The March 11 will mark seven years of the biggest lie in the history of Spain, and 14, seven years without supporting illegal wars.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Where Can You Buy Lupus Awareness Bands In Dubai
the other side: In Praise of the conversation
Saturday, February 26 WITH LEZAMA
"His imagination lavish trips organized." Anton visited Arrufat that Lezama Lima, every Tuesday, at five o'clock in the afternoon. "I got seated in his chair, a kind of armchair that could accommodate his huge body. By that time had gained a lot, walked with difficulty and just got up from that chair of large earrings and large arms. Getting to Paseo del Prado, a few steps from home, cost him great effort. With just close your eyes, "she said one day I can be in the cathedral of Zamora to hear Sunday mass with Christopher Columbus on the eve of his trip to America, see Catherine the Great walking along the frozen banks of the Volga or attend at the North Pole to the birth of a Eskimo who then eat the placenta. No need to leave my house to be in the place I want when I want. "
What counts Anton Arrufat in Hispanic Notebooks already heard him tell it in front of the house of Lezama, Trocadero street, close to the nineteenth century and shabby chic Paseo del Prado. We came to look through the window next to the double portal manuelino vaguely, and pointed to where he sat Lezama. "On the wall was a large sepia photograph of his late father, a handsome man, dressed in military uniform."
Through Arrufat words, this lonely Sunday afternoon I get some of the magic of Lezama, that asthmatic whale to which the Revolution left stranded in a shadowy corner of Havana vociferous. I open a book and I listen to her voice that I have not heard before: "In the literary feast, the American comes to fulfill the function that performs the greatest test. After bringing the baking trays, fruit smiling and auroral ribs crustacean, is the knob rearward. The Westerner, trained in the drop distilling, refining added the essence of coffee, which brings the delight of some Turkish overtures to Mozart. "
I've spent my life looking for the right person. This afternoon, no one dream in Havana Lezama conversation in a room full of smoke and ghosts.
Sunday, February 27
GOD And I
"What you will not believe in God," he says Cristian "you're always talking about him?".
"Of course I believe in God" I answer, I do not think there is. "
Monday, February 28
begin worrying
long telephone conversation with an old friend of Seville, which every day is more noticeable the facade that perhaps always was. Not yet identified the true reality, which is behind the lies of politicians, which has La Gaceta de los Negocios , but little is missing. I, as always, I am not to challenge their beliefs, but to put some rigor in reasoning. Futile effort, of course. After an hour of talk, we parted amiably, I convinced him that I am dogmatic and that, once again, I'm the only one showing reasonable and the only one who does not confuse fact with opinion.
hang up the phone and start worrying. To see if I will be like the motorist who heard on the radio of a vehicle traveling in the opposite direction, looking out the window and exclaimed in amazement: "You? Everybody, everybody! ".
Tuesday, March 1
TIMES AND PLACES
Half my life is spent with eyes closed, another dimension of life. I simply close your eyes for a moment, as Lezama, the immobile traveler Trocadero Street, to feel around me the hustle and bustle of this coffee novelero Street Hazard, corner of Alcalá. Arrived here in late 1891, a young Guatemalan accompanied by Alice, his French girlfriend. It occurred to her loving kiss, as usual in Paris, and both were about to be lynched. Fornos In coffee, the locals of the time, did not consent such immorality, except slightly in the first floor reserved. Fornos
Now the former is one of the many Starbucks that have invaded Madrid, to me brings back memories of New York and coffee that Barnes & Noble that overlooks the trees and the fragrant and colorful market in Union Square.
times and places are superimposed, as in a poem by Juan Ramón Jiménez, in this corner of Madrid where the missed time with a friend who knows that silence together is sometimes the best way to talk.
Life is certainly something that happens in the past, like rain in Borges sonnet. But in the past that just will not ever happen and that reaches out to this present out of time, the anticipation of eternity.
Wednesday, March 2
ABOUT THE POST
ascend by a soulless Cuesta de Moyano. In the book stalls apathetic, nothing that catches my attention. I remember the days when melancholy these rides were a party. Suddenly, one of the booksellers boring recognize me. "In poetry I have little," he says. "Now I'm more interested in other things" I answer. I've wasted too much time reading poets who were not even bad, just mediocre, or even poets, young one. "
I buy a book by Jorge Wagensberg that speaks of science and literature and gives me a novel of Adelaide The Saints, Poets coffee. "No is a great novel, or even a novel, but it is curious. " Then, when I have moved away, comes running to give me another book, Verses skirts, history and anthology of a gathering of women founded back in 1951.
Both titles are worth little, talk about poets who no longer mean anything, if it ever meant anything, of wasted time in an unrequited love for literature. The greyness of the chilly afternoon in Madrid and this site fills my soul. I glimpse my future literary ash and nothing in the troubled lot of books to anyone interested.
But discouragement soon disappears. On the one hand (although I know that these things should not be say in public) I'm pretty sure that's not going to be and, secondly, if I'm wrong, I will not ever know.
"always so vain!" Says my favorite partner. Vain, yes, but the genre less annoying: as praise I prefer are those of posterity, never go around begging tributes, awards, never be bitter, like almost all the poets of my age.
Thursday, March 3
ONCE UPON A TIME
What a great start to a story: "People did not seem possible for a girl of fourteen leave your home in winter to avenge death his father, but then it seemed so strange, although I admit I was one of those things that occur daily. I had just turned fourteen years when a coward who used the name of Tom Chaney shot my father in Fort Smith, Arkansas, taking his life, the horse and one hundred fifty dollars in cash, apart from two California gold pieces that had been in the belt. "
The novel by Charles Portis, True Grit , us recount the Cohen brothers and the cinema's new sizzling hypnotic that fascinated me so much during adolescence.
do not know what the secret of a good story, but I recognize it immediately. Be that as it may seem to talk about something else always talks about me, ghosts and terrors that take away my dreams and lives that I would have liked to live. And you really live as I hear the magic "once upon a time."
Friday, March 4
TRUTH
"who confuse sincerity with spontaneity," says Montero-Garcia was sentenced to say about himself and the world from a very naive position. The good people on the street talks a lot, thinks, says almost always the first thing they come up and parroted what others have put into the environment as common sense as the dominant view. Believe they are sincere and are flocks of parrots. The truth is an end point, which may never arrive at all, but we can be getting closer. The truth is an exercise in discovery of our relations with the world and our own privacy. "
I should not say, but I am increasingly less interested in the simple view of people, Cereijo friend. I'm not thinking as far from Antonio Machado: "Do you really? No. The truth. / And come with me to seek. / Yours, keep her. "
Saturday, March 5
PLEASURE AND WORK
Wagensberg In the book, I bought the other day on the slope of Moyano, find a compliment of the conversation: "The most creative moments and places in the history of humanity have occurred just when the conditions have been better to talk."
I think a good talker, but my friends do not think so. And probably right: I lack the patience for nonsense outside, uninformed opinions. Talking is something more to say the first thing that one comes to mind.
My ideal partner is younger than me, know less, but smarter. Although I presume that smart (and I strive to be), not difficult for me to find someone more than me: mental agility (such as physical agility) is youth thing. After a certain age, you have to do daily exercise to avoid tummy and that neurons do not rust. I do not mind having belly, but I try everything I can to always have as my primary tool of pleasure and work.
Saturday, February 26 WITH LEZAMA
"His imagination lavish trips organized." Anton visited Arrufat that Lezama Lima, every Tuesday, at five o'clock in the afternoon. "I got seated in his chair, a kind of armchair that could accommodate his huge body. By that time had gained a lot, walked with difficulty and just got up from that chair of large earrings and large arms. Getting to Paseo del Prado, a few steps from home, cost him great effort. With just close your eyes, "she said one day I can be in the cathedral of Zamora to hear Sunday mass with Christopher Columbus on the eve of his trip to America, see Catherine the Great walking along the frozen banks of the Volga or attend at the North Pole to the birth of a Eskimo who then eat the placenta. No need to leave my house to be in the place I want when I want. " What counts Anton Arrufat in Hispanic Notebooks already heard him tell it in front of the house of Lezama, Trocadero street, close to the nineteenth century and shabby chic Paseo del Prado. We came to look through the window next to the double portal manuelino vaguely, and pointed to where he sat Lezama. "On the wall was a large sepia photograph of his late father, a handsome man, dressed in military uniform."
Through Arrufat words, this lonely Sunday afternoon I get some of the magic of Lezama, that asthmatic whale to which the Revolution left stranded in a shadowy corner of Havana vociferous. I open a book and I listen to her voice that I have not heard before: "In the literary feast, the American comes to fulfill the function that performs the greatest test. After bringing the baking trays, fruit smiling and auroral ribs crustacean, is the knob rearward. The Westerner, trained in the drop distilling, refining added the essence of coffee, which brings the delight of some Turkish overtures to Mozart. "
I've spent my life looking for the right person. This afternoon, no one dream in Havana Lezama conversation in a room full of smoke and ghosts.
Sunday, February 27
GOD And I
"What you will not believe in God," he says Cristian "you're always talking about him?".
"Of course I believe in God" I answer, I do not think there is. "
Monday, February 28
begin worrying
long telephone conversation with an old friend of Seville, which every day is more noticeable the facade that perhaps always was. Not yet identified the true reality, which is behind the lies of politicians, which has La Gaceta de los Negocios , but little is missing. I, as always, I am not to challenge their beliefs, but to put some rigor in reasoning. Futile effort, of course. After an hour of talk, we parted amiably, I convinced him that I am dogmatic and that, once again, I'm the only one showing reasonable and the only one who does not confuse fact with opinion.
hang up the phone and start worrying. To see if I will be like the motorist who heard on the radio of a vehicle traveling in the opposite direction, looking out the window and exclaimed in amazement: "You? Everybody, everybody! ".
Tuesday, March 1
TIMES AND PLACES
Half my life is spent with eyes closed, another dimension of life. I simply close your eyes for a moment, as Lezama, the immobile traveler Trocadero Street, to feel around me the hustle and bustle of this coffee novelero Street Hazard, corner of Alcalá. Arrived here in late 1891, a young Guatemalan accompanied by Alice, his French girlfriend. It occurred to her loving kiss, as usual in Paris, and both were about to be lynched. Fornos In coffee, the locals of the time, did not consent such immorality, except slightly in the first floor reserved. Fornos
Now the former is one of the many Starbucks that have invaded Madrid, to me brings back memories of New York and coffee that Barnes & Noble that overlooks the trees and the fragrant and colorful market in Union Square.
times and places are superimposed, as in a poem by Juan Ramón Jiménez, in this corner of Madrid where the missed time with a friend who knows that silence together is sometimes the best way to talk.
Life is certainly something that happens in the past, like rain in Borges sonnet. But in the past that just will not ever happen and that reaches out to this present out of time, the anticipation of eternity.
Wednesday, March 2
ABOUT THE POST
ascend by a soulless Cuesta de Moyano. In the book stalls apathetic, nothing that catches my attention. I remember the days when melancholy these rides were a party. Suddenly, one of the booksellers boring recognize me. "In poetry I have little," he says. "Now I'm more interested in other things" I answer. I've wasted too much time reading poets who were not even bad, just mediocre, or even poets, young one. "
I buy a book by Jorge Wagensberg that speaks of science and literature and gives me a novel of Adelaide The Saints, Poets coffee. "No is a great novel, or even a novel, but it is curious. " Then, when I have moved away, comes running to give me another book, Verses skirts, history and anthology of a gathering of women founded back in 1951.
Both titles are worth little, talk about poets who no longer mean anything, if it ever meant anything, of wasted time in an unrequited love for literature. The greyness of the chilly afternoon in Madrid and this site fills my soul. I glimpse my future literary ash and nothing in the troubled lot of books to anyone interested.
But discouragement soon disappears. On the one hand (although I know that these things should not be say in public) I'm pretty sure that's not going to be and, secondly, if I'm wrong, I will not ever know.
"always so vain!" Says my favorite partner. Vain, yes, but the genre less annoying: as praise I prefer are those of posterity, never go around begging tributes, awards, never be bitter, like almost all the poets of my age.
Thursday, March 3
ONCE UPON A TIME
What a great start to a story: "People did not seem possible for a girl of fourteen leave your home in winter to avenge death his father, but then it seemed so strange, although I admit I was one of those things that occur daily. I had just turned fourteen years when a coward who used the name of Tom Chaney shot my father in Fort Smith, Arkansas, taking his life, the horse and one hundred fifty dollars in cash, apart from two California gold pieces that had been in the belt. "
The novel by Charles Portis, True Grit , us recount the Cohen brothers and the cinema's new sizzling hypnotic that fascinated me so much during adolescence.
do not know what the secret of a good story, but I recognize it immediately. Be that as it may seem to talk about something else always talks about me, ghosts and terrors that take away my dreams and lives that I would have liked to live. And you really live as I hear the magic "once upon a time."
Friday, March 4
TRUTH
"who confuse sincerity with spontaneity," says Montero-Garcia was sentenced to say about himself and the world from a very naive position. The good people on the street talks a lot, thinks, says almost always the first thing they come up and parroted what others have put into the environment as common sense as the dominant view. Believe they are sincere and are flocks of parrots. The truth is an end point, which may never arrive at all, but we can be getting closer. The truth is an exercise in discovery of our relations with the world and our own privacy. " I should not say, but I am increasingly less interested in the simple view of people, Cereijo friend. I'm not thinking as far from Antonio Machado: "Do you really? No. The truth. / And come with me to seek. / Yours, keep her. "
Saturday, March 5
PLEASURE AND WORK
Wagensberg In the book, I bought the other day on the slope of Moyano, find a compliment of the conversation: "The most creative moments and places in the history of humanity have occurred just when the conditions have been better to talk."
I think a good talker, but my friends do not think so. And probably right: I lack the patience for nonsense outside, uninformed opinions. Talking is something more to say the first thing that one comes to mind.
My ideal partner is younger than me, know less, but smarter. Although I presume that smart (and I strive to be), not difficult for me to find someone more than me: mental agility (such as physical agility) is youth thing. After a certain age, you have to do daily exercise to avoid tummy and that neurons do not rust. I do not mind having belly, but I try everything I can to always have as my primary tool of pleasure and work.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Aetna Premium Payments
More Once upon a liar is a friend plater
More
More plater has a friend, because if not, does not understand that in Spain using stickers or magnets to change the signs to 110 km per hour and Catalonia metal plates are used.
The "English" = 40 euros.
The "Catalan" = 140 euros.
Was this the government wanted to tighten their belts? Or just squeeze it in health and education?
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