dit like nie liewe Lana......maar elke foto van elke lewelose liggaam nou in rooi
gekleed is 'n helder hulproep na dowe ore..ek sien die volk maal soos benoude skape in die
veld. nek gestrek en koppe omhoog met rollende oog hier 'n bler en daar 'n bler want die
doodskring blinkoog is nie ver en waghond kind die loop rinkink ander dinge hy die dink ...
wange nat en hart verskeur my hulpelose siel verhard, ek skreeu... waghond lig jou gat! maar
dit is waar sy gehoor die sit en nog 'n skaap val in die stof, slegs 'n dowwe plof...slegs 'n plof... 'n
klankie gou vergete en vergaan...net 'n skapie sonder naam...
Kombuisvloer
Plaasbloed..rooi, my Afrika grond
Eensklaps helder , rooi fluweel en robyn as kantel van kop, lig se hoek verdwyn en harde
werklikheid verskyn ons word vermoor, wie kan ons hoorwie kan ons hoor !. eens n
hartklop nou gespat plas vir plas van n jellie tot n vas, vinnig gevorm, waar eens lewe was
nou slegs n merk ... geen geskrop en geen gewas kan dit bedekn vlek onsigbaar vir die wat
nie wil sien...het ons dit verdien of is dit slegs ons las ? Kombuisvloer eens blink nou vuil.. het
hulpeloos aangehoor die gille en die gehuil ..stille getuie van laas week se pratende lippe nou
geluidloos gelaat, met laaste snik en laaste drip van laaste hopelose trane en laaste hopelose
drome. nog n lewe, in n oogwink verlore ....alles is nou stil soos die swarte nagn skrille
kontras tussen nou en dit wat wasvoorheen vol van klank en vol van lewe, alles nou
gegewe...n leweten laaste, sondes vergewe en siel tot rus geen meer bekommernis
Afrika my boere hart die bloei.. ..mens se waarde minder as n koei..
Menswees
n Volk in n wurgreep, n keel benoud, almal skreeu na die hemel waar is ons behoud, die
trane die rol oor jou bokkie elkeen in sy eie geskepte hokkie
ons wurg en ons swoeg, ons sweet en ons meet, are die swel en angs die groei, almal met almal
se sake bemoei en elkeen se las net erger as ons die ander se wasgoed op TV sien was. Oscar
se las en familie se wee, Rusland is Obama se doring, Homosexualitiet geniet n goue kroning,
Venezuela die bloei en die midde ooste bly stoeiSociety, Society, the mass invokes what the
mass most wants. driven by Hollywood perception without education biased created reality
a farce.only an empty vase, broken fake porcelain on the steps to an unknown but well known
destiny where no one wins. A facebook supported false foundation of that what is not and
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 13
Donder
Donker nag helder verlig as bliksem op bliksem deur donker breek...Selfs die brawe hond
bewe...forseer stert tussen bene soos 'n transvestiet voor 'n konsert, dominee bid vir almal selfs
daai valse tert.. Kat se kind met middelrug krom.. 'n vierbeen sekelmaan.. sy se stert ,regop en
nie af.. lyk na vlakvark op 'n draf ... meer hare as koring en kaf ... wat soos vars skerpgemaakte
naalde hemelwaarts gate in die lug steek sonder om gate te laat.... Oumens bedek al wat blink
en spieel se kind... jongmens grootoog en verbaas gryp sonder dink.. na ma se hand terwyl die
glasdeurtjies in the pantry ringkink...swael se wolk hang dig benoud soos 'n kool en eier
gas...onwillekeurige boude vrygelaat... Kerslig bewe... gee geboorte aan skaduwees wat nuwe
nagmerrie gedagtes genereer .. die nuwe lig se wankelrige bestaan te danke aan vuurhoutjie se
skrale eens stywe lyf, sy opoffering swart verkool, breekbaar soos fyne glas..'n lyk... terwyl die
edel Lion als bekyk..sy plek op dosie veilig en buite bereik..beeste sirkel dig bymekaar, bokke
bler en skaap se wol is nat, deurmekaar en die hoenders die kekkel en mossies sit verdriet, slegs
die varke die geniet, vaste rooi grond verander in vloeiende bloed seewaards in volle spoed....
dit donder op die plaas....dit reen...my Afrika.....
Sy Offer
Swael koppie knars n vonk.eensklaps bewende vlammetjie wankelende lewe gegee wit
gestreepte geboortemerk op Lion Boksie se sy stille bewys van nuwe lig agtergelaat kort,
baie kort sy lewe en sy plig
Die pit, soos donkermaan nag vuurhoutjie vriend n bewende krag...deel met toutjie sy
lewensmag en sterfsterf in asem se warrel so kortso kortsoos lewe se windnet n
asemteugslegs n kind.
Page 14
Page 15
Page 16
Page 17
Bottel Belofte
Hy is vol van drank, en vol van rook, n alkoholis heel groot. wat stink n stanken alles
mis..nat, gemufde, drie dae oue brood. hond se kind nou oud soos hardehout en
dronkverdriet op elke wang opgevang die trane van my lewenslied vol van blaam vir Piet en
Griet met hare op die tong en swart, die linker long,sy asem n dranke whiskey wasem op
walms van n sigaret se rook, wat soos n spook.. nuwe lewe wel gegee met elke liggie
opgehelder deur n vuurhoutjie getrek se lewens kelder.en hy wonder.hy wonder, terwyl hy
nog n dubbel indonder is daar nog een sononder?. in minder rakende dae en soms
wanneer helder is my weg dieselfde kelder as vuurhoutjie se kind. swart en droog en
uitgebrand ?is dit hoe almal my sal vind ? koud en sonder lewe die agtergeblewe n
nageslag wat my slegs onthou as die oom wat heel gepars sy eie pad vol druif gemars en
gestink het en sy merk slegs tydelik gelaat het soos hond se stront op n verlate sypaadtjie
slegs n tydelike maatjie en hy dink ..en hy drink.. dat hopeloos nie te laat is en hierdie straat
is n nuwe rigting te verlaat en dat kwaad vir hoop sal vind
Waar is God
Ek sit jou in n houtkis met n belofte van begrawe terwyl jou boetie petrol in my ouma se
keelgat gooi en almal vra vir almal. waar is God ?
Altyd met ons, behalwe in die oomblik van realiteit, waar menswees beswyk terwyl ek my kat
se gladde vel bestryk en die vrede van sy prrrr my hart se snare bereik. neem neefie sy brakkie
om ander te byt
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 18
2016 se Span
Ek kyk INVICTUS groen en goud my bloed nou erg in grou.met krokodil trane nat my
mou..n nasie diep in roumanne om die braai hou van kerm en van kraai veraai se okupasie
, want ons as n nasie glo in verdriet en dat elke ander ras onse gras met oneerlikheid
vergiet.en ons met brandewyn sonder brieke gee slegs in as ma se roep ons forseer om koue
kinders in n wolkombers te wikkel en op die agtersitpelk neer te sit, terwyl pa se kind die
middernag probleme van rugby se administrasie met dronke grasie vallende bedek..die hek
die hek is oop. Here God..Liewe Jesus.Sloot maak toe die ding voor die skelms ons
bespringhopeloos te laat..hopeloos te laat die kwaad is in .die kwaad is in en springbok
rugby glad nie meer n ding
Die bok se bler is ongesiens en bleek gebleik en onhoorbaar in die stryd..sy tande eens
vleimskerps.. nou afgeslytmelktantjies rond, die vreet net stront want afrigter en sy se span
OF WIND AND BLOOD
Page 19
Droogte
droog oom Jan, heel droog...die hele ZA staan groot oog... dam se wal se merke word nie
bereik...die sluise bly gesluit...die reen wat val...blok elke drein en elke plek, almal neem fotos
van hoe die water se skade hul huise benader;... versuip die motors in elke wyk maar nie bereik
die plek waar ons moet lek... en almal vergeet die groter plek... want facebook faam is meer
belangrik as werklikeid se realiteit....onse bek die werklikheid bly droog... en misplaasde geloof
hemelswaarts onse oog...'n valse belofte wat glo dat met gebed sal menswees wel geskik die
water van die vader onse nood benader...maar dis nie die waarheid nie...ons kan gil en ons kan
sing en menigte gedigte dring...maar as ons as massa nie saambring sal droogte altyd droogte
bly en onse lot ...nie bevry...saamstaan massa...en skop uit die huidige politieke status want al
wat hul raat is ...is om sangoma te verreik...en droogte te bring waar droogte reeds besing... die
versuiping van 'n nasie in stof en sonder grasie....
Copyright 2014
Published by Alex
Reproduction or translation of any part of this work beyond that permitted by National and International Copyright
without the permission of the copyright owner is unlawful. Requests for permission or further information should
be addressed to Alex@grupodemeyer.com
Page 20