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
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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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