Amnesty International has denounced what you call the most widespread rifle in the world. One hundred million specimens circulate across five continents, if not in the hands of one, in the other. Outside of Russia, it is said to be manufactured in fourteen locations, often without any control. The inventor himself, Mikhail Timofieievich, is embarrassed by what they do with rifles.

I’ve learned, I know, that the one who has the gift of throwing six hundred bullets a minute makes a sound similar to the sound that the remonte ball makes on the frontis: kla-kla-kla. I've learned, you know, that this weapon is sold for twenty-four euros in several dark markets.
In Karachi, the ambush of the American satellite Benazir Bhuto would not have lacked these weapons. Not even in the red mountains of Kurdistan.

Viscerally, someone will always be tempted to feel the need for these weapons. In Vienna or London... in Texas, Beijing or Bayonne.

* * * * I

see the corners visited by the Kalaxnikova, plowed by the parabelum, invaded by the mortar of the Esperanza y Cía factory more crushed and torn than the used metro cards.

“Kala da guerra” can be heard in some eastern valleys, when one wants to explain what has no explanation. No one understands war, but “it is war.” What kind of thing? The raw one. Ideal...

When I asked him about the thirty-seventh, our old grandmother gave a vile and furious reading to the battle: “cheap faith and gold, that is what war is.” We

started playing with the letter K: approaching the transit with the constitution, flying Herr K.rekin, and landing with the kalaxnikov rifle.
In my vocabulary, the last element that starts with k is “kṛṣṇa”. And the first one that begins with l is “la”, which is the sixth note of the musical scale in the Latin peoples, equivalent to the “a” note of the Germanic peoples.

The letter k looks stiff to me. More free l. I find the elea more open than Kalaxnikova. Imaginary and snowy clouds seem more fertile to me than canyon chains and cannibal songs.

Demand freedom or Biba freedom! Those are with L.

* * *

And, behind the letter l, comes m: madaria, magic, pulp,
blackberry... Among others, our dictionary includes “March”. March... the third month of the year, thirty-one days. The Sentence of Judgment. I'm talking about Martia.

The month of March. Navarre and the Basque Country, elections. Looking at Madrid. From the Congress. From the Senate.

Will these political parties, which seek to capture and transform the political status of the Basque Country in question, be able to move closer to the historical and paradigmatic Malchaga? I want to say it together.

The proposal has already been launched on the table. Some are looking at NaBai to see and learn. Others to pursue and destroy. Chasing the white dove, which is frequented by both pacifists and hunters.

The proposal has already been made public. The answers begin to emerge. There's time to talk. The desire... can't be known.
On journeys to the next or far, Angel, isn't the shared car more eco-friendly?