The sect of dogs barking
second
is presented to all the stray
Thursday April 20 at 7:30
in La Tertulia Old San Juan (Plaza Colón)
menearán tail arming cross and Felix Jimenez
with Siqueiros eva
Monday, April 17, 2006
Can I Import A Sling Shot Into Australia?
The sect of dogs barking
second
is presented to all the stray
Thursday April 20 at 7:30
in La Tertulia Old San Juan (Plaza Colón)
menearán tail arming cross and Felix Jimenez
with Siqueiros eva
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Paty Manterola En Bikinis
concerto
Presents Dsp
with some
glory (with Something of glory?)
cé workshop, river stones
April 15, 2006
of software: 1. river rocks, 2. autumn leaves,
3. blue for miles 4. fourth, 5. horizon 6. Bukowski ballad
Dsp is (un) comprising:
trevisani framework, and Nelson Rivera Acevedo rafah
at your own Risk, dis will blow your mind anything butt
please keep your cell phone on 
Presents Dsp
with some
glory (with Something of glory?)
cé workshop, river stones
April 15, 2006
of software: 1. river rocks, 2. autumn leaves,
3. blue for miles 4. fourth, 5. horizon 6. Bukowski ballad
Dsp is (un) comprising:
trevisani framework, and Nelson Rivera Acevedo rafah
at your own Risk, dis will blow your mind anything butt
please keep your cell phone on
Friday, April 14, 2006
Is There A Final Level In Nazi Zombies
Hay que ser realmente idiota para...
Julio Cortázar
years ago I realize I do not care, but it never occurred to me the idiocy writing because I think a very unpleasant, especially if the idiot who exposed.
Perhaps the word idiot is too emphatic, but I prefer to put input and warm on the plate though exaggerated friends to create, rather than use any other dumb, parallel or delayed and then the same friends say that one is has fallen short. In fact nothing happens but an idiot seriously puts you completely apart, and although it has its good things is evident that at times there is a nostalgia, a desire to cross to the opposite sidewalk where friends and relatives are gathered in a same intelligence and understanding, and rubbing a bit against them to feel that there is no appreciable difference and all is benissimo. The sad thing is that everything is malissimo when you're an idiot, for example in the theater, I go to the theater with my wife and a friend, there is a mime show of Czech or Thai dancers and is sure to just start going to find function everything is wonderful. I enjoy and I am moved greatly, dialogues or gestures or dances as supernatural visions come to me, I welcome to break my hands and sometimes my eyes cry or laugh to the edge of the runway, and in any case I'm happy to live and have been lucky to go that night to the theater or cinema or an exhibition of paintings, at any place where extraordinary people are doing or showing things that had never before imagined, making up a place of revelation and encounter, which washes the times when nothing else happens it happens all the time.
And I'm amazed and so pleased that when it reaches the range I get up excited and applauding the actors, and I tell my wife that the Czechs are wonderful pampering and the scene where the fisherman casts the hook and phosphorescent fish is moving at half height is absolutely unprecedented. My wife also has fun and applauded, but then I realize (that moment is something of injury, hoarse and wet hole) their fun and their cheers were not like mine and it almost always is with us a friend who also has fun and applauded but never like me, and I also realize that being said with great wisdom and intelligence that the show is beautiful and the actors are not bad, but that there is indeed no great originality in ideas, not to mention that the colors of the costumes are mediocre and the staging very mediocrity and things and stuff. When my wife or my friend say that - they say it nicely, without any aggressiveness - I understand that I am an idiot, but the trouble is that one has forgotten every time I wonder something that happens, so the sudden drop in idiocy brought to you as a cork that has spent years in the basement accompanying wine bottle and suddenly plop and a pull and not more than cork. I would defend the Czechs or pampering Thai dancers, because I found admirable and I was so happy with them intelligent and wise words of my friends or my wife hurt as under fingernails, and that I understand well how right they have and how the show should not be as good as it seemed to me (but really I do not seem to be good or bad or anything, simply being carried by what was going on like an idiot I am, and I enough to get out and walk around where I like to walk whenever I can, and I can so little). And never occur to me to discuss with my wife or with my friends because I know they are right and they've actually done
well not be outdone by the enthusiasm, as the pleasures of the intelligence and sensitivity must be born of a trial weighted mainly a comparative approach, based as Epictetus said in what is already known to judge what is just met, for that and nothing else is culture and sophrosyne. In no way intend to discuss with them and at most I'm just a few feet away to not hear the rest of the comparisons and judgments, while still trying to retain the last images of phosphorescent fish floating in the middle of the stage, though my memory is inevitably modified by criticism I just heard intelligent and I have no choice but to accept the mediocrity of what I've seen and I was excited just because I accept anything that has colors and shapes a little different. Come under the realization that I'm an idiot, that anything is enough to cheer the checkered life, and then remembering what I loved and enjoyed the night is blurred and becomes complicit, the work of other idiots who have been fishing or dancing badly, with costumes and choreography mediocre, and almost a consolation but comforting claim that we are so many idiots that night have gathered in this room to dance and clap and fishing. The worst thing is that after two days I open the newspaper and read the criticism of the show and criticism almost always coincide, and even with the same words with a sensible and intelligent to have seen and that my wife or my friends. Now I am sure you will not be an idiot is one of the most important things for the life of a man, until little by little I will forget, because the worst is that eventually I forget, for example I just saw a duck swimming one of the lakes in the Bois de Boulogne, and was of a beauty so wonderful that I could not help to squat next to the lake and not know how long to stay looking at its beauty, joy, smug in his eyes, the delicate two-line cuts his chest in the lake water and is making up lost in the distance. My excitement comes not only from duck Duck is something that curdles at once, because it can sometimes be a dry leaf that swings on the edge of a bank, or a crane orange enormísima and delicate against the blue sky in the evening, or the smell of a car train when you come and you have a ticket for a journey of many hours and everything will be going wonderfully, the ham sandwich, the buttons to turn on or turn off the lights (one white and one purple), controlled ventilation, all that I look so beautiful and almost as impossible for him there in my power fills me with a kind of sauce inside a green shower of delight that should finish no more. But many have told me that my enthusiasm is evidence of immaturity (I mean that idiot, but choose the word) and thus can not be excited by a spider web that glows in the sun, since if one engages in excesses like a spider web full of dew, what will stop for the night giving King Lear? To me that a bit surprising, because in reality the enthusiasm is not something that you spend when you're really stupid, is wasted when one is intelligent and has a sense of values \u200b\u200band the historicity of things, so although I run from side to side of the Bois de Boulogne to see the best duck that night esamisma not stop me from giving huge leaps of excitement if I like Fischer Dieskau sings. Come to think of the idiocy that must be it: to enthuse all time for whatever one likes without a drawing on a wall has to be undermined by the memory of the Giotto frescoes in Padua. The idiocy must be some kind of presence and constant restarting, now I like this yellow pebble, now I like "L'année dernière à Marienbad", now I like you, little mouse, now I like this incredible locomotive puffing at the Gare de Lyon Now I like that poster torn and dirty. Now I like, I like it so much, now I am, I repeat offender, the perfect idiot to their idiocy does not know that an idiot and has lost its enjoyment, until the first intelligent sentence him back to consciousness of his idiocy and make haste to find a cigarette with clumsy hands looking down, realizing, sometimes accepting an idiot because it also has to live, clear up another duck or another poster, and so forever. 
Julio Cortázar
years ago I realize I do not care, but it never occurred to me the idiocy writing because I think a very unpleasant, especially if the idiot who exposed.
Perhaps the word idiot is too emphatic, but I prefer to put input and warm on the plate though exaggerated friends to create, rather than use any other dumb, parallel or delayed and then the same friends say that one is has fallen short. In fact nothing happens but an idiot seriously puts you completely apart, and although it has its good things is evident that at times there is a nostalgia, a desire to cross to the opposite sidewalk where friends and relatives are gathered in a same intelligence and understanding, and rubbing a bit against them to feel that there is no appreciable difference and all is benissimo. The sad thing is that everything is malissimo when you're an idiot, for example in the theater, I go to the theater with my wife and a friend, there is a mime show of Czech or Thai dancers and is sure to just start going to find function everything is wonderful. I enjoy and I am moved greatly, dialogues or gestures or dances as supernatural visions come to me, I welcome to break my hands and sometimes my eyes cry or laugh to the edge of the runway, and in any case I'm happy to live and have been lucky to go that night to the theater or cinema or an exhibition of paintings, at any place where extraordinary people are doing or showing things that had never before imagined, making up a place of revelation and encounter, which washes the times when nothing else happens it happens all the time.
And I'm amazed and so pleased that when it reaches the range I get up excited and applauding the actors, and I tell my wife that the Czechs are wonderful pampering and the scene where the fisherman casts the hook and phosphorescent fish is moving at half height is absolutely unprecedented. My wife also has fun and applauded, but then I realize (that moment is something of injury, hoarse and wet hole) their fun and their cheers were not like mine and it almost always is with us a friend who also has fun and applauded but never like me, and I also realize that being said with great wisdom and intelligence that the show is beautiful and the actors are not bad, but that there is indeed no great originality in ideas, not to mention that the colors of the costumes are mediocre and the staging very mediocrity and things and stuff. When my wife or my friend say that - they say it nicely, without any aggressiveness - I understand that I am an idiot, but the trouble is that one has forgotten every time I wonder something that happens, so the sudden drop in idiocy brought to you as a cork that has spent years in the basement accompanying wine bottle and suddenly plop and a pull and not more than cork. I would defend the Czechs or pampering Thai dancers, because I found admirable and I was so happy with them intelligent and wise words of my friends or my wife hurt as under fingernails, and that I understand well how right they have and how the show should not be as good as it seemed to me (but really I do not seem to be good or bad or anything, simply being carried by what was going on like an idiot I am, and I enough to get out and walk around where I like to walk whenever I can, and I can so little). And never occur to me to discuss with my wife or with my friends because I know they are right and they've actually done
well not be outdone by the enthusiasm, as the pleasures of the intelligence and sensitivity must be born of a trial weighted mainly a comparative approach, based as Epictetus said in what is already known to judge what is just met, for that and nothing else is culture and sophrosyne. In no way intend to discuss with them and at most I'm just a few feet away to not hear the rest of the comparisons and judgments, while still trying to retain the last images of phosphorescent fish floating in the middle of the stage, though my memory is inevitably modified by criticism I just heard intelligent and I have no choice but to accept the mediocrity of what I've seen and I was excited just because I accept anything that has colors and shapes a little different. Come under the realization that I'm an idiot, that anything is enough to cheer the checkered life, and then remembering what I loved and enjoyed the night is blurred and becomes complicit, the work of other idiots who have been fishing or dancing badly, with costumes and choreography mediocre, and almost a consolation but comforting claim that we are so many idiots that night have gathered in this room to dance and clap and fishing. The worst thing is that after two days I open the newspaper and read the criticism of the show and criticism almost always coincide, and even with the same words with a sensible and intelligent to have seen and that my wife or my friends. Now I am sure you will not be an idiot is one of the most important things for the life of a man, until little by little I will forget, because the worst is that eventually I forget, for example I just saw a duck swimming one of the lakes in the Bois de Boulogne, and was of a beauty so wonderful that I could not help to squat next to the lake and not know how long to stay looking at its beauty, joy, smug in his eyes, the delicate two-line cuts his chest in the lake water and is making up lost in the distance. My excitement comes not only from duck Duck is something that curdles at once, because it can sometimes be a dry leaf that swings on the edge of a bank, or a crane orange enormísima and delicate against the blue sky in the evening, or the smell of a car train when you come and you have a ticket for a journey of many hours and everything will be going wonderfully, the ham sandwich, the buttons to turn on or turn off the lights (one white and one purple), controlled ventilation, all that I look so beautiful and almost as impossible for him there in my power fills me with a kind of sauce inside a green shower of delight that should finish no more. But many have told me that my enthusiasm is evidence of immaturity (I mean that idiot, but choose the word) and thus can not be excited by a spider web that glows in the sun, since if one engages in excesses like a spider web full of dew, what will stop for the night giving King Lear? To me that a bit surprising, because in reality the enthusiasm is not something that you spend when you're really stupid, is wasted when one is intelligent and has a sense of values \u200b\u200band the historicity of things, so although I run from side to side of the Bois de Boulogne to see the best duck that night esamisma not stop me from giving huge leaps of excitement if I like Fischer Dieskau sings. Come to think of the idiocy that must be it: to enthuse all time for whatever one likes without a drawing on a wall has to be undermined by the memory of the Giotto frescoes in Padua. The idiocy must be some kind of presence and constant restarting, now I like this yellow pebble, now I like "L'année dernière à Marienbad", now I like you, little mouse, now I like this incredible locomotive puffing at the Gare de Lyon Now I like that poster torn and dirty. Now I like, I like it so much, now I am, I repeat offender, the perfect idiot to their idiocy does not know that an idiot and has lost its enjoyment, until the first intelligent sentence him back to consciousness of his idiocy and make haste to find a cigarette with clumsy hands looking down, realizing, sometimes accepting an idiot because it also has to live, clear up another duck or another poster, and so forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)