Thursday, December 30, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Best Travel Tripod Carbon Fiber
More than poetry, a kind of inner Paris
Sometimes I think I understand poetry, writing poetry, as the registration of every day in a journal or as noted in a travel book: seeing things on time ... So I look and so enter the street ... Its Discontents colors ... and also put together the city, home neighborhoods. Writing poetry becomes, then, a deal with the names of things: naming things to keep them, fine writing fragments satiety.
guess writing is like walking because one is intertwined poems, go to the park or neighborhood, it comes out to watch ... and looks to continue ... And in that lonely road, light, climate, are not far away: the nature faithfully accompanying literature that ground-state, maintaining an old romantic, yet related to our times. Then
-time-to-make up the poetry of small own knowledge of glimpses and brief personal statements. And I think what I like reading is the kindness of those sentences true, that we return a little to the warm wisdom of some pictures of some scenes, fragments of a narrative total impossible ... as Barthes is in preparation of the novel .... because for some the novel as a rest or belvedere is not possible, something he wrote in his Daily Pizarnik.
So write sentences is for me to do away safely in every specialty and around the words, some groups of words in a language simultaneous and multiple, as idish, and nearby, also, always, portrait , that of a painter: "What is a school portrait formidable ... It's almost impossible to paint a face. It is a world. How can we approach it, to restore it? "(Balthus, Meditations of a Solitary Walker paint).
The literature I can call right direction ... and I think with these words in some daily painters like Chagall, such as Blackboard. I think travel books on No place to go to Jonas Mekas , in Viktor Shklovsky just books with that syntax busy working with arrows or knives, "the knife was missing", I believe that repeats a poem by Osvaldo Lamborghini, "authors wrote without explanation, juxtaposed words running to the highest regard as the truck died on the horizon beckoning somewhere Zelarayán page. This attempt to chronicle, close the eye that sees and the body that registers, and so get at least something, squeeze at least some, a true act of copyright: bold naturalism, unannounced, transposition extreme, terrible knowledge, beauty accurate. Because that's the point. Jorge Quiroga does suburban bridge where the sentences are what remains .
Poetry, thus, for me, up streets and routes, places themselves: crosses, lively memories hard, strong , as always repeats Raschell-strong -had said Nicholas. Cut scenes, sometimes bankruptcy, stutters, the brief capture the returns to take forever. Wires and strips. So I write and try to walk with little for something is, so the poetry I walk through time, learn to look at the time when what is served is always the space: "pull up time," says Hugo Savino says Mastronardi. Looking at the present time and space, in a bar, a car, the corner or the patio, the real obsession space, as the book of Zelarayán. Walking in the area because I think there is literature but does region, province: "At times we are glad the province, "says Manuel Castilla-so that sentences literature ever composed and a local phenomenon.
Poetry, by this way of lint and ownership, that life is near, anxious, sometimes desperate, that is, multiple and simultaneous: the neighborhood, as in the etchings as Arlt and walked Carlos Correas. A girl living in small failures and disappointments, reminders, to see far ahead, even in the occult, but to remain always near here. From my first pictures cruel, from covetousness to Parque Chacabuco, bustling between there and here, because it is always about "what that is "rather than what changes, no avant-garde as Nicholas Rosa taught me love and unequaled-or no-as learned as Tsvietáieva. Without protections generic without saving Milita distances, as Molina says, "without ratings are only vagrants of letters, historical curtains because as Hugo Savino said:" It is time to accept that great works are heard in one, processed, is like the mouth, invented the look, gestualizan, used to live (and) this activity is its historicity crazy. "
Perhaps all that I get a poetry album soon as , Alles Ding A rope or , precision, fine imprecision of tiny situations taken from some views. And besides, at that intersection is going on brewing time spaces, spaces that sound, in both directions, to listen and fail to succeed, confiscated by writing, by the look. There are authors who listen, there are authors who can see: the Russian formalists had thought of a "philology of the eye 'and its opposite, a reading' handset '...
Poetry allows us also to go beyond us, get out, separate, distinguish ... and compose thoughtful cycles, cycles that do not last, as the real, that are interrupted at different things came over on him, they reach that, as in Tsvietáieva scripts. In this singular way, I think, ensures the poem when we believe the issue is appropriate, staying with things, make them our own, albeit with smaller words. Because things save us. An American critic now in disuse, Lionel Trilling, said the statement has the pleasure of ownership and consistency, partly supplied by the content, in part by the words we caught ourselves ... So I think that the authors real talk written as: speaking, writing in the same quagmire. They give us the pleasure of hearing an assertive voice, literature we are pleased because it is where we agree and, if there is something that we disagree, asks us politely consistency. Literature as a bunch childhood: between the Russian put all the time, Marina Tsvietáieva, and Noemí Ulla.
I think I'll define a poem of just being, like the book Castilla, crossing the northwest winds as Savino's book and trying to know what is the name Transit as his nominated Schvartz Claudia says: "Today I still: nor do I watch or I forget." Also, it is true, cross family Demons, the book of poems by Sosa Diaz Five years or horse Bettina Bonifatti you know that the past does not matter because it could alone. Then the work and it shines even in the interim of a pain that comes and stays tight, as in a picture: there is, because I believe in a poetry that is wise, who lives in the domain of experience, he read that forgot and could, by chance, then write loose. Sellers also confirmed in the vision of a city: "The more I write, the more I see" (New York Vision) - and then make strong writing is the most personal thing and, simultaneously, the happiest, most disturbing, the most interrupted the most persistent .... One thing I can not decide really, but you can not do.
Writing is a terrible misunderstanding with the other permanent. Misunderstanding that is growing and that nothing can dim. Sellers also said ... as if we could ... "No explanation, no complaining." And then I recall the humor comes from the literary scene with me always Héctor Libertella. It is the love of friends, as I once wrote, the more objective, subjective taste, which brought us the time.
Perhaps, for all that, you write like going at any time but at the same time, resisting, hoping that the word itself occurs, recently recovered and I gave Molina-Milita in their memories alive, his melodies Argentine, also hastens scenes, the word 'situs' do not yet know well how to write but Milita told me that the Internet used as a password because no use it ... So I think that writing is meeting another in writing, to endure, as I taught Perla Sneh. An author of literature honestly as I call it-even if it is painful, too, peak Syrup.
Looks: vivid words, the titles of the books I like, as things, as the last drawing of a fabric. And I write portraying a language they do not want to lose, I do not want to let go, so I think I understand writing as the landscape of a voice that must be careful: In the course of my sentences retrieve multi-word the language of my grandparents, provincial or phrases before, which sometimes overlap. Zone words, words of time: because you have to take care of the dog's poem , Damian Rios as he put his book, recalling the poem aptly made Mandesltam murdered.
In recent years, Hebe Uhart mantra repeated a phrase like "it is clear that for me to write is to write his own ballad, a discourse that goes only death ... I had tirelessly Hebe on a trip to the province saw a woman "sitting in favor of the river" ... That statement is worth something huge, beyond measure, that is, with all measures: literature or that phrase up, which is, itself flooding. Write walks to the research of the passage between the smallest and trivial to get the references I want eternal. It seems that poets braided everyday with the historical continuum, without a plan, without comfort, without permission. Also writing is defined by what we can not define, a Russian said "Living is not crossing a field and I copied it ... I copied it to the Russian and I shot him I wanted to quit writing forever ... I think that was the phrase of a letter which is now in a poem of mine because, like him, sad and said sure, "a happy man is always right" ...
But also, I have this, as the poet says grumpy Ricardo Zelarayán, that "the desire to play all the music keys is down" ... So I think that writing is put together but not all ... because bringing a few phrases of poetry becomes words work as when life runs and passes the cloth a beautiful way old, lost or entreperdidos, in forgotten, unusual familiar terms. Poetry is the work of words in the sense that Rosa was reading Nicolás Osvaldo Lamborghini as "a literature of sentences" to assemble a rare books independence, autonomy of a singular life. Work reasons a capture step on the road, heading for worst as Beckett wrote, in that sense of failure or ungrammaticality that gives the most tremendous joy when we found when we say, failure is in the Syntax ordinary, common, not know how to use the subjunctive, but that literature really does succeed, a failure of triumph, then, a real romance, stuck in the words of one. And so I'm
and understand that poetry as a work of words and phrases becomes a direct novel , that few understand in Wind northwest of Hugo Savino, made direct novel short forms, as in Barthes thought Incidents where the author gets only to watch ... and so fascinated could write. I think a poetry or literature in this case is different because poetry is only a phenomenon of concentration or intensity, completely oblivious to the gender difference, such that only reassure critics, ratings that are provided after the author , who is always late, always in the future past that no longer read but still haranguing formulas.
The shortest way glimpse as poetry, as literature, I always return, as in life, cruel irony or terrible holiness, supernaturalism, and the anointing that gripped Libertella Hector in his last books with bits of their own. And so in them was life.
Poetry as a novel direct-repeat, in person, with proper names because they only make a one relationship with things, an unforgivable social frieze, the opposite of polysemy, parody, art, metaphor plowed all spent last stages of procedures as they learned the history formalist criticism but read widely and long tiring to literature without even touching it. So heartfelt poetry is a true limit of the words or the words more performative in the world. Following Frege may be recalled that proper names are like abbreviated descriptions, an assumption that is contrary to traditional theory, where name is earlier described. The proper name is the defining description of the subject ... where the arbitrariness of the sign down. The name is the last limit of the concretion literary style a real person.
work without any project, such as "Letters of a settler" Uhart or Sunday when, in childhood, in Concepción, the route we were going to go see cars. Together and put a number in another, such as semantic Shklovsky said that getting the difference. Appropriate because it is definitely good words and return to them the meaning they have for you. And I repeat to Savino: "I am interested in what exists: the world what I write: if you scored the mix: the portrait on the border with the resemblance."
Laura Estrin 
"You're wrong, sir ... The title of poet does not exist. Our poets do not have the protection of any lord, and our poets are masters themselves and if the patrons (which the devil take them!) Do not recognize it worse for them. Here there are no ragged abbots, which the musicians gather in the streets to write a script. Here poets do not go from house to house asking to be helped. In addition, you will probably jokingly said that I am a great poet. It is true that on occasion I wrote a few bad epigrams, but thank God, with Mr. poets I have nothing in common and I want it "(Pushkin's" Egyptian Nights ")
Sometimes I think I understand poetry, writing poetry, as the registration of every day in a journal or as noted in a travel book: seeing things on time ... So I look and so enter the street ... Its Discontents colors ... and also put together the city, home neighborhoods. Writing poetry becomes, then, a deal with the names of things: naming things to keep them, fine writing fragments satiety.
guess writing is like walking because one is intertwined poems, go to the park or neighborhood, it comes out to watch ... and looks to continue ... And in that lonely road, light, climate, are not far away: the nature faithfully accompanying literature that ground-state, maintaining an old romantic, yet related to our times. Then
-time-to-make up the poetry of small own knowledge of glimpses and brief personal statements. And I think what I like reading is the kindness of those sentences true, that we return a little to the warm wisdom of some pictures of some scenes, fragments of a narrative total impossible ... as Barthes is in preparation of the novel .... because for some the novel as a rest or belvedere is not possible, something he wrote in his Daily Pizarnik.
So write sentences is for me to do away safely in every specialty and around the words, some groups of words in a language simultaneous and multiple, as idish, and nearby, also, always, portrait , that of a painter: "What is a school portrait formidable ... It's almost impossible to paint a face. It is a world. How can we approach it, to restore it? "(Balthus, Meditations of a Solitary Walker paint).
The literature I can call right direction ... and I think with these words in some daily painters like Chagall, such as Blackboard. I think travel books on No place to go to Jonas Mekas , in Viktor Shklovsky just books with that syntax busy working with arrows or knives, "the knife was missing", I believe that repeats a poem by Osvaldo Lamborghini, "authors wrote without explanation, juxtaposed words running to the highest regard as the truck died on the horizon beckoning somewhere Zelarayán page. This attempt to chronicle, close the eye that sees and the body that registers, and so get at least something, squeeze at least some, a true act of copyright: bold naturalism, unannounced, transposition extreme, terrible knowledge, beauty accurate. Because that's the point. Jorge Quiroga does suburban bridge where the sentences are what remains .
Poetry, thus, for me, up streets and routes, places themselves: crosses, lively memories hard, strong , as always repeats Raschell-strong -had said Nicholas. Cut scenes, sometimes bankruptcy, stutters, the brief capture the returns to take forever. Wires and strips. So I write and try to walk with little for something is, so the poetry I walk through time, learn to look at the time when what is served is always the space: "pull up time," says Hugo Savino says Mastronardi. Looking at the present time and space, in a bar, a car, the corner or the patio, the real obsession space, as the book of Zelarayán. Walking in the area because I think there is literature but does region, province: "At times we are glad the province, "says Manuel Castilla-so that sentences literature ever composed and a local phenomenon.
Poetry, by this way of lint and ownership, that life is near, anxious, sometimes desperate, that is, multiple and simultaneous: the neighborhood, as in the etchings as Arlt and walked Carlos Correas. A girl living in small failures and disappointments, reminders, to see far ahead, even in the occult, but to remain always near here. From my first pictures cruel, from covetousness to Parque Chacabuco, bustling between there and here, because it is always about "what that is "rather than what changes, no avant-garde as Nicholas Rosa taught me love and unequaled-or no-as learned as Tsvietáieva. Without protections generic without saving Milita distances, as Molina says, "without ratings are only vagrants of letters, historical curtains because as Hugo Savino said:" It is time to accept that great works are heard in one, processed, is like the mouth, invented the look, gestualizan, used to live (and) this activity is its historicity crazy. "
Perhaps all that I get a poetry album soon as , Alles Ding A rope or , precision, fine imprecision of tiny situations taken from some views. And besides, at that intersection is going on brewing time spaces, spaces that sound, in both directions, to listen and fail to succeed, confiscated by writing, by the look. There are authors who listen, there are authors who can see: the Russian formalists had thought of a "philology of the eye 'and its opposite, a reading' handset '...
Poetry allows us also to go beyond us, get out, separate, distinguish ... and compose thoughtful cycles, cycles that do not last, as the real, that are interrupted at different things came over on him, they reach that, as in Tsvietáieva scripts. In this singular way, I think, ensures the poem when we believe the issue is appropriate, staying with things, make them our own, albeit with smaller words. Because things save us. An American critic now in disuse, Lionel Trilling, said the statement has the pleasure of ownership and consistency, partly supplied by the content, in part by the words we caught ourselves ... So I think that the authors real talk written as: speaking, writing in the same quagmire. They give us the pleasure of hearing an assertive voice, literature we are pleased because it is where we agree and, if there is something that we disagree, asks us politely consistency. Literature as a bunch childhood: between the Russian put all the time, Marina Tsvietáieva, and Noemí Ulla.
I think I'll define a poem of just being, like the book Castilla, crossing the northwest winds as Savino's book and trying to know what is the name Transit as his nominated Schvartz Claudia says: "Today I still: nor do I watch or I forget." Also, it is true, cross family Demons, the book of poems by Sosa Diaz Five years or horse Bettina Bonifatti you know that the past does not matter because it could alone. Then the work and it shines even in the interim of a pain that comes and stays tight, as in a picture: there is, because I believe in a poetry that is wise, who lives in the domain of experience, he read that forgot and could, by chance, then write loose. Sellers also confirmed in the vision of a city: "The more I write, the more I see" (New York Vision) - and then make strong writing is the most personal thing and, simultaneously, the happiest, most disturbing, the most interrupted the most persistent .... One thing I can not decide really, but you can not do.
Writing is a terrible misunderstanding with the other permanent. Misunderstanding that is growing and that nothing can dim. Sellers also said ... as if we could ... "No explanation, no complaining." And then I recall the humor comes from the literary scene with me always Héctor Libertella. It is the love of friends, as I once wrote, the more objective, subjective taste, which brought us the time.
Perhaps, for all that, you write like going at any time but at the same time, resisting, hoping that the word itself occurs, recently recovered and I gave Molina-Milita in their memories alive, his melodies Argentine, also hastens scenes, the word 'situs' do not yet know well how to write but Milita told me that the Internet used as a password because no use it ... So I think that writing is meeting another in writing, to endure, as I taught Perla Sneh. An author of literature honestly as I call it-even if it is painful, too, peak Syrup.
Looks: vivid words, the titles of the books I like, as things, as the last drawing of a fabric. And I write portraying a language they do not want to lose, I do not want to let go, so I think I understand writing as the landscape of a voice that must be careful: In the course of my sentences retrieve multi-word the language of my grandparents, provincial or phrases before, which sometimes overlap. Zone words, words of time: because you have to take care of the dog's poem , Damian Rios as he put his book, recalling the poem aptly made Mandesltam murdered.
In recent years, Hebe Uhart mantra repeated a phrase like "it is clear that for me to write is to write his own ballad, a discourse that goes only death ... I had tirelessly Hebe on a trip to the province saw a woman "sitting in favor of the river" ... That statement is worth something huge, beyond measure, that is, with all measures: literature or that phrase up, which is, itself flooding. Write walks to the research of the passage between the smallest and trivial to get the references I want eternal. It seems that poets braided everyday with the historical continuum, without a plan, without comfort, without permission. Also writing is defined by what we can not define, a Russian said "Living is not crossing a field and I copied it ... I copied it to the Russian and I shot him I wanted to quit writing forever ... I think that was the phrase of a letter which is now in a poem of mine because, like him, sad and said sure, "a happy man is always right" ...
But also, I have this, as the poet says grumpy Ricardo Zelarayán, that "the desire to play all the music keys is down" ... So I think that writing is put together but not all ... because bringing a few phrases of poetry becomes words work as when life runs and passes the cloth a beautiful way old, lost or entreperdidos, in forgotten, unusual familiar terms. Poetry is the work of words in the sense that Rosa was reading Nicolás Osvaldo Lamborghini as "a literature of sentences" to assemble a rare books independence, autonomy of a singular life. Work reasons a capture step on the road, heading for worst as Beckett wrote, in that sense of failure or ungrammaticality that gives the most tremendous joy when we found when we say, failure is in the Syntax ordinary, common, not know how to use the subjunctive, but that literature really does succeed, a failure of triumph, then, a real romance, stuck in the words of one. And so I'm
and understand that poetry as a work of words and phrases becomes a direct novel , that few understand in Wind northwest of Hugo Savino, made direct novel short forms, as in Barthes thought Incidents where the author gets only to watch ... and so fascinated could write. I think a poetry or literature in this case is different because poetry is only a phenomenon of concentration or intensity, completely oblivious to the gender difference, such that only reassure critics, ratings that are provided after the author , who is always late, always in the future past that no longer read but still haranguing formulas.
The shortest way glimpse as poetry, as literature, I always return, as in life, cruel irony or terrible holiness, supernaturalism, and the anointing that gripped Libertella Hector in his last books with bits of their own. And so in them was life.
Poetry as a novel direct-repeat, in person, with proper names because they only make a one relationship with things, an unforgivable social frieze, the opposite of polysemy, parody, art, metaphor plowed all spent last stages of procedures as they learned the history formalist criticism but read widely and long tiring to literature without even touching it. So heartfelt poetry is a true limit of the words or the words more performative in the world. Following Frege may be recalled that proper names are like abbreviated descriptions, an assumption that is contrary to traditional theory, where name is earlier described. The proper name is the defining description of the subject ... where the arbitrariness of the sign down. The name is the last limit of the concretion literary style a real person.
work without any project, such as "Letters of a settler" Uhart or Sunday when, in childhood, in Concepción, the route we were going to go see cars. Together and put a number in another, such as semantic Shklovsky said that getting the difference. Appropriate because it is definitely good words and return to them the meaning they have for you. And I repeat to Savino: "I am interested in what exists: the world what I write: if you scored the mix: the portrait on the border with the resemblance."
Laura Estrin
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Game Cheats For Dune Buggy
First draw "elataquedelosclonesmodiles" girl pop Christmas Draw
http://elataquedelosclonesmodiles.blogspot.com/2010/12 / my-first-sorteo.html # comment-form
http://elataquedelosclonesmodiles.blogspot.com/2010/12 / my-first-sorteo.html # comment-form
Friday, December 17, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Is It Okay To Have Ramen After The Stomach Flu?
Effective Internet Advertising Product
Video: 2.33 min 
Video: 2.33 min
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Letter To New Church Members
phrases
Cut verses to walk a city. Scenarios and recreate the memory strip between rides: not write poems / were written while walking alone . In the poems of Julia Lerman the memory of a city and a love language of forgetfulness but no personal regrets, are the outlines of a definite poetic about experiences of place. Landscapes characterized by personal experience. And turning everything tends to be autobiographical place. A poem that is written to the rhythm of the walk. In Paris Intramuros (Suri stubborn Editions, 2008) highlights a trend chart, spaces proposed as arrays of memory. Constants citadina poetry with pictorial approaches. Travels as attempts to work with the objective. Create and objectified. Compose a file of time and distance, turned wall: four walls dull in the distance / flashing the memory of a city . Poems from abroad, guests visitors, walkers and different from one another to make the poem between praise the ride and writing. How to write and make roads to the letter. Material fugitive impressions, paradoxes of time and space with the findings of the report: do not need to be in Paris / to be in Paris I stayed / in that chair hugging airport. To scan his verses evoke spacious, rides, roads concerned. Contemplation of expression that gives us the aesthetic look of a lodge in the spaces provided. Vernacular poems: Paris, Buenos Aires, Paris, Buenos Aires: Corrientes in me under / in a corner of Saint-Germain . Poems like urban notes. A travelogue in verse in the prevailing alliteration of memory. Lerman writes a collection of anecdotes beyond time. eyes I have in the streets runs bridges rivers. A city seen and counted. Direct observation. The rumor of conflicting languages, different customs, histories and nationalities in parallel and separately. A cosmopolitan aesthetic. When people are also cities: Paris When I dream I dream of you / and vice versa . And each person builds his own imaginary cities: each one makes his Paris and Buenos Aires did to me / in a way that I / I wonder where I come . In These days without stands like a dancer syntax. And full lines like these: I have to write / what I read . A Postcard from Paris returns places, Pictures, epiphanies of a platform, slide. Record in front of a live model in motion. Silent film of the sound of rain falling, a documentary by an odd look, innocent, always new. Writing is naked within the walls of seclusion and the memory is to know how to do something about loneliness. Intimacy without intimacy of Juliet Lerman and verses that are read with pleasure.
Mirta Nicholas 
Cut verses to walk a city. Scenarios and recreate the memory strip between rides: not write poems / were written while walking alone . In the poems of Julia Lerman the memory of a city and a love language of forgetfulness but no personal regrets, are the outlines of a definite poetic about experiences of place. Landscapes characterized by personal experience. And turning everything tends to be autobiographical place. A poem that is written to the rhythm of the walk. In Paris Intramuros (Suri stubborn Editions, 2008) highlights a trend chart, spaces proposed as arrays of memory. Constants citadina poetry with pictorial approaches. Travels as attempts to work with the objective. Create and objectified. Compose a file of time and distance, turned wall: four walls dull in the distance / flashing the memory of a city . Poems from abroad, guests visitors, walkers and different from one another to make the poem between praise the ride and writing. How to write and make roads to the letter. Material fugitive impressions, paradoxes of time and space with the findings of the report: do not need to be in Paris / to be in Paris I stayed / in that chair hugging airport. To scan his verses evoke spacious, rides, roads concerned. Contemplation of expression that gives us the aesthetic look of a lodge in the spaces provided. Vernacular poems: Paris, Buenos Aires, Paris, Buenos Aires: Corrientes in me under / in a corner of Saint-Germain . Poems like urban notes. A travelogue in verse in the prevailing alliteration of memory. Lerman writes a collection of anecdotes beyond time. eyes I have in the streets runs bridges rivers. A city seen and counted. Direct observation. The rumor of conflicting languages, different customs, histories and nationalities in parallel and separately. A cosmopolitan aesthetic. When people are also cities: Paris When I dream I dream of you / and vice versa . And each person builds his own imaginary cities: each one makes his Paris and Buenos Aires did to me / in a way that I / I wonder where I come . In These days without stands like a dancer syntax. And full lines like these: I have to write / what I read . A Postcard from Paris returns places, Pictures, epiphanies of a platform, slide. Record in front of a live model in motion. Silent film of the sound of rain falling, a documentary by an odd look, innocent, always new. Writing is naked within the walls of seclusion and the memory is to know how to do something about loneliness. Intimacy without intimacy of Juliet Lerman and verses that are read with pleasure.
Mirta Nicholas
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Dining Room Drapes 2010
This reading was published in Simon Leys La Croix of February 9, 2009 and commented on the publication of the Journal my trip to China of Roland Barthes.
In April 1974, Roland Barthes made a trip to China with a small group of his friends Tel Quel. This visit had coincided with a massive and bloody purges, the Maoist regime unleashed throughout the country - the ominously famed "campaign to denounce Lin Biao and Confucius" (pi Lin pi Kong ).
Upon his return, Barthes published in Le Monde an article that gave an overview of this oddly jovial totalitarian violence, "Your same name in Chinese-Pikong Pilin, a cheerful tinkling bell, and the campaign is divided in two games invented: a cartoon, a poem, a sketch of children in the course of which, suddenly, a little girl makeup short between two ballets Lin Biao's ghost: the political text (but only) generates the same happenings. "
this reading in that time I brought to mind a passage from Lu Xun - Chinese the most brilliant pamphleteer of the twentieth century:" Our highly praised Chinese civilization is nothing but a feast of human flesh seasoned for the rich and powerful, and what they call China is nothing more than the kitchen in which carefully prepared that stew. The praise we can only be excused to the extent they do not know what they talk about, as do those foreigners that their lofty position and prosperous existence became completely blind and obtuse. "
Two years later, the article Barthes was reissued in a deluxe board exclusively for book lovers - with the addition of an afterword that inspired me the following note: "(...) Mr. Barthes also explain what the original contribution of his testimony (which some fans were rude poorly understood at the time): it was, he says, to explore a new way of comment, "the Ringtone comment no comment "which is a way to" suspend our statement without actually abolishing it. " Mr. Barthes, who already had many titles in the consideration of the educated people, perhaps just get one that will pay him immortality, becoming the inventor of this unprecedented categories: the "speech or assertive, or denier, or neutral" , "the desire to silence speech as special." For this discovery reveals the extent of which no input, Barthes comes in fact - do you realize that? - To invest with dignity entirely new, old business, so unjustly devalued, the talk-to-no-say-nothing. On behalf legions of elderly ladies who, every day for five to six, chatter in the halls of tea, we thank you emotionally. Finally, in this same postscript, and it is certainly something that many will be grateful, Mr. Barthes defines boldly what should be the true place of the intellectual in the contemporary world, its true purpose, his honor and dignity: it is, apparently, to keep up with courage, to and against all the "everlasting Falo stop" people committed treacherous and other advocates of "brutal way," that delicious blast of a newsboy of warm water. "
And now this editor gives us the text of the notebooks in which Barthes had entered the various daily events and experiences of this famous journey. Are you reading might lead us to revise our opinion?
In these notebooks, notes Barthes in single file, and very carefully, all the endless tirade of propaganda that served in the course of his visits to the agricultural communes, factories, schools, zoos, hospitals, etc.: "Legumes: in the past year, 230 million pounds + apples, pears, grapes, rice, corn, wheat, pigs & ducks 22000 (...) irrigation works. 550 electric pumps, mechanization: Tractors + 40 monocultures (...) Transportation: 110 trucks, 770 cars shots, 47 000 households = 11000 people (...) = 21 production brigades, 146 production teams "... These 200 pages filled with valuable information.
are mixed with brief personal notes, very elliptical: "Lunch: surprise, chips! - I forgot to wash my ears - john - What strange: no coffee, no salad, no flirts - Migraines - Nausea. "Fatigue, monotony, boredom increasingly overwhelming barely tinged by a few rays sunshine - for such a loving and long handshake given a "cute worker."
"The spectacle of this vast country terrified and stupefied by the Maoist rinoceritis completely anesthetized the capacity for indignation? No, but kept it to denounce the appalling food served on Air France flight back: "Air France's lunch is so disgusting (like pears rolls, chicken in sauce to report the smell of fried food, salad colored cabbage starch chocolate - and no champagne!) that I'm about to write a letter to protest. "(Emphasis added)
But we are not unjust: each of us writes a mountain of nonsense for our private use, not only we can judge by the nonsense that we publicly. Whatever we think of Roland Barthes, nobody could deny that he had wit and taste. And also refrained from publishing these books. So who had the idea horn of this exhumation lamentable? If this unusual initiative comes from their friends, this reminds me then the warning from Vigny: "A friend is not worse than any other man."
In the latest issue of Magazine littéraire , Philippe Sollers estimated that these virtue books reflect that celebrated George Orwell, " ordinary decency." On the contrary it seems to me that, as there is quiet, Barthes shows a remarkable indecency. Anyway, this comparison seems incongruous (the "ordinary decency" as Orwell is based on simplicity and courage, Barthes had certainly qualities, but not those). Written before the "Chinese" of Barthes (and their friends Tel Quel), I was reminded of this quote from Orwell: "You must be part of the intelligentsia to write such things no ordinary man could be so stupid .
For Simon Leys
Translation: Hugo Savino
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Pasta Electric Steamer
When I want when I can I can not and do not want my new mobile android
L @ s that follow me on youtube I guess I will give you realize that I have the channel left ... why? Vereis'en September with exams and registration (and a little vacation .... hehe) since October pude.En not left a family trip and took the video camera and photo, and would not record with the webcam for the bad quality camera tiene.Me returned in November and even I have to record the videos, well now I'm in full exams and I hope I have not time for Christmas to record alguno.Un beso.AudreyLolita 
L @ s that follow me on youtube I guess I will give you realize that I have the channel left ... why? Vereis'en September with exams and registration (and a little vacation .... hehe) since October pude.En not left a family trip and took the video camera and photo, and would not record with the webcam for the bad quality camera tiene.Me returned in November and even I have to record the videos, well now I'm in full exams and I hope I have not time for Christmas to record alguno.Un beso.AudreyLolita
Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5
Write Letter For Replaement
I changed phone and I bought one with andoid.Von Blog this application on my phone, but this actalizare guess that I have very abandonado.Prometo upload more post.Un beso.AudreyLolita;). Ah! if you have google talk I can add: Published
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Saturday, November 27, 2010
Omega Seamaster Lug Width
Barthes and China The music of Hugo Savino
Language is something on the order of experience. Hugo Savino know and attacks against all these representatives of bibliographic tiredness kills Jump (Letranómada, 2010). 160 pages of pure music. Because language is something on the order of the senses. No jargon of cultural journalists, and the scaffolding Police hired teachers, bureaucrats or legislators humanities college. Neither pedantic and boring twister-structuralist-semiotic Hegelian-Lacanian-Marxist. Knowledge theories are useless to any application. For an author is an author. And a theory, however, is that it repeats ideas and strives inert and comfort by applying to this or that work. A forced labor, in addition; hardened work of freedom, passion and wonder, the of that. You have to read kills Jump: styles of translation and translation style. Savino, a lover of words, pictures made of the poem. Does the poem in the picture. A book of unprecedented freedom, sadly unusual, which shocked the tedious boredom and under the authority quoted, the privileged place of intellectual masturbatory narcissism. Reviewers rather than registered, so can cross voracious readers and aesthetic works, "without permission" from anyone. Ritmo y ear. Or "suggestive authorities" or "institutional representatives." Ringtones and music. In praise of reading and the reader is wise unmanageable whose only taste. Claim, vindicate its pages, you come and make fun of, taken by assault, the joy of reading, an activity that reading your pages does not seem in danger of extinction. Voice of an author named Hugo Savino. For an author worth his works. In the cadence of his phrasing. What is your writing and publishing journal, its most expensive notebook, your notebook war. We will see in this requiem laugh, reading Jump kills, affected by the praise-rare, thankfully, very powerful, from a reader: because not only the language but reading is something on the order of experience. Jump in kills reading is a sensory experience. A book to listen. Savino syntax is unbiased. If a translator avoid "the pitfalls of accuracy," as author combat the illusions of a domestication reader. For those who still believe in the ability books, when true, dangerous objects, to change lives and draw destinations. Culturalism Nothing prevents us feel and think freely. Jump in kills is humor, naturalness, taste, passion, pleasure reading. There is also anger towards a dominant deafness and fashionable. Beyond fashion. A classic is something else. A constant flight to the taste. Hugo Savino retrieves a tone that seemed lost in the Causeries Argentina. We will see read Jump kills in this requiem, laughing.
Javier Fernández 
And you talk to people who have no idea these things: to want to write, and a coffee float to the other with a notebook in hand: fishing what you can. The book as a wagon, I put everything in there.
Hugo Savino. Jump kills.
Language is something on the order of experience. Hugo Savino know and attacks against all these representatives of bibliographic tiredness kills Jump (Letranómada, 2010). 160 pages of pure music. Because language is something on the order of the senses. No jargon of cultural journalists, and the scaffolding Police hired teachers, bureaucrats or legislators humanities college. Neither pedantic and boring twister-structuralist-semiotic Hegelian-Lacanian-Marxist. Knowledge theories are useless to any application. For an author is an author. And a theory, however, is that it repeats ideas and strives inert and comfort by applying to this or that work. A forced labor, in addition; hardened work of freedom, passion and wonder, the of that. You have to read kills Jump: styles of translation and translation style. Savino, a lover of words, pictures made of the poem. Does the poem in the picture. A book of unprecedented freedom, sadly unusual, which shocked the tedious boredom and under the authority quoted, the privileged place of intellectual masturbatory narcissism. Reviewers rather than registered, so can cross voracious readers and aesthetic works, "without permission" from anyone. Ritmo y ear. Or "suggestive authorities" or "institutional representatives." Ringtones and music. In praise of reading and the reader is wise unmanageable whose only taste. Claim, vindicate its pages, you come and make fun of, taken by assault, the joy of reading, an activity that reading your pages does not seem in danger of extinction. Voice of an author named Hugo Savino. For an author worth his works. In the cadence of his phrasing. What is your writing and publishing journal, its most expensive notebook, your notebook war. We will see in this requiem laugh, reading Jump kills, affected by the praise-rare, thankfully, very powerful, from a reader: because not only the language but reading is something on the order of experience. Jump in kills reading is a sensory experience. A book to listen. Savino syntax is unbiased. If a translator avoid "the pitfalls of accuracy," as author combat the illusions of a domestication reader. For those who still believe in the ability books, when true, dangerous objects, to change lives and draw destinations. Culturalism Nothing prevents us feel and think freely. Jump in kills is humor, naturalness, taste, passion, pleasure reading. There is also anger towards a dominant deafness and fashionable. Beyond fashion. A classic is something else. A constant flight to the taste. Hugo Savino retrieves a tone that seemed lost in the Causeries Argentina. We will see read Jump kills in this requiem, laughing.
Javier Fernández
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Uncomfortable Pains In Stomach
Chronicle of a Chronic Damian Rios Entre Rios or "Damian atendeme ..."
"atendeme Damian," said the father teaching him to count collecting stones ... My dad, when we were going to give consideration repeated: "I wrote that first letter and let you out" ...
What happens when one reads, one discovers, as I a few years ago, an author, a work, the city itself, the same time, Conception and Uruguay, to understand the locals, says Zelarayán?
What do you do with it is so close and so good?
Rivers Damian The language is a smooth, quiet, real, not without mannerisms baroque and unreasonable. A clear work. Entre Ríos is that where it says "The germ or Monica." Entre Rios or Conception, the place of these, but these themselves, "like a parrot tired" or "east wind, rain and plague." And Bessi school where I finished second grade and Damian until he went to live with Grandma Carmen. School Bessi Bessi by sisters, I did, Damian account and gives me his book. With the dirt courtyard and worms that kids put us in the dust ... ghosts of childhood.
And now, recently, I see the part Uhart Damian Rios, his writing ... he says on the front page of the book ... and here I find: "sweeping the shaded part of the sidewalk." And I see the words time and time zone so as I said to Zelarayán-as "espamento doing both." Increasing I saw the other side of town, I lived on the side of the Ministry where the water did not come but once climbed up to two blocks behind my house. And Damien lived in and with other brands, "the bridge of Suipacha" the trench. But increasingly, "kind of sad," was something to see for everyone. Damian knows
"write a novel with checks." Pass behind the College of Uruguay, where he was me, because Damian was the Industrial, where were my friends today so far: Dito and Fabio. And he gets so well these blue lights going up and down the fronts of houses, a memory mirroring. And Damian treasured knowledge of people, cruelty and people who do not sleep in the morning, "actual observations," says the book and writes, "tells the one who knows and writes to know." Hebe
Uhart claimed in an interview these days who do not know why Argentina literature does good dialogue. D. Rios makes perfect crosses:
"" He's fishing, "said Piche.
And another answered:
"And he was alone."
The trench, the stream of the Souls, who lived outside the walls for me closer to the square Ramírez, literature and come to find there, there ... But more than what I feel and I know there must be in entrerrianos and all the work of D. Rivers. As Bernard, the fools who sent "Groove", a joke that was repeated at home, and was a school for disabled people "and that he understands that you can" as Aira said. And now Damian transvestite know if the names ... I think not ... "the Damien is Damien ... We, I and all our stuff we read some in Concepción and although the" Rys "is the Rys, not read ... almost anything ... Not all are required to read and curiosity is only greed of a few, literature, fortunately, is not immutable mandatory ... There are people who do not even see themselves when it is portrayed and I have thousands of cases ... but the boys
, cousins \u200b\u200bof entrerrianos expect rain and growing. Similar and very different from Wernicke. And do not invent almost anything. The familiar language, they do. Is one, the language childhood, where almost everything ... But we must understand this ... it's like when you say "all written" ... and knows that "not all written, only a few among all" ... And that force, that force meeting, than it really is, and so well written out, like the cry of gurí Zelarayán entrerriano I found in what might be called "portray one's own language:" The rain, he said later, wanting to say something. " The flood itself, I called years ago. Portraying
portray a customer is watching the storm and last names that I recognize there: Don Caire, the dead by the growing Sandoval ... the names, surnames, are not the same throughout our country. Immigrations were others. So I thought "The provincial tour." In Entre Ríos more Jewish names that Arabs, I think, the opposite of what happens in the north.
And the picture is sharp, as the rising sun. And there are many things, transposed, remembered: the return to the square of the city trucks, line 4 groups (I do not think there were more than two or three when we were kids with Damian), the bus station today and aging but in the '70-'80 was a new building with hotel and everything. Although it was Esso front of the beach area ...
remains And the portrait is known portrait, the hardest thing there, a face, the literary portrait is a face: "Every time it seems that something will happen in these blocks, but at this time no anything can happen. " And I know why I feel stronger when I read that the repeater channel 7 began transmitting at 7 pm, before the afternoon, had to settle for 3, Paysandu and 12 Fray Bentos .. . but if there was a storm ... Channel 9 appeared between gray and black stripes ...
And always inevitable, there is an essay on memory and forgetting in these stories: "First I get the oblivion of the noise, then the words. The forgetfulness that comes is round, white, porous, infinite is done so for one to fill it with loads of new sounds, lies. I have left, then, silent images, unnamed colors, then I put the noise and smells that I, like writing on a letterhead. " And partly contrasts with "certain things that come from inside of something" and what they mean is then: tell a story that no one knows if it's important or if it is the scenery ... so says entrerrianos .
hospitalito
And where was finally my dad's office, where he began to leave the grandmother of Damien, the spa, where some teachers were single and hairstyles, and other things that Damian's grandmother remembered for him to know, look, feel, and they spoke for "Only then starts to write to me: the rest is a score."
Inside 50s grew up, that I read in an anthology of poets from the north and it is true, but Damian Rios in the '80s and '90s could not speak as an old man "today is that ...." The inside is always a story last time.
Y is the log of coming to Buenos Aires collectively, how to maneuver the bus leaves the terminal, an accuracy of the look that assaults the heart: "That, having that. Because you will know that the return will not be the same "... as I said the girl marplatense Melo coffee one day, walking down Las Heras ..." when we have been age 2 or 3 years "and she was only 21! And
appear Club Rivadavia Street and Lorenzo Sartorio and few dates ... I have nothing but joy and sadness nostalgic for the time of the soul over there when I read the memories of Damian, your novel, the only poets can write a detached dwelling: "What the fuck is agreed. I have to write the first thing that comes to mind, if I had to get here I can not err. I have to be precise, play well. "
I never thought I never wanted to return to live there ... but I remember it all ... As you see clarito Damian "heaven or camaraderie" which is entangled with the memories of those loves cute, warm, and hence the mention of people who I think, very few recognize: Villa Mantero, which they say "Mantero," or the old road to Columbus ... phrases that you recognize as belonging to those times there, never name them here. And there are mysteries, is experience, vision and poetry is honest: "But for me there is no skill that's worth, I am interested in honesty. Being honest is infinitely more difficult than being right, "says Damian Rios.
Finally go around a bit some of his sentences because "Someone comes and tells her story" ... because "Memory is flat, has no way to represent nothing but pictures, just goes with with something like the sound of a projector background, a cushion ... Damian Rios
type, select: "What is called inspiration in general can be understood as compliance orders (...) The report warns, birdie, but it represents. No sun. "Rivers is on the lyrical best, fair, just had a radio Noblex as there was also at home. Damian portrays what is hanging around in the body: "What does Damian, nothing, I'm telling the story of us all of what we did." Once
spoke with Damien about how we talk when we returned to Concepcion and conventions that one never comes at all ... but go and say hello 14 years after the golden Bessi school girlfriend ... because also in Buenos Aires is "Caserito (that) was like me, nothing but time had run more in Entre Ríos and read very little ..." And my last
underscore is also something that I could tell my sister who recently returned to Concepción to meet childhood companions, "Well, sister, I'm not talking about the past, I'm talking about the marks of the past in a voice that is now mine."
Laura Estrin 
"That script was talking about the things are given, from which they receive and which are lost, I then over time, I read many books, and the best really just talking about it, sometimes to forget, but always that. "
( Entre Rios)
"atendeme Damian," said the father teaching him to count collecting stones ... My dad, when we were going to give consideration repeated: "I wrote that first letter and let you out" ...
What happens when one reads, one discovers, as I a few years ago, an author, a work, the city itself, the same time, Conception and Uruguay, to understand the locals, says Zelarayán?
What do you do with it is so close and so good?
Rivers Damian The language is a smooth, quiet, real, not without mannerisms baroque and unreasonable. A clear work. Entre Ríos is that where it says "The germ or Monica." Entre Rios or Conception, the place of these, but these themselves, "like a parrot tired" or "east wind, rain and plague." And Bessi school where I finished second grade and Damian until he went to live with Grandma Carmen. School Bessi Bessi by sisters, I did, Damian account and gives me his book. With the dirt courtyard and worms that kids put us in the dust ... ghosts of childhood.
And now, recently, I see the part Uhart Damian Rios, his writing ... he says on the front page of the book ... and here I find: "sweeping the shaded part of the sidewalk." And I see the words time and time zone so as I said to Zelarayán-as "espamento doing both." Increasing I saw the other side of town, I lived on the side of the Ministry where the water did not come but once climbed up to two blocks behind my house. And Damien lived in and with other brands, "the bridge of Suipacha" the trench. But increasingly, "kind of sad," was something to see for everyone. Damian knows
"write a novel with checks." Pass behind the College of Uruguay, where he was me, because Damian was the Industrial, where were my friends today so far: Dito and Fabio. And he gets so well these blue lights going up and down the fronts of houses, a memory mirroring. And Damian treasured knowledge of people, cruelty and people who do not sleep in the morning, "actual observations," says the book and writes, "tells the one who knows and writes to know." Hebe
Uhart claimed in an interview these days who do not know why Argentina literature does good dialogue. D. Rios makes perfect crosses:
"" He's fishing, "said Piche.
And another answered:
"And he was alone."
The trench, the stream of the Souls, who lived outside the walls for me closer to the square Ramírez, literature and come to find there, there ... But more than what I feel and I know there must be in entrerrianos and all the work of D. Rivers. As Bernard, the fools who sent "Groove", a joke that was repeated at home, and was a school for disabled people "and that he understands that you can" as Aira said. And now Damian transvestite know if the names ... I think not ... "the Damien is Damien ... We, I and all our stuff we read some in Concepción and although the" Rys "is the Rys, not read ... almost anything ... Not all are required to read and curiosity is only greed of a few, literature, fortunately, is not immutable mandatory ... There are people who do not even see themselves when it is portrayed and I have thousands of cases ... but the boys
, cousins \u200b\u200bof entrerrianos expect rain and growing. Similar and very different from Wernicke. And do not invent almost anything. The familiar language, they do. Is one, the language childhood, where almost everything ... But we must understand this ... it's like when you say "all written" ... and knows that "not all written, only a few among all" ... And that force, that force meeting, than it really is, and so well written out, like the cry of gurí Zelarayán entrerriano I found in what might be called "portray one's own language:" The rain, he said later, wanting to say something. " The flood itself, I called years ago. Portraying
portray a customer is watching the storm and last names that I recognize there: Don Caire, the dead by the growing Sandoval ... the names, surnames, are not the same throughout our country. Immigrations were others. So I thought "The provincial tour." In Entre Ríos more Jewish names that Arabs, I think, the opposite of what happens in the north.
And the picture is sharp, as the rising sun. And there are many things, transposed, remembered: the return to the square of the city trucks, line 4 groups (I do not think there were more than two or three when we were kids with Damian), the bus station today and aging but in the '70-'80 was a new building with hotel and everything. Although it was Esso front of the beach area ...
remains And the portrait is known portrait, the hardest thing there, a face, the literary portrait is a face: "Every time it seems that something will happen in these blocks, but at this time no anything can happen. " And I know why I feel stronger when I read that the repeater channel 7 began transmitting at 7 pm, before the afternoon, had to settle for 3, Paysandu and 12 Fray Bentos .. . but if there was a storm ... Channel 9 appeared between gray and black stripes ...
And always inevitable, there is an essay on memory and forgetting in these stories: "First I get the oblivion of the noise, then the words. The forgetfulness that comes is round, white, porous, infinite is done so for one to fill it with loads of new sounds, lies. I have left, then, silent images, unnamed colors, then I put the noise and smells that I, like writing on a letterhead. " And partly contrasts with "certain things that come from inside of something" and what they mean is then: tell a story that no one knows if it's important or if it is the scenery ... so says entrerrianos .
hospitalito
And where was finally my dad's office, where he began to leave the grandmother of Damien, the spa, where some teachers were single and hairstyles, and other things that Damian's grandmother remembered for him to know, look, feel, and they spoke for "Only then starts to write to me: the rest is a score."
Inside 50s grew up, that I read in an anthology of poets from the north and it is true, but Damian Rios in the '80s and '90s could not speak as an old man "today is that ...." The inside is always a story last time.
Y is the log of coming to Buenos Aires collectively, how to maneuver the bus leaves the terminal, an accuracy of the look that assaults the heart: "That, having that. Because you will know that the return will not be the same "... as I said the girl marplatense Melo coffee one day, walking down Las Heras ..." when we have been age 2 or 3 years "and she was only 21! And
appear Club Rivadavia Street and Lorenzo Sartorio and few dates ... I have nothing but joy and sadness nostalgic for the time of the soul over there when I read the memories of Damian, your novel, the only poets can write a detached dwelling: "What the fuck is agreed. I have to write the first thing that comes to mind, if I had to get here I can not err. I have to be precise, play well. "
I never thought I never wanted to return to live there ... but I remember it all ... As you see clarito Damian "heaven or camaraderie" which is entangled with the memories of those loves cute, warm, and hence the mention of people who I think, very few recognize: Villa Mantero, which they say "Mantero," or the old road to Columbus ... phrases that you recognize as belonging to those times there, never name them here. And there are mysteries, is experience, vision and poetry is honest: "But for me there is no skill that's worth, I am interested in honesty. Being honest is infinitely more difficult than being right, "says Damian Rios.
Finally go around a bit some of his sentences because "Someone comes and tells her story" ... because "Memory is flat, has no way to represent nothing but pictures, just goes with with something like the sound of a projector background, a cushion ... Damian Rios
type, select: "What is called inspiration in general can be understood as compliance orders (...) The report warns, birdie, but it represents. No sun. "Rivers is on the lyrical best, fair, just had a radio Noblex as there was also at home. Damian portrays what is hanging around in the body: "What does Damian, nothing, I'm telling the story of us all of what we did." Once
spoke with Damien about how we talk when we returned to Concepcion and conventions that one never comes at all ... but go and say hello 14 years after the golden Bessi school girlfriend ... because also in Buenos Aires is "Caserito (that) was like me, nothing but time had run more in Entre Ríos and read very little ..." And my last
underscore is also something that I could tell my sister who recently returned to Concepción to meet childhood companions, "Well, sister, I'm not talking about the past, I'm talking about the marks of the past in a voice that is now mine."
Laura Estrin
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Multiplication Table 100 X 100
Hervé Guibert: the decline of the body of the writer
The outbreak of AIDS in France produced a boom in the narrative theme. It is estimated that between 1985 and 1993 were more than 40 books (evidential or fiction) about the disease. The work that stands out above the rest of this invasion was that of the former enfant terrible of French literature: Hervé Guibert.
Sometimes, the immediacy of the tragedy may be counterproductive to the immediacy of writing. Then the "scandal" obscures the purpose of writing experience. The agony of Foucault and make public the cause of death (which relates Guibert The friend who saved my life ) was an almost unforgivable act for the "apostles" of Foucault. That's why you have to detach the contemporaneity of the events recounted in the first place (which is the urgency of the review), to restore to the work of Guibert literary status, and secondly, to justify the delicate balance between fiction and autobiographical memory, ie, when the space of literature is "border." Guibert
breaks in the French literature with his first book La mort propagande (1977) when he was 22 years, marking a line that was always going to go over his work: the construction of autobiography through fiction. The criticism of his country understood by mythomania fiction. Guibert slid across the range including the self literature, newspapers, autobiographical novels, correspondence, autobiographical texts illustrated with photographs of their own production. His figure is no longer the "cult" in the literature gala when in 1984 he won the César for Best Screenplay for the film The wounded man, directed by Patrice Chereau.
In 1990 the French literary world is shaken by the appearance of The friend who saved my life to begin the cycle of works about AIDS (disease was the cause of his death) and would continue to compassionate protocol (1991), L'homme au chapeau rouge (1992, unpublished in Castilian) and the posthumously published diary Cytomegalovirus.
The controversy generated by Guibert's work is the autobiographical story of all: that is told or what is omitted, what is the limit of such accounts (public and private) and what criteria utilization of raw materials of these types of stories, which is none other than life itself. Undoubtedly
fractures literary space "topographically" when the novel becomes autobiographical confession. In the absence of privacy, life can be told. The own and others. And when the friendship is "betrayed" (talk to reveal the cause of the death of Foucault), the work becomes blurred and the event occurs, the scandal. We emphasize the use of the word. Disclose being HIV carrier creates scandal and precedes the "social death" of the subject. It is a body that is contagious and that is the bearer of death and reveal "practices unconventional sex. " Dominates the discourse of death.
"... Ultimately, AIDS is predominant in the discourse of death and are forgetting that the desire is not something so easily controlled. No danger, but also on behalf of the danger you say "Let's live", which is the great message of medicine. "Perlongher Nestor, interview Papers refuseniks.
Focusing solely on "Foucault case" would limit the scope of writing Guibert. In any case, one of the functions of his prose is to perpetuate the memory. A measure of urgency for those absent for own future demise. Although it is sometimes not a participant in those memories:
"(Christine Ockrent) spent a short excerpt that I would not have missed it for the world during its evening news Muzila's death in June 1984. Christine Ockrent, which he exulted, often called ma petite or large ma cherie not actually issued more than a vast and endless laughter, shot during the release of varieties, Muzila wearing a suit and tie , pictures in which he literally writhed with laughter at a time when it was expected that he was seriously like a dad to glorify one of the rules of that history of behavior whose bases destroyed, and that comforted me laugh in a moment I was frozen when I put the TV in the house of Jules and Berthe, where I had fled the night of his death to see how they would treat your obituary on the news. That was for me last Muzila animated visual appearance that he consented to receive, I wanted then I wanted, for fear, fight any pretense of their presence, except with dreams, and that laugh so formidable, so fierce, so bright, just in time before our friendship. " The friend who saved my life.
Restore the absence, because forgetting is an torment. Hence the need to recover the memory, perpetuate it, photograph it, cast the ritual of disappearance:
"In four months the torment of absence had had time to settle on things like an impossible to remove dust again, things had become untouchable, hence had to photograph them, before new disorders cover them. " The friend who saved my life.
If memory functions would be to perpetuate the memory, the autobiographical novel continues writing while the disease runs its course, undermining the forces. Guibert is in constant struggle against time. The autobiography is the biography of the body burning. Throughout this cycle of works of Guibert, the narrative form of novel mutations blog, where he settled let setbacks and progress of the disease. We can not call it every day (except for CMV ). The Journal is the raw material Guibert autobiographical fiction, then what is extracted is transformed into fiction novel.
"The report certainly gives a jump and I have no desire to continue referring to the newspaper to avoid today, five years later, the sadness of what, playing too exactly what happened, it restored with malice ..." the friend who saved me life.
dates are not recorded, record the progression of the work:
"The book combating fatigue produced by the body's fight against virus attacks. I have only four hours a day validity, after lifting the huge picture window blinds, which are the potentiometer weakening my breath to return to find daylight and get to work again. " O
contrary register the failure of the company, the body is the vector of writing. The experience of writing is the war against depression, fiction is set in line with the body's response, the body materializes narrative form or more precisely the writing dynamic signals the beginning and the end, the unexpected or solution of continuity of the work:
"... before yesterday I felt a little better from the morning and began this story, though sinister, seemed to present some joy, if not lively, it is due to the dynamics of writing and how much it may have to improvise. There is no book without unexpected structure, and emerges with the hazards of writing. But I saw him yesterday all black and did not write a line. " compassionate protocol.
tolerance of medication is one that can keep producing the story:
"I remain so bad and I'm waiting for relief from this drug, which actually took five days to take, feeling no other effect than the production of this story. " compassionate protocol.
The Journal writing swings also suffer the body's resistance. The continuity of life arises and makes writing the narrative forward. Survival and generates the story of the work plan. The body is at "war" against the virus progresses, Guibert questions the extension of the work:
"The War Diary of Babel: if I lose my eye is one of the last books I have opened.
This diary should also be a war diary. (...)
This journal, which should last two weeks, I stopped from one day to another due to absolute despair. (...)
My doctor happened to me a while ago. I said that if the placement of the slide-catch usually passed under local anesthesia in the operating room, would initiate the administrative procedures that would allow me to be transferred to my home as quickly as possible and sooner than expected (I thought at once great and Shit My diary is not going to last fifteen days ). " Cytomegalovirus.
As built Sarduy The autobiography through the archeology of the body, Guibert writes about the beauty of the body, the fullness and the decline of the same. All construction autobiographical writer needs that commitment to the body. The body is the experience of writing which tells the life and also can be told with a camera
"Leaving the camera in your pocket under the skin of a panther the desk chair, I went immediately to stroke, in the eyes of the Polish assistant, the meat so soft gap between the two breasts of my aunt. A young flesh and erotic despite his ninety-five. I feel no repugnance to the flesh, sometimes mushy, woman very old, but on the contrary, a great tenderness toward nearby attraction, an attraction joyful, not vicious. Suzanne should note that it gives me much pleasure as she rubbed my nose against hers in our Eskimo kiss., Since we can not talk, stroking his forehead with a gesture repeated in the grip of the hair, shake his hand mine, two patients are still dying to look a little pleasure on this earth before returning to find ourselves in hell. " compassionate protocol.
In June 1992, Guibert video was filmed in various everyday situations registering their illness and their families in their rehabilitation, with friends, naked. Final assembly of the film, released posthumously called The pudeur ou l'impudeur (The modesty or immodesty), and other flagship title that reflects the development parameters within which all his work. Avoiding
final demise of his body, Guibert commits suicide in Paris in December 1991.
Pablo Moreno 
The outbreak of AIDS in France produced a boom in the narrative theme. It is estimated that between 1985 and 1993 were more than 40 books (evidential or fiction) about the disease. The work that stands out above the rest of this invasion was that of the former enfant terrible of French literature: Hervé Guibert.
Sometimes, the immediacy of the tragedy may be counterproductive to the immediacy of writing. Then the "scandal" obscures the purpose of writing experience. The agony of Foucault and make public the cause of death (which relates Guibert The friend who saved my life ) was an almost unforgivable act for the "apostles" of Foucault. That's why you have to detach the contemporaneity of the events recounted in the first place (which is the urgency of the review), to restore to the work of Guibert literary status, and secondly, to justify the delicate balance between fiction and autobiographical memory, ie, when the space of literature is "border." Guibert
breaks in the French literature with his first book La mort propagande (1977) when he was 22 years, marking a line that was always going to go over his work: the construction of autobiography through fiction. The criticism of his country understood by mythomania fiction. Guibert slid across the range including the self literature, newspapers, autobiographical novels, correspondence, autobiographical texts illustrated with photographs of their own production. His figure is no longer the "cult" in the literature gala when in 1984 he won the César for Best Screenplay for the film The wounded man, directed by Patrice Chereau.
In 1990 the French literary world is shaken by the appearance of The friend who saved my life to begin the cycle of works about AIDS (disease was the cause of his death) and would continue to compassionate protocol (1991), L'homme au chapeau rouge (1992, unpublished in Castilian) and the posthumously published diary Cytomegalovirus.
The controversy generated by Guibert's work is the autobiographical story of all: that is told or what is omitted, what is the limit of such accounts (public and private) and what criteria utilization of raw materials of these types of stories, which is none other than life itself. Undoubtedly
fractures literary space "topographically" when the novel becomes autobiographical confession. In the absence of privacy, life can be told. The own and others. And when the friendship is "betrayed" (talk to reveal the cause of the death of Foucault), the work becomes blurred and the event occurs, the scandal. We emphasize the use of the word. Disclose being HIV carrier creates scandal and precedes the "social death" of the subject. It is a body that is contagious and that is the bearer of death and reveal "practices unconventional sex. " Dominates the discourse of death.
"... Ultimately, AIDS is predominant in the discourse of death and are forgetting that the desire is not something so easily controlled. No danger, but also on behalf of the danger you say "Let's live", which is the great message of medicine. "Perlongher Nestor, interview Papers refuseniks.
Focusing solely on "Foucault case" would limit the scope of writing Guibert. In any case, one of the functions of his prose is to perpetuate the memory. A measure of urgency for those absent for own future demise. Although it is sometimes not a participant in those memories:
"(Christine Ockrent) spent a short excerpt that I would not have missed it for the world during its evening news Muzila's death in June 1984. Christine Ockrent, which he exulted, often called ma petite or large ma cherie not actually issued more than a vast and endless laughter, shot during the release of varieties, Muzila wearing a suit and tie , pictures in which he literally writhed with laughter at a time when it was expected that he was seriously like a dad to glorify one of the rules of that history of behavior whose bases destroyed, and that comforted me laugh in a moment I was frozen when I put the TV in the house of Jules and Berthe, where I had fled the night of his death to see how they would treat your obituary on the news. That was for me last Muzila animated visual appearance that he consented to receive, I wanted then I wanted, for fear, fight any pretense of their presence, except with dreams, and that laugh so formidable, so fierce, so bright, just in time before our friendship. " The friend who saved my life.
Restore the absence, because forgetting is an torment. Hence the need to recover the memory, perpetuate it, photograph it, cast the ritual of disappearance:
"In four months the torment of absence had had time to settle on things like an impossible to remove dust again, things had become untouchable, hence had to photograph them, before new disorders cover them. " The friend who saved my life.
If memory functions would be to perpetuate the memory, the autobiographical novel continues writing while the disease runs its course, undermining the forces. Guibert is in constant struggle against time. The autobiography is the biography of the body burning. Throughout this cycle of works of Guibert, the narrative form of novel mutations blog, where he settled let setbacks and progress of the disease. We can not call it every day (except for CMV ). The Journal is the raw material Guibert autobiographical fiction, then what is extracted is transformed into fiction novel.
"The report certainly gives a jump and I have no desire to continue referring to the newspaper to avoid today, five years later, the sadness of what, playing too exactly what happened, it restored with malice ..." the friend who saved me life.
dates are not recorded, record the progression of the work:
"The book combating fatigue produced by the body's fight against virus attacks. I have only four hours a day validity, after lifting the huge picture window blinds, which are the potentiometer weakening my breath to return to find daylight and get to work again. " O
contrary register the failure of the company, the body is the vector of writing. The experience of writing is the war against depression, fiction is set in line with the body's response, the body materializes narrative form or more precisely the writing dynamic signals the beginning and the end, the unexpected or solution of continuity of the work:
"... before yesterday I felt a little better from the morning and began this story, though sinister, seemed to present some joy, if not lively, it is due to the dynamics of writing and how much it may have to improvise. There is no book without unexpected structure, and emerges with the hazards of writing. But I saw him yesterday all black and did not write a line. " compassionate protocol.
tolerance of medication is one that can keep producing the story:
"I remain so bad and I'm waiting for relief from this drug, which actually took five days to take, feeling no other effect than the production of this story. " compassionate protocol.
The Journal writing swings also suffer the body's resistance. The continuity of life arises and makes writing the narrative forward. Survival and generates the story of the work plan. The body is at "war" against the virus progresses, Guibert questions the extension of the work:
"The War Diary of Babel: if I lose my eye is one of the last books I have opened.
This diary should also be a war diary. (...)
This journal, which should last two weeks, I stopped from one day to another due to absolute despair. (...)
My doctor happened to me a while ago. I said that if the placement of the slide-catch usually passed under local anesthesia in the operating room, would initiate the administrative procedures that would allow me to be transferred to my home as quickly as possible and sooner than expected (I thought at once great and Shit My diary is not going to last fifteen days ). " Cytomegalovirus.
As built Sarduy The autobiography through the archeology of the body, Guibert writes about the beauty of the body, the fullness and the decline of the same. All construction autobiographical writer needs that commitment to the body. The body is the experience of writing which tells the life and also can be told with a camera
"Leaving the camera in your pocket under the skin of a panther the desk chair, I went immediately to stroke, in the eyes of the Polish assistant, the meat so soft gap between the two breasts of my aunt. A young flesh and erotic despite his ninety-five. I feel no repugnance to the flesh, sometimes mushy, woman very old, but on the contrary, a great tenderness toward nearby attraction, an attraction joyful, not vicious. Suzanne should note that it gives me much pleasure as she rubbed my nose against hers in our Eskimo kiss., Since we can not talk, stroking his forehead with a gesture repeated in the grip of the hair, shake his hand mine, two patients are still dying to look a little pleasure on this earth before returning to find ourselves in hell. " compassionate protocol.
In June 1992, Guibert video was filmed in various everyday situations registering their illness and their families in their rehabilitation, with friends, naked. Final assembly of the film, released posthumously called The pudeur ou l'impudeur (The modesty or immodesty), and other flagship title that reflects the development parameters within which all his work. Avoiding
final demise of his body, Guibert commits suicide in Paris in December 1991.
Pablo Moreno
Thursday, November 11, 2010
How Much For A Large Bottle Of Patron
Clubbing
About Clubbing , Gabriel Goldberg (Vox, 2010)
war in poetry, in celebration of poetry, so organized, with official poets with subsidized rebel poets, with their lyrical transfixed, with their managers, your damn, every so often falls a book written . That does not fit into those categories. A book that speaks to the poetry, a book that makes poetry. A single book, that "the mess" is surprising because no style, no, and it is unclear where it comes from. We do not know the source. And why? Books that do not originate the style takes a while to read. They are not in the code. Clubbing comes with the lines of "fringed flowers." Gabriela Goldberg puts the poem on line, thread the phrase in singing, brings "the dearest charm, sometimes broken, sometimes come in question, lint / the light," little beauties line. The finding of a line that leads to another line and that one was read aloud, "in Chuzas / the shaggy / At the bottom of the leaves / the body turns / spot." Clubbing has a violent scenes, details: "envy grim" gall "rancor that ring," is also an evocation of lost time, "perhaps overturn the sentences stacked / or hail / on the table wearing a Chat soda /'s poor. " It is a book of acrobatics of life. Here all "empilchamos with nothing." The humor of hindsight: "cluck cluck! Treason. " No theory of humor, or the evocation or violence. It is a move in the lines. That is why anti-celebratory book of poetry. Many believe break everything and do nothing but serve the philosopher a poem of poetry. There is much poetic kitsch packaged in a breakup. Clubbing not come from nowhere is not going anywhere, is a poem because it mimics refractory anything. I read these poems as dream log or landscape vignettes. Scattered moments that come together in reading. Is spin. And I tell a story. The poems do not tell me anything, I suggest a narrative frayed. They are poems written with reality, poems that suggest the present of lived experience and scratch in the "weak memory." I bring a vision. I see and hear what I read. The world Clubbing starts to fillies, at a time to lose "catching butterflies", shading and afternoons: "colt morning / the sun / making landscape, wandering destination just because of privacy. Clubbing has some asocial, incitement to depart. Motion to not get caught. He does not preach what amuch, does not preach anything. They "reviewed the battles fingers", small scale of anger crackling sounds. Batahola which poem.
Hugo Savino 
About Clubbing , Gabriel Goldberg (Vox, 2010)
war in poetry, in celebration of poetry, so organized, with official poets with subsidized rebel poets, with their lyrical transfixed, with their managers, your damn, every so often falls a book written . That does not fit into those categories. A book that speaks to the poetry, a book that makes poetry. A single book, that "the mess" is surprising because no style, no, and it is unclear where it comes from. We do not know the source. And why? Books that do not originate the style takes a while to read. They are not in the code. Clubbing comes with the lines of "fringed flowers." Gabriela Goldberg puts the poem on line, thread the phrase in singing, brings "the dearest charm, sometimes broken, sometimes come in question, lint / the light," little beauties line. The finding of a line that leads to another line and that one was read aloud, "in Chuzas / the shaggy / At the bottom of the leaves / the body turns / spot." Clubbing has a violent scenes, details: "envy grim" gall "rancor that ring," is also an evocation of lost time, "perhaps overturn the sentences stacked / or hail / on the table wearing a Chat soda /'s poor. " It is a book of acrobatics of life. Here all "empilchamos with nothing." The humor of hindsight: "cluck cluck! Treason. " No theory of humor, or the evocation or violence. It is a move in the lines. That is why anti-celebratory book of poetry. Many believe break everything and do nothing but serve the philosopher a poem of poetry. There is much poetic kitsch packaged in a breakup. Clubbing not come from nowhere is not going anywhere, is a poem because it mimics refractory anything. I read these poems as dream log or landscape vignettes. Scattered moments that come together in reading. Is spin. And I tell a story. The poems do not tell me anything, I suggest a narrative frayed. They are poems written with reality, poems that suggest the present of lived experience and scratch in the "weak memory." I bring a vision. I see and hear what I read. The world Clubbing starts to fillies, at a time to lose "catching butterflies", shading and afternoons: "colt morning / the sun / making landscape, wandering destination just because of privacy. Clubbing has some asocial, incitement to depart. Motion to not get caught. He does not preach what amuch, does not preach anything. They "reviewed the battles fingers", small scale of anger crackling sounds. Batahola which poem.
Hugo Savino
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Skin Colored Body Suit
If something goes, the literature is: The bridge suburban
(Reading Notes Litertango program, FM La Tribu, Sunday October 24, 2010)
suburban Bridge Jorge Quiroga is a beautiful book. The Good, strong, I spoke directly to me, "as Hugo Savino said," I grab the neck, "and that summer is a step that we can not" ... Then, later noted: "A plain white, endless, lighting a summer that no one knew it was going to give. "
In suburban Bridge, weather, the scenery are near me: "The wind attacks, strikes, comes" ... or the scene 24: "Day and night are two moments that speak, and no again back, through the planting field, looking at him with stones that cover the time (only presence) to choose between innocence and misery "... Literature is, as are the stones in Jewish cemeteries ... because" life is not is crossing a field, "as did Babel scored often fulgurate life on the edge of the cemetery. Also close
I have the portrait of 45: "At a certain time of night, life and the growing concern within. The roles are reversed, where a street, now a man is wrong .... "At night there is not much difference between sickness and health ... I wrote in A rope . And
Quiroga knows that "Time true treasures that exist in the spoken words" .... And the book is right when he says: "I do not forgive him wandering around the memory ...." Resonances, which is: "Who remembers what brings you choose to believe him, and so begins another day to think, which will be reunited with friends, encouraged by the voice, none of this may be true."
"We must change things around in the middle of the night" ... suburban Bridge de Quiroga is puzzling if one is looking for something ... But to read these books have to forget everything, start again but with we have left ... No project is to write or to read, only a short experience, like the tail of a sparrow, in the words of his stories the same Babel, a Russian sad but sure did not hesitate to contradict claims that a gay man is always right. And Quiroga ... perhaps because he read some good Argentine naturalists Boedo, the group that read the Russians, knew how to put in his writing a poem, story, more or less hidden, dark, stealth ... I say it best: tight, closed: we are doomed to the hermetic, just transposed. A whole that knows it's only good piece. As in the other stories, Quiroga Pictures, tried scenes, is say, he just makes his own brand on. He said: "A glow escapes the plot." There are writers who want to light, others just follow an uncertain glow.
Then the sons are not poems but prints. Hints of narrative. Something happened, but what counts is then as it is. And that makes for smooth narrative, mystery, tell himself recalling the poetry of Montale. Everyday, is also there, said Quiroga, Saba. Italian reads.
Then, between history and the author, a voice, subjectivity and more objectivity. But in this new book by Jorge Quiroga's story is more light. And also, "It seems to speak to me but I speak of others of them" - he clarified later.
raschell in the preface says that fate sometimes coincides with the origin, the sea that reappears in the book. I guess that happens in part because it is a "write in bursts, which involves a tremendous vulnerability, because it contains an arrival, which is expressed in evidence, a terminal language, means loneliness and relentless pursuit, as a trait that the particularized. " Quiroga wrote on Zelarayán that the magazine "other." Scriptures are like a wind, without project, without end, then what is listed, is there. And I love it when it says afterwards: "The memory changes reality, is an essay, comes as a question and as there is not a bed of roses. And it's best take flight to Buenos Aires magnetized. " It goes from about Lata Zelarayán in combed when it involves "an eye to the lives collapsed. This language of rudeness, internal dialogues and questions, is the language of passion. " Events that do not accept any duality, ambiguity is better, can be like a breath that comes from always.
And still Quiroga: "Literature must be attentive to this rumor coming from unexpected things and the facts of the offenses brings the oral, which is the source of the ephemeral unambiguous and poetry. The writer only has to lend a hand to that which is dense, rich and sinister at the same time. The early literature is that subterfuge "...
literature for us is an art of listening and looking, authors of the eye and ear, that sense of reality as I said Zola. In some lines of Jorge Quiroga, Mothers , he noted: "You realize you need to look, / (out the window the event is for all)." And in suburban Bridge, on the great picture 42 expands: "We gave up our lives, we silenced, and he lived it intertwined, then it is to pay attention to what is the gesture. In the morning is the blinding clarity.
The city is repeated a few ways, it is to remind us, tearing, biting the roots, repenting, see others as they are. "
The bridge is the neighborhood, of which one is going and returning. One step. "My joy would this be read as poetry written in Bs.As" says Jorge Quiroga. The city, the image that appears over and over again in all its stories .
And when Nestor Sanchez writes about is clear: "The world holds an impossible relationship with what is happening, and the only way is to bet Sanchez found his match. Watch what you do not know, tell what we have, that is, having that process, opposing resonances. " We know: the literature is a meeting . Literature is the miracle of the meeting, in addition to meeting entreperdidos knowledge, that experience is useless when there is nothing: "We are, she keeps the events for that history culminates, through the station without stopping." Quiroga may know that women and poets do not forget, either.
Literature is meeting and we repeat Mandelstam war, "and Quiroga wrote a great sentence in the foreword an anthology of Nicolás Olivari: "The poem is known, indicates a distance, and a good defense."
confirm with each book of Jorge Quiroga I like his poetry. This book away even that step past history or Argentina in the other books is stronger and moves away from that here, a little. Raschell said there is always something to "write the generation to which one belongs" ... An air of elective time, if we accept that the meetings, when what remains , they are ... So, "Jorge Quiroga me confidence . Know how to see the time, "as Hugo Savino said.
Laura
Estrin 
(Reading Notes Litertango program, FM La Tribu, Sunday October 24, 2010)
suburban Bridge Jorge Quiroga is a beautiful book. The Good, strong, I spoke directly to me, "as Hugo Savino said," I grab the neck, "and that summer is a step that we can not" ... Then, later noted: "A plain white, endless, lighting a summer that no one knew it was going to give. "
In suburban Bridge, weather, the scenery are near me: "The wind attacks, strikes, comes" ... or the scene 24: "Day and night are two moments that speak, and no again back, through the planting field, looking at him with stones that cover the time (only presence) to choose between innocence and misery "... Literature is, as are the stones in Jewish cemeteries ... because" life is not is crossing a field, "as did Babel scored often fulgurate life on the edge of the cemetery. Also close
I have the portrait of 45: "At a certain time of night, life and the growing concern within. The roles are reversed, where a street, now a man is wrong .... "At night there is not much difference between sickness and health ... I wrote in A rope . And
Quiroga knows that "Time true treasures that exist in the spoken words" .... And the book is right when he says: "I do not forgive him wandering around the memory ...." Resonances, which is: "Who remembers what brings you choose to believe him, and so begins another day to think, which will be reunited with friends, encouraged by the voice, none of this may be true."
"We must change things around in the middle of the night" ... suburban Bridge de Quiroga is puzzling if one is looking for something ... But to read these books have to forget everything, start again but with we have left ... No project is to write or to read, only a short experience, like the tail of a sparrow, in the words of his stories the same Babel, a Russian sad but sure did not hesitate to contradict claims that a gay man is always right. And Quiroga ... perhaps because he read some good Argentine naturalists Boedo, the group that read the Russians, knew how to put in his writing a poem, story, more or less hidden, dark, stealth ... I say it best: tight, closed: we are doomed to the hermetic, just transposed. A whole that knows it's only good piece. As in the other stories, Quiroga Pictures, tried scenes, is say, he just makes his own brand on. He said: "A glow escapes the plot." There are writers who want to light, others just follow an uncertain glow.
Then the sons are not poems but prints. Hints of narrative. Something happened, but what counts is then as it is. And that makes for smooth narrative, mystery, tell himself recalling the poetry of Montale. Everyday, is also there, said Quiroga, Saba. Italian reads.
Then, between history and the author, a voice, subjectivity and more objectivity. But in this new book by Jorge Quiroga's story is more light. And also, "It seems to speak to me but I speak of others of them" - he clarified later.
raschell in the preface says that fate sometimes coincides with the origin, the sea that reappears in the book. I guess that happens in part because it is a "write in bursts, which involves a tremendous vulnerability, because it contains an arrival, which is expressed in evidence, a terminal language, means loneliness and relentless pursuit, as a trait that the particularized. " Quiroga wrote on Zelarayán that the magazine "other." Scriptures are like a wind, without project, without end, then what is listed, is there. And I love it when it says afterwards: "The memory changes reality, is an essay, comes as a question and as there is not a bed of roses. And it's best take flight to Buenos Aires magnetized. " It goes from about Lata Zelarayán in combed when it involves "an eye to the lives collapsed. This language of rudeness, internal dialogues and questions, is the language of passion. " Events that do not accept any duality, ambiguity is better, can be like a breath that comes from always.
And still Quiroga: "Literature must be attentive to this rumor coming from unexpected things and the facts of the offenses brings the oral, which is the source of the ephemeral unambiguous and poetry. The writer only has to lend a hand to that which is dense, rich and sinister at the same time. The early literature is that subterfuge "...
literature for us is an art of listening and looking, authors of the eye and ear, that sense of reality as I said Zola. In some lines of Jorge Quiroga, Mothers , he noted: "You realize you need to look, / (out the window the event is for all)." And in suburban Bridge, on the great picture 42 expands: "We gave up our lives, we silenced, and he lived it intertwined, then it is to pay attention to what is the gesture. In the morning is the blinding clarity.
The city is repeated a few ways, it is to remind us, tearing, biting the roots, repenting, see others as they are. "
The bridge is the neighborhood, of which one is going and returning. One step. "My joy would this be read as poetry written in Bs.As" says Jorge Quiroga. The city, the image that appears over and over again in all its stories .
And when Nestor Sanchez writes about is clear: "The world holds an impossible relationship with what is happening, and the only way is to bet Sanchez found his match. Watch what you do not know, tell what we have, that is, having that process, opposing resonances. " We know: the literature is a meeting . Literature is the miracle of the meeting, in addition to meeting entreperdidos knowledge, that experience is useless when there is nothing: "We are, she keeps the events for that history culminates, through the station without stopping." Quiroga may know that women and poets do not forget, either.
Literature is meeting and we repeat Mandelstam war, "and Quiroga wrote a great sentence in the foreword an anthology of Nicolás Olivari: "The poem is known, indicates a distance, and a good defense."
confirm with each book of Jorge Quiroga I like his poetry. This book away even that step past history or Argentina in the other books is stronger and moves away from that here, a little. Raschell said there is always something to "write the generation to which one belongs" ... An air of elective time, if we accept that the meetings, when what remains , they are ... So, "Jorge Quiroga me confidence . Know how to see the time, "as Hugo Savino said.
Laura
Estrin
Monday, October 25, 2010
Asus P/n:08g 160001220
Award! ! Kill Kitty
Thanks to Marta MakeUp & Style ( http://martamakeupstyle.blogspot.com/ ) for this award, the chosen are:
http:/makeupsp.blogspot.com/
www.mimundomispalabras.blogspot.com/
www.elestilosellevadentro.blogspot.com/
www.missmakeupbcn.blogspot.com /
www.tocadordealbita.blogspot.com/
www.purplemelinda.blogspot.com/
Www.elrinconcitodexikitina.blogspot.com/
www.ellookmasnaif.blogspot.com/
www.missecretosdemujer.blogspot.com/
www.lululooks.blogspot.com/
www.makeupbymaryland.com/
www.esbatt.blogspot.com/
www.lululacoquette.blogspot.com/
www.cosasdericinhos.blogspot.com/
www.hypatiak.blogspot.com/
and now to nominate 15 blogs !!!!!!!! 
Thanks to Marta MakeUp & Style ( http://martamakeupstyle.blogspot.com/ ) for this award, the chosen are:
http:/makeupsp.blogspot.com/
www.mimundomispalabras.blogspot.com/
www.elestilosellevadentro.blogspot.com/
www.missmakeupbcn.blogspot.com /
www.tocadordealbita.blogspot.com/
www.purplemelinda.blogspot.com/
Www.elrinconcitodexikitina.blogspot.com/
www.ellookmasnaif.blogspot.com/
www.missecretosdemujer.blogspot.com/
www.lululooks.blogspot.com/
www.makeupbymaryland.com/
www.esbatt.blogspot.com/
www.lululacoquette.blogspot.com/
www.cosasdericinhos.blogspot.com/
www.hypatiak.blogspot.com/
and now to nominate 15 blogs !!!!!!!!
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Build Canoe Stabilizer
Buf had to put this in somewhere aguatoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo not fashionable but damn everyone to and the kitty kitty "but if you liked 3 years ago ? or has been the fashion, I really respect you very many to @ s that you like but for me it can not stand arggggggg hateful or hanna monatana god !!!!!!!!!!!!!! ....... finally that I can not see ahead, ale is well off !!!!!
Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Shoulder Hurts After Accident
Well folks, I'm here again after a holiday, I hope to soon upload videos and give some good atmosphere to the blog that I have something left, if you have any suggestions for videos or blog entries you tell me. and do not know what else to put ... for that we see new stuff soon!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Loreal True Match Any Good Dark Circles
rental outfit of the day Tests
Buf, exams start on wednesday, studying all summer to now, there are nerves and doubts whether or not approve, let what happens to us tod @ s guess, but hey we are here to asumilo everything! S LUCK TO EVERYONE THAT YOU HAVE EXAMS !!!!!!!!! 
Buf, exams start on wednesday, studying all summer to now, there are nerves and doubts whether or not approve, let what happens to us tod @ s guess, but hey we are here to asumilo everything! S LUCK TO EVERYONE THAT YOU HAVE EXAMS !!!!!!!!!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
White Cloudy Stuff On Feces
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