fading fading happy fading

I could be a bird

I could be a fairy

I could be a non sense

I could be a river

I could be a minute

I am a bird

I am a fairy

I am a non sense

I am a river

I am a minute.

I poured my self into water

It dissolved.

when feet will become useless

My ashes might rest there one day.
Above the graveyard there I once saw, in a dream, a thangka displayed in the sky, floating. Awesome, magnificent in a portion of sky.
That place might become ashes, just like my body.
The graveyard on a hill, beholding all creatures at its feet, observing the visitors walking or driving toward the place.
A graveyard that had been nomadic until 1959.
Being a stranger here, being a stranger there, may my ashes remain there, were i once saw a thangka. The place of childhood memories of so many summers. Bicycles, colourful fences, the stillness, dirty legs running along old paths and roads,all troughs in the fields that became boats sailing imaginary seas of grass, our colonisation of the useless (in summer) stone bridge, and the old wooden charriots...Worn out shoes.

Jacobo Fijman en otro camino

Por algún motivo desconocido volví a releer los versos del poeta Jacobo Fijman (1898 Besarabia - 1970 Argentina), aún bastante desconocido. Desde que descubrí hace no pocos años sus versos en una antología de poesía hispanoamericana de vanguardia, he seguido recordando el poema “crepúsculo” y la sensación de aspereza, dolor, punzadas, colores, luz, plasticidad (versos casi fotográficos) y lucidez de tantos versos.

Se pueden ver algunos de sus poemas en:

http://www.palabravirtual.com/index.php?ir=crit.php&wid=197&show=poemas&p=Jacobo+Fijman

Todos merecen ser leídos, pero para apreciar algunos de ellos conviene leer la biografía del señor Fijman. Si no se sabe de su conversión del judaísmo al catolicismo, de sus crisis espirituales, de sus internados en hospitales psiquiátricos, de su contacto con artistas y autores europeos, sus versos se ven borrosos.

Y tras la lectura de sus versos despliega sus alas un camino intermedio, entre el surrealismo, un misticismo incomprendido y otro tipo de lucidez.

We are not so free

We could think of individual freedom in terms of Power Parity Purchase (PPP). We can think of freedom in terms of how aware we are of being free. I don’t think we often thing of freedom, but rather in consuming, everything outside, feelings. Freedom in mass culture societies is something different to freedom in dictatorships. Thinking of ppp, any degree of freedom, also when it’s really small, is worth greater than the degree of freedom we formally have nowadays. I’d say that in practice we’re not that free nowadays; we became less imaginative, less aware of the importance of freedom....and most of us are prone to think of the same range of things and think and behave more or less the same way...in fact nowadays world is some other kind of dictatorship and maybe we’re manipulated and we think we’re acting freely. And maybe under many dictatorships, some segments of the population were more aware of the manipulation and used imagination as a tool of freedom. Freedom is maybe not saying, writing what we want freely, but not being manipulated. Manipulation kills freedom. Imagination kills manipulation. Who is freer? A dollar is not worth the same here as in Laos.

J, oh my J

AI PEXS, “beautiful scar”

http://music.download.com/aipexs/3615-8724_32-100340372.html?tag=MDL_artist_tab_apsongs

Recently I came across this song (and band...i didn’t know the Ai Pexs). The song ended up being one of those to be remembered and listened to over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

The lyrics are pretty simple but there’s something in them I like ...and the rhythm....uhm...I’d say it’s rather hypnotising, with some Asian reminiscences (well, that’s very subjective)...but the band comes from Sweden.

Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

rescat de versicles V

"Ciutat esbalandrada i sense muralles,

és l’home que no sap dominar-se."

(Proverbis 25,28, dins el Segon Recull de Sentències de Salomó)

rescat de versicles IV

"No t’encenguis contra els qui fan el mal,

no t’exaltis contra els malvats:

no hi ha un després per al malèfic,

el malvat serà llàntia que s’apaga. "
(Proverbis 24, 19-20 dintre del Primer Recull de Sentències dels Savis)

rescat de versicles III

"qui reprèn algú acabarà essent més estimat
que l’home de llengua aduladora."
(Proverbis 28,23, dintre del Segon Recull de Sentències de Salomó)

rescat de versicles II

"L’odi atia la brega,


l’amor cobreix les ofenses." (Proverbis 10,12)

rescat de versicles I

"Aigua profunda és la intenció de l’home:


el qui és sagaç l’arriba a pouar." (Proverbis 20,5)

aplicacions i extrapolacions

En una de les meves lectures ocasionals de la Bíblia --cercant part de les arrels de la cultura occidental i cercant fragments interessants per fer reflexions i comparacions-- (bé, de l'Antic Testament en especial) en la nocturnitat, fa mesos vaig trobar a l'atzar el fragment d'aquesta entrada. Fa temps que el volia inserir per aquest blog però fins ahir que no vaig trobar coses interessant als Proverbis, no vaig agafar la determinació.

“Lamentació sobre la corrupció del poble

Pobre de mi! Sóc com qui espigola després de la sega o com qui esgotima després de la verema! No veig cap raïm per menjar ni la figa primerenca que cerco amb delit. L’home fidel ha desaparegut del país, no hi ha un sol just entre els homes. Tots estan a l’aguait per vessar sang, es posen paranys els uns als altres. Tenen les mans bones per a fer mal: els governants posen condicions per a obrar bé, els jutges exigeixen una paga, els poderosos parlen de les seves cobejances i ordeixen com dur-les a terme. El millor d’ells s’assembla a les ortigues, el més just és pitjor que una tanca d’espines. Arriba el dia de passar comptes, el dia que els teus sentinelles anunciaven: ara és l’hora que quedaran confosos! No confieu en els companys ni us refieu dels amics; guarda’t d’obrir la boca davant la dona que dorm als teus braços. Perquè el fill insultarà el pare, la filla el rebel·larà contra la mare, i la nora, contra la sogra: els enemics de cadascú seran la gent de casa seva.” (MIQUEES 7,1-6) --de la Bíblia catalana de traducció interconfessional, ed. Claret, 1993--

John Wayne, Genghis Khan and the last days

After having watched several western movies, telling all kind of stories, with different settings, I got surprised by one precious western: “The Shootist” http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0075213/ (1976, D. Siegel ). There’s always some risk to come across precious unexpected things. I started to watch it thinking “let’s watch Mr. Wayne’s last movie”. But it ended up being a movie to add to my list of favourite films. After having seen THE movie, I looked for some information and there were more things to come.

John Wayne (playing the role of John Bernard Books), Lauren Bacall and an unknown actor, who happened to become a famous movie director (“a beautiful mind”, “the da vinci code”, yes, Ron Howard is the young Gillom, the son of Bacall’s role of Mrs. Rogers, the guy who admires Mr. Books)...ah, and the horse Ole Dollor, as Ole Dollor. All of them in a film that seems too short but actually isn’t.

Mr. Books and John Wayne are both in “the shootist” in their last scenes, both of them because of stomach cancer, not a typical subject to appear in western movies. No more movies with John Wayne, no more John B. Books in any other movie because Mr. Wayne wouldn’t play him again. It’s said that the cause of such disease in Mr. Wayne dates back to the mid fifties, when he took part in the movie “the conqueror” http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0049092/ (1956, in Spanish it was translated to “el conquistador de Mongolia), a bad movie (well, it could be useful to see how distorted images of Mongolians and Genghis Khan could be), filmed somewhere in Utah were previously some nuclear tests had taken place (actually there’s some controversy about all this). In that movie John Wayne played the role of the Mongolian leader, not easy to believe, but in fact nowadays most movies are worse than this one may be.

I would have never said that there was some link between John Wayne, Genghis Khan and last days. Neither would I have thought of linking John Bernard Books and Mr. Kanji Watanabe (Shimura Takashi’s role in “ikiru”, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0044741/ 1952, , Kurosawa) and their attitude in the last days. That ability to transcend the screen, transcend expressions, all the silly things we and the characters in movies worry about. Something in the way they uttered words and what they said transcended the screen and shake our contemporary silliness vigorously, our pretensions to be superior thanks to a progress that is taking our society a bit backwards, our belief in permanence and pseudo-eternities. Meanwhile, Ole Dollor ran away, weeping. Ole Dollor keeps running across minds. Ole Dollor will keep running and one day will become a winged creature.

opening

It must be some disease...I started to build another blog::
http://snying-rje-po.blogspot.com/
stroll stroll stroll, look look look, think think think.

CROCHETHERAPY

There is not just one reason why I keep myself busy again with crochet, after quite a long time. It’s not just that I want to create, which of course is one of the reasons (I always need to do something creative). Crochet is a way to keep my mind busy in a way that, depending on what I crochet and which pattern I follow, I end up fully concentrating my mind on counting stitches and rows, on the shape of what I do, on the coming ideas. Nothing else exists. I use crochet as some kind of meditation. Suddenly the mind and the self fade. Everything around and the world itself can vanish. Just the action of crocheting and what it implies, and creating. Even the crocheted thing seems to fade from reality and becomes just a cluster of geometrical shapes dancing in harmony. I got a strange feeling yesterday, when I was crocheting a winter hat (obviously in green) while I watched a chapter of “el laberinto del Tíbet” on TV and I saw monks making a mandala. I felt abducted by the geometry and symmetry of the mandala and of the future hat.

Another reason is the need to see colours, for they have a positive effect on the mood and thus on the mind and body. It’s also pleasant to be surrounded by the softness and other textures of yarns and wools. And suddenly, the shine of the metallic crochet hooks.

Knowing how to crochet is something my mother taught me when I was rather little. I used to see her knitting or crocheting and seeing how yarn or wool suffered some metamorphoses and became something beautiful and/or useful fascinated me. Several years ago I made handbags, coin purses, some scarves, a hat...but there was a period afterwards with few or inexistent creations. Now I happened to have more time (until classes and so on begin) and I needed to create but also to keep this crochet knowledge alive. It’s one of the things I inherited from my mother and I want to keep crocheting, not to forget it, so as to be able to transfer such knowledge to the future generations, since my mother is no longer here. To her memory do I also keep crocheting. Now I won’t have her really good advice and I’ll have to find by myself the way to perform certain patterns or stitches. But I have some intuition which I also inherited from her, and many musters of stitches to remember stitches I know and to decode those I don’t know.

Lanas de colores, Asia y la política

Inmersión!!! Sí, nuevamente entre lanas, hilos y colores. Revistas de la biblioteca municipal con ideas (las de casa son muy viejas y las tengo vistas), y webs varias con patrones e ideas, así como direcciones. Retomé las agujas de ganchillo (porque nunca acabé de llevarme bien con largas agujas de hacer punto...)y ya empecé antes de ir al pueblo con algunos ensayos de cosas, y luego con algún regalo para gentes majas y para mi persona. Y qué grandes los chinos del bazar oriental de mi calle!!! Con lanas e hilos preciosos para tejer, ganchillo y demás, que ¡¡nooooo!!!, NO son de mala calidad!!! Ovillos caricias, de servimex a 0.60€ 0.75€....de colores varios y calidades diferentes (no tenían el Verde Ansiado q perseguía)...y los hilos perlé y egipcios (2€ ovillos grandes y 0.75€ ovillos más pequeños), qué colores!!, ahí entre el pasillo de las velas, aceites aromáticos, cosas de costura y artilugios para el cabello y el pasillo de juguetes mutantes (me pido un sweet pony para reyes, junto al prosikito y figuras de la gran peli turca “dünyayi kurtaran adam”, si existen....uoo!...los monstruos rojos de peluche!).


Indagando por la red y cabalgando con la mula topé con perlas y sorpresas. Collares mezclando cuentas de colores y ganchillo(!!!) e informaciones diversas. Las webs norteamericanas son grandes....los “afghans” activaron mi tendencia a asociar cosas y sacar teorías. Vi a Laura Bush o la madre de G.W. Bush haciendo afghans que a los señores Bush no les gustaron...y los afganos (personas) a sufrir...que no tuvieron bastante con las 2 guerras con rusos y británicos de por medio tiempo ha...y el Great Game. En medio como los miércoles....Miercolestán. Que Bush hijo, de pequeño, quizás tenía una idea rara de los afganos...pensando en los afghans de colores que seguro que alguien de su familia tejía felizmente. Y es que en la infancia se hacen asociaciones surrealistas que a veces nos marcan para el futuro.

Y siguiendo por asia, me emocioné viendo calidades/modelos de lanas de la marca Katia: Himalaya, Tíbet y Nepal...Si según leí sobre la historia del ganchillo, la gran técnica había llegado al Tíbet nosécuándo....ya me imaginé al VI Dalai Lama también enfrascado haciendo obras de ganchillo, con sus ropajes de colores vistosos y brillantes, y sus poemas a jóvenes damas. Porque el ganchillo se daba en China antes que en la vieja Europa o en los EE.UU. Y en Mongolia??? Queridos mongoles...que vi una gran foto en El País Semanal, de una tele dentro de una ger...y encima del aparato había un tapete rosa de ganchillo con patos de goma encima (aceptamos patos de goma como sustituto de los toros de peluche o las muñecas con faralaes, claro, que yo pondría pollets de mona de Pascua o mi Trabi). Por Asia central algo habrá...Veo a la hija de Akaev en sus ratos libres haciendo ganchillo....o al mismo Turkmenbashi haciendo leyes al respecto en el gran Turkmenistán. Efigies de Niyázov a ganchillo, o variantes en punto de cruz o en encaje de bolillos (la sofisticación)...y Niyázov repartiendo patrones y esquemas entre los ciudadanos de la patria turkmena. Más chulo él que un ocho verde pistacho, retratado en labores hechas por los turkmenos. Labores con elementos subversivos en el reverso!!! uuuuh!

Larga vida al ganchillo y al punto de media!!! Un legado por mantener otras cuantas generaciones.

Die fliegende Trabis und die Pechvögel

Himmelblauen Trabis fliegen wie Trabanten und zeichnen Kreise aus mehrere Farben über mein Kopf. Himmelblau, hell grün, weiß, gelb. Nur ein paar Farbe entlang der Wegen der Wolken. Fliegende Trabis, die ich versuche zu folgen, aber Pechvögel haben wenig Kraft und es gibt immer etwas, dass sie schießen würde. Bang! Und weg oder Wunde, Wunde, Wunde. Wie ein trauriges Lied, fast alles ist schwer zu erreichen, und fast alles läuft mit den Trabis und wird entfernt. Aber...aber ich kann doch einen Planet erfinden und bauen. Auch kann ich Trabis und Trabanten aus Papier machen. Mit geschlossenen Augen werde ich reisen und, irgendwann, irgendwo, irgendwie, etwas neues entdecken, innen und draußen. Ich vermute, dass es etwas neben meinem Herz, hinter meinem Kopf, im Mittelpunkt meines Gehirns, ein tanzendes Etwas in meine Augen gibt. Und irgendwann bin ich keinen Pechvogel mehr sondern jemand oder etwas, wer mit einem fliegenden Trabi fährt.

Tears for the Aral Sea

I thought of going there, to Central Asia, and refill the Aral Sea with tears. I could succeed in filling it with My Reason and many other reasons to cry. Then, grab some reasons to feel positive and be happy and even laugh, and come back here. There are always reasons to both cry and smile, indeed. We just have to choose.

If only I could fly on a paper plane, on a paper crane...and cry where water is needed. So many droughts on Earth, so many dying lakes and seas...and so much pain and tears to be cried.

Those taking care of us from somewhere

Those who left this world remain somewhere else. I had been thinking about what is to come after death...eternal peace, return, reincarnation. I couldn’t choose any of them. But now I know that some people whose bodily existence ceases keep among us and take care of us. It’s not scientific, but I feel it. My mother died on 10th July and I feel and know that she is still with us and will stay around taking care of us and encouraging us to keep walking and to be happy. I already felt she’s been taking care of us. I didn’t say goodbye to her since I knew that she’d stay somewhere else. Death is not a farewell, maybe. Possibly.

All is full of birds

No matter when you have a look at your watch, at any clock, no matter what you might be doing at a certain point of time, there might be a bird observing you. Invisible or visible birds. Birds always seem to be observing something accurately...and when they chirp, it’s as if they were doing comments on reality and maybe conspiring. Agile creatures that, like happiness and illness and death and good news and new acquaintances and friends, come across our way, all of a sudden, on the ground, above our heads, in some balcony we decide to look at. Birds are not birds, but something else. They make me notice some other world flowing, happening alongside my steps, the path I end up following. And as I make paper birds, that other world seems to be invading the world I always thought was the world, till some moment in time, and still from time to time. Everything becomes filled with colour paper birds as everything is emptied of its sense or meaning. Maybe some other birds are meanwhile looking at Prosikito saying “vámonos de fiesta”. Reality and unreality and transreality and interpretations of the 3 dimensions.

ja tinc la idea per Reis 2007!

Havia llegit en algun diari o anàleg, sobre el nou gran anunci de la Kangoo de la Renault (tant és dir noms de marques...que tot n'és ben ple): després del mític anunci amb aquell crack que era Amunike (el ball d'Amunike) i un altre futbolista , Tren Valencia, de qui no n'havia sentit parlar (en l'anunci promocionava un videojoc molt d'estar per casa). Doncs el darrer és amb el gran Robert Prosinecki, del que recordo la seva etapa al Barça, perquè un cop fora, no era un subjecte que destaqués gaire...Però tots tres ara han tingut una nova glòria. sentit de l'humor i món de la publicitat i una neteja de la seva imatge amb dosis de popularitat-entranyable. Aquí us poso el vídeo que vaig trobar per youtube amb l'spot. què gran!!!

jo em demano un prosikito per Reis l'any vinent!!!! oooh..jo que tenia un nino de plàstic petit d'aquest Prosi mal pintat, vestit del Barça!!! (no sé d'on va sortir i per on deu parar ara...)...el que potser si conservo és algun tazo o fitxa mutant amb l'efígie d'en Prosi (tothom té un passat...fa moooooolts anys seguia les lligues de futbol).

apa, gaudiu del vídeo!!!...tot i que el passaran uns quants cops per la tv.

Wandering thoughts and wandering souls

It could have been my turn; it could have been yours. But it wasn’t. It was decided, had been decided, or who knows how do these things work, that the one to leave this existence was the partner of a friend, the father of the child of that friend, somebody who has a part of many bigger parts, which were, at the same time, parts of bigger parts, and so on till we feel that death could affect all people. I hardly knew him, but it’s not important, I know that friend since I was 4 and we studied in the same class till we were 16 or 17 and I know the meaning that young man had to her. Numbers, images, all fade away. Just thoughts, ideas, memories, maybe souls too remain here or somewhere else. That friend might not read this, her partner would neither read this, but I do want to say from here that I hope that his soul, no matter where it is, reaches some kind of peace. Maybe there is some point in the middle of space, or somewhere beyond space or the perceivable space, where wandering or expelled or cried or professed thoughts meet wandering souls. And maybe these wandring souls meet our thoughts, no matter if we expressed them afterwards with spoken words or written words. What I’m sure about is that there is always something good emerging from the depths of sadness, negative episodes in life, darkness, tragedies... And fortunately I know that that friend of mine will be strong.

Armenia belongs to Europe

Most of those reading this might think that Eurovision song contest is not worth being watched...and it’s in fact not difficult to find arguments to support such idea (uuuh! What an exhaustive and objective way to vote!). I’ve been following such “event” for years, basically because I was curious about songs sung in less common languages, let’s say, Croatian, Estonian, Icelandic, Albanian (great song and performance the one from Albania this year’s edition!). Slavonic and Balkanic songs were usually among my favourite ones, but unfortunately, in the last years, most countries choose to sing in English (oooh). Some years I didn’t even watch it, but this year I felt that there some revolution could take place, with Finland candidates (Lordi, the nice monsters). And it was indeed revolutionary. I felt that something was finally happening there. But there was something else: Armenia was there with her candidate singing happily! Many thought for ages about Israel’s belongingness to Europe, since she has been in the contest for ages. Just think of A ba ni bi...or that singer named Shlomo Artzi, rather famous in the 70es. (I tend to think about politics when I watch or hear certain things...eurovision and star wars are 2 examples –I’m not a fan of Star wars and I’ve only seen the first movie, filmed in 1977, I think-).

The case of Armenia is different than that of Israel or Turkey: Eurovision reaching the Caucasus, which is relatively unknown and strange to most people. I feel as if some day, the central Asian republics (formerly part of the USSR), will be included in Europe, by means of such song contest. Astana 2020 Eurovision song contest...or Tashkent 2021 Eurovision song contest. Perhaps, by the time those years come to us to greet us, Mr. Nazerbayev and Karimov are somewhere else, in some Spa in Turkey, painting, practising regional dances, and in those countries we find, instead the regimes they created, some kind of heterodox but purer democracy. But anyway...now Armenia seems to be part of Europe.

* * *
This morning I read a mail from a friend with several pics attached...and one is wooorth being mentioned, because thanks to it I got to know that from Gdańsk (oi que era Gdańsk on era el senyal amb tots els noms de ciutats I distàncies??) to Astana (ooooh) there are 3968 km. Not so far away to consider Kazakhstan that far away. “Astana 2020” is not that odd. Kyrghiz people might enjoy watching it...as they eat cockles (just to say something...in fact, one day, all of a sudden I thought of the action of eating cockles in Kyrgyzstan and I wondered what might people there think and feel about it). Eurovision is globalising itself...and soon it might be named worldvision or whatever...eurasiavision, most probably. Eurovision reflects politics after all.

(I dedicate this post to some people: to Dudu Jae-dong...ei...que he posat allò del cartellet de la foto, allò de les escopinyes que et vaig dir–paradigmàtic del frikisme crònic- i del nostre amic Luiz de les Albànies!!! To Meriwoki del Patzwokistan, fan de les àsies centrals –bé...aquí no podia fer esment de les Corees- and to Mònica de la ROIP, entusiasta del Kazakhstan i les coses boniques que hi ha)

SOBER-EIGNTY

At social gatherings, parties, discos and other kinds of social events people wonder and ask why I don’t drink. It should be normal to find people who choose not to drink, like it’s also normal to find people who love black colour, skirts, a certain kind of music...yesterday I was asked again about my reasons not to drink. I never say all the reason because they seem a bit odd and it’s a bit long to explain...especially to people who is already a bit drunk. Let me share the reasons...so as not to be asked, so as to make you think a bit of the rare side of people.

1-I don’t need alcohol to feel fine, to say what I want, to have fun with people.

2-my stomach doesn’t want alcohol...neither my mood. The sudden poor management of the idea of the Void I suffer from time to time, making me fall in a sharpened nihilism neither opts for alcoholic drinks.

3-I’m not a hedonist...I must see something behind so-called pleasures (including sex)...like mental benefits, health benefits, catharsis, purification to go into such pleasures. That’s rare nowadays...but I don’t care whether I’m understood or not. I can’t help thinking of positive side-effects of some pleasures. I’ve found none in alcohol, or they’re fewer than the negative ones...so no need to drink.

4-I prefer feeling and facing things being sober. It’s also interesting to see the changes in people around, as they go drunk...I don’t want any substance to interfere in my perception...but inner chemical substances and inner processes of the body.

5-My perception sometimes goes for other ways and alters itself when he/she (is perception feminine or masculine) likes. Besides, by laughing and some mental control one can change one’s perception.

6-if I have chosen to life and I’ve been given life, I prefer to keep it in good conditions. Besides I want to have a healthy liver so as to be able to give it to someone when I die, when it happens or when I decide it to happen (that’s another topic I might talk about...death, healthy organs and death and so on).

I am the sober-eign...hehe...but just of my body and senses, and perceptions.

A DeLorean and Bhutan

Today I went with a couple of friends to see a documentary film on Bhutan , “the dragon house” (check: http://www.baff-bcn.org/film.php?id_pelicula=92&lang=eng). It wasn’t a typical documentary and there was many more people there than we expected. And the movie was greater than I expected.

The documentary basically depicted life there and the way people felt about the changes taking place in the country. And there was the voice of some scholar, giving a different point of view. I guess the idea people normally have of Bhutan is related to distance, mysticism, mystery and other adjectives of this kind. In fact there’s something true in all those ideas, especially in a traditionally isolated country as Bhutan.

The idea of the Gross National Happiness instead of GNP was something I liked. It makes us wonder, as the westerner in the documentary said, how good the ideas of those westerners trying to export western models are, which aim to make poor countries richer. Some countries are already rich, in many cases richer than wealthy countries. People looked happy out there, happier than most people we meet everyday in most places in the west...and nobody has any right to break their peace, and set conflicts which lead to unhappiness. Why should things that work be changed?. The king wisely tried to preserve Bhutanese culture, with all its traditions, by isolating the land in a very characteristic way, carrying out some isolation from negative influences coming from the west. But in the late 90es internet and TV reached Bhutan. Who can fight against Tv and internet? One of the guys who starred the documentary was a DJ, the first DJ of Bhutan. He wanted to make some revolution in the country, by introducing different music styles, other than commercial pop. He tried to introduce house, techno and trance...aimlessly because at first people didn’t really like such music and preferred dancing to the music they heard on MTV and so on. Is it possible to carry on some selective “modernisation” (I know modernisation is not the word)? It’s like the most commercial side of it found its way easy toward the conquer of Bhutan....but when somebody like that guy tried to introduce something “modern”, “in” in the west, he failed to succeed. His idea seemed to be as strange as a DeLorean nowadays. DeLoreans taking you to the future, like the ideas of that guy, for whom we felt rather sorry. But nowadays DeLoreans also mean something from the past. Bhutan is somehow a bit like a DeLorean: the past and the future meeting. Those three discos in Thimphu: the HQ, the Dragon Club and the Xplode. Men and women dressed in a traditional way and young people wearing jeans. and dancing in the above mentioned discos. Japanese cars, Japanese TVs, blue jeans and soda drinks. I know it’s pretty odd to compare a mythical car (it’s so for me and so it is for many other people) and a beautiful and amazingly interesting country...but I’m prone to do this kind of comparisons. As with Bhutan, not so many people know about DeLoreans. Both have some different beauty and interest and both imply thinking both about past and future, what remains and what will fade away.

anant al BAFF

ai...per fi aquest any sí es donen en el meu cas les circumstàncies per anar a alguns passis de pel.lícules del BAFF (Barcelona Asian Film Festival)....després d'anys que bé els horaris, bé el fet d'haver d'anar sola em feien enrere. oh que bonic, el meu primer BAFF. Demà dissabte ja ens arrepleguem uns quants per anar a veure una mena de documental sobre el Bhutan, gran país, i un gran oblidat al màster, pobrissó. I la setmana vinent un film japonès però tractant sobre Corea del Nord. Digueu-nos frikis, però frikis positius i motivats, defensors dels oblidats. I això perque no hi ha films de Mongòlia, de països de l'Àsia Central (que se'n sap del cinema Kirguís, per posar un exemple???), de Corea del Nord, de Laos, de Brunei...No estaria malament crear una mena d'associació o agrupació estil amics dels països que normalment són oblidats, per promocionar-los. Potser l'anar a veure aquestes dues pel.lícules, i d'alguna altra, ens inspira definitivament.

and 20 years ago...

That was the last day of life. The last day many children played on the parks . That was the last day, because on 26th April 1986 —tomorrow it will be exactly 20 years ago— the time stopped around Chernobyl area. No more children playing, no more birds chirping. Many lives ended physically but also metaphorically. The places with their houses and everything inside them remained there. The toys and photographs were covered with dust and death and the layers kept growing till today. I’ve not see the scenery but through some pictures I can figure it out. However, my mind builds some darker scenery, inhabited by even more ghostly shapes...millions of ghostly shapes behind every single thing that stands up and under every single thing that went down and remained so for 2 decades. And what is worse, these images I build in my mind might not be worse than reality, since, although it might sound topic, reality is too often worse than we can imagine.

Time stopped and the only thing that seems to move are the quantities of radiations, varying from one place to another, and some lost animals. Also vegetation seems to keep growing, invading all kind of places, replacing people. And maybe, from time to time, some radiated fruits from some trees fall down. It feels strange to be conscious about the presence of gravity in such an area. It seems that it could have disappeared with the people that left the area, and the absence of life. Time stopped somewhere as history kept following its path, as communism approached its fall. I guess there are really many places that are somehow like this, in the sense that the time flows differently.

And lately we hear that nuclear power, together with less dangerous types of sources of energy, will definitely be important to keep our world working. What world? This world with many shades of modernity, boasting about its so-called progress. I write so-called because it’s a very partial progress that affects just some aspects of lives and affects/benefits only a proportion of the inhabitants of the Earth. A generalised use of nuclear power scares me, personally, and I guess I’m not the only one with such feelings. Now people remember the disaster in Chernobyl 20 years ago and at the same time talk about the role of nuclear power in the future, but also about nuclear weapons in several countries. I wonder why the powerful ones, and many of us, didn’t act and live in a more responsible way towards the environment all these 20 years to preserve our natural resources and sources of energy? Instead, on the run toward progress, we took a rather destructive path, a rather suicidal path because progress and self satisfaction and a pretended-to-be-happier world and benefits, of course, were more important. Consummerism, production, spend-spend-spend. And yet spend and then lose. If the world’s dynamic had been more responsible for these 20 years, just to say a period of time, we might not be talking of the urgency of the seek of alternative sources of energy. And we might see the catastrophe in Chernobyl as something really distant in time, unlike what happens. It’s 20 years ago and it doesn’t seem to be that long ago since many ghosts of nuclear power keep alive. I was just 4 years old in 1986, so I remember nothing, but I think of all people born that time, all those who were children at that time, that day. Some are still alive and the generation following theirs might suffer the consequences of radiation too. The time is still stopped. How many generations will be needed? How many centuries to get the clocks back into working there? How long do we have to wait until the presence of radiation begins to fade away? Maybe, by the time that takes place, we’ve already destroyed the world and other kinds of deadly radiations pollute our bodies and souls. With the kind of people in powerful positions we have, it’s wouldn’t be that strange to see that happening.

I recommend you a couple of websites by Elena Filatova, with pictures (don’t expect “yellow” pictures...for such contents there’s nowadays tv. Pictures here depict sceneries and measurements of radioactivity) Worth seeing and reading:

http://www.angelfire.com/extreme4/kiddofspeed/journal/articles.html
http://www.elenafilatova.com/

Hey love crrrusaderr, i want to be yourrr space invaderrr!

Strange days and strange fixations on odd, kitsch but also dark things. Why do we like or feel like we can’t take our eyes off some kinds of things,? I’ve been wondering for years why do I keep thinking of some elements of a book by Oe Kenzaburo (Man'en gannen no futtoboru, 1967...i have no idea of the title in English. in spanish it's translated into something very different, as El grito silencioso) that inspired darkness and madness to me. I don’t drink alcohol because of several reasons (philosophical basically) and sometimes, seeing people drinking and certain attitudes towards drinking, besides thinking of the ideas that brought me to take such a decision, I think of some character in that novel by Oe. That character, morally a bit odd, repeated over and over, that one must face life being sober. Those words pop in my mind from time to time, normally together with images I mentally created when I read that book. I didn’t like that book but it’s present in my mind, and now I’m reading another novel by Oe Kenzaburo, (Memushiri kouchi, 1958, in Spanish: Arrancad las semillas, fusilad a los niños) which shares some points with the one I mentioned, but which I feel is less negative.

Another negative thing I keep in mind is the cover of some cd (Wrath of the Tyrant) by the black metal band Emperor . Dark cover (but not such much) with some element I don’t know which attracts my attention. Maybe the colours, the hair of the man/woman that a certain point becomes snake, the eyes. Who knows? I guess we all have some dark or, at least, hidden side that makes us pay attention to things we don’t really consider positive for us, thinks that our subconsciousness seems to like more than ourselves (I’m not talking about universal moral values nor crimes...i’m not talking about scatological things, nor wicked things...i leave them for the news on tv and the yellow press and so on, because reality is worse than the worse and most macabre black metal lyrics). Fortunately it’s just the cover of that cd that I think has something interesting somewhere, somehow (I’ve just listened to their song “curse you all the men” and I don’t agree with their “black” ideas...though they seem to be more moderated nowadays and they don’t burn any more churches, fortunately). But there are more so-called/considered normal people who listen to this sub-genre within metal...like a guy on a train wearing a t-shirt of Opeth, another metal band....peaceful face and attitude on his way back home. (curiously, his wearing that t-shirt and his kind expression made me feel safer on the train and I didn’t sit very far from him...i thought and felt that better close to that guy, which didn’t seem to be that strange---at least I knew his musical taste--- than close to some of those weird/wicked men in trains in the evening)

On the other side, there come kitsch things and people, like Zlad!, an Australian creation (Molvanîa doesn’t exist, of course!!!) singing things whose lyrics have verses like the one in the title of this post. There also something lying beneath such kitsch creatures wearing silver clothes and wacky hair styles...i guess i like people displaying freedom, colours. i guess i can't help liking surrealism. And those dark and kitsch fixations are like my spontaneous dreams.

But I and my brain remain on a middle path, a middle point. Somewhere where bright sides and darker or hidden sides keep balanced. And these days i'm focusing on the way i breath, pathing a rhythm and some depth, like that of feet on the shore of some imaginary beach.

..'coz i'm the doctor...!

MOTÖRHEAD
album: Iron fist (1982)

I'M THE DOCTOR

I know the way you feel I know it ain´t too good
I know it feels like there´s detergent in your blood
But don´t you worry, gonna make you feel alright
I´m gonna lift your black depression, help you through the night
I´m your man, you know I´ll help you if I can
Cos I´m your Doctor

I know you´re desperate, I really sympathise
I see the morbid horror flicker in your eyes
But rest assured I´m gonna help to ease your pain
I´m gonna put a thousand tiny implants in your brain
I´m your boy, I´ll make you undulate with joy
Cos I´m the Doctor

Don´t get too depressed, I´ve found a way to help your case
A little hypodermic sends you into outer space
You´ll feel much better when you take these little pills
I´m gonna give you 60 bottles, I believe in overkill
Heart attack, you know you´re never coming back
Cos I´m the Doctor

http://www.imotorhead.com/index2.htm

spontaneous single people brainstorming (SSPB)

ho ho ho! yesterday a great great evening came to the life of some of us. It was that kind of unexpected great evenings talking and saying silly things mixed with deeper thoughts.

The main brainstorming session (SSPB) within the evening-chatting-session (until the people at the bar-bakery were closing) was about ideal partner/candidate (for either weekend/long relationship) of the opposite sex. Hard times to believe ideal candidates exists or, rather they won't come across our way....

The Candidate to whom i'll put a cross in my ballot (or write the name, depending on the kind of electoral system....): good person (in extinction), with a healthy sense of humour (the more you laugh, the happier you are and the less problems there would appear in the relationship, no matter what it is like), interesting and somehow a bit odd/freak (in a good sense), respectful, with interiorised sense of democracy and justice (sounds weird...), somebody with whom i share some interests...not much more... None of us demanded too much.

SSPB...we felt somehow positive and less worried about our singlehood afterwards. And if not, at least we laughed a lot.

transvallesà exprés

Vet aquí la RENFE...el pa nostre de cada dia. Ahir els usuaris vesprencs vàrem poder gaudir d’una ruta alternativa, la transvallesana, per motius desconeguts (que sempre són aliens a la pròpia RENFE). En comptes d’anar directes, com cada dia, per la línia entre Bcn i Girona, Maçanet, Sant Celoni i demés...no pas! Més estona al tren pel mateix preu (el comentari d’alguns viatgers era que ens donaven l’oportunitat d’aprofitar el preu del bitllet de tren estant més estona voltant en tren per la xarxa de rodalies). Bé, la qüestió es que vàrem recórrer totes les estacions de Montcada i Reixach, potser menys l’habitual de la nostra línia, Montcada i Reixach, pròpiament (què boniques Montcada Bifurcació i Montcada i Reixach Sta. Maria o similar...sobretot de nit, que no es veia res, com aquell que diu..). Des de les Montcades se suposava que haviem de tornar a Mollet St. Fost...i d’aquí prosseguir el trajecte amb normalitat (bé, la pobra gent que volia anar a la Llagosta havia d’esperar un tren direcció Vilanova/Bcn...). De sobte una estació desconeguda, una mica semblant a la de Mollet St. Fost...però nooooooo!!!! Érem a Cerdanyola Universitat...Amb la tonteria, 1 hora per anar de Pg. De Gràcia fins a Mollet St. Fost. Però vaig estar llegint i mirant uns apunts de japonès...tot i que era una mica difícil de vegades, perquè s’establí comunicació entre els desconeguts que anaven en els seients més propers: la dona equatoriana (que hauria d’haver agafat un altre tren de no haver anat a enviar diners als fills a Equador), una dona gran amb el nét, que no parava quiet (cantant la mítica cançó “Una plaaaaata d’enciaaaam, ben amaniiiida, ben amaniiiiida, una plaaata d’enciaaaaam, ben amaniiida amb oliiii i saaaal...”, fins que s’adormí profundament), i l’home més aviat gran parlant amb tothom i oferint carmels halls (fa por que els desconeguts ofereixin coses), frustrat per no haver agafat un tren semidirecte cap a Cerbère. És una habilitat de la renfe quan no funciona bé o hi ha problemes aliens a la companyia (mal temps, alguna cosa a les vies, accidents, suïcides que opten per llençar-se als trens...)...la gent estableix alguna mena de comunicació i sembla per un moment que hàgim sortit de la fredor de la vida urbana d’incomunicacions i desconfiances.

pastelito pantera rosa 1966-2006

Por casualidad encontré en el diario Metro del pasado jueves 9 de marzo, perdida por la tercera página, la noticia de que el pastelito rosa mutante de la pantera rosa (mítico) cumplía 40 años (otra cosa a sumar a las entradas de este blog con referencias al año 1966). Me pregunto si en los inicios el rosa era igual de mutante que décadas más tarde...(quizás fuera demasiado agresivo para aquellos tiempos) y estoy segura que el packaging tenía más encanto que los últimos, con una pantera rosa con walkman y auriculares. Rosa chicle chillón que reclama todas las miradas. A partir de los años 80 ya empezamos a estar más curados de espanto por las cuestiones cromáticas de los alimentos y además eran los tiempos del auge del horterismo, pero en los años 60 y 70? Pues bien, como una servidora, el pastelito en cuestión nació en Granollers (qué honor!...tendría que ser un hijo predilecto de la ciudad/pueblo ya...pero ya y los lugareños tendríamos que decir...soy del mismo lugar que el mítico pastelito casi-radioactivo...corriendo el riesgo de ser mirados de manera extraña)...y los nacidos en el 66, lo mismo..."nací el mismo año que el pastelito pantera rosa" ...dándose la ventaja de parecer más jóvenes pues no es fácil creer que tal "manjar" haya cumplido 40 años.

En los últimos años siempre pensé que había dejado de existir tal creación “gastronómica”, pero hasta que hace mucho, unos pastelitos de la pantera rosa me guiñaron un ojo desde su estante (era un caprabo y hacía sol). Pensaba que habían desaparecido como los dibujos animados de la pantera rosa de los domingos por la tarde, hace bastantes años. El reencuentro. Fíjate!..aún los venden! Pero ya queda poco de aquella cultura de los pastelitos que eran intrusos en dietas sanas...de la que viví, al menos, a mediados-finales de los 80. Pastelitos para casi todas las series de dibujos, con cromos y otras pijadas, como las manos pegajosas de los phoskitos (aquellas manos de colores que se quedaban adheridas sobre todo a los cristales)...pijadas que se acumulaban con las que regalaban con los packs de yogures, por no hablar de los huevos de chocolate kinder y los que eran imitaciones..ah! y las calcomanías de los diminutos que recuerdo de algunos chicles...Y con cuatro cromos y cuatro tonterías ya nos entreteníamos ... y con el color rosa del pastelito de la pantera rosa, ya nos emocionábamos.

Too old for decorer style, too young to keep being a kind of modern hermit

Hermit girl killing Sundays, killing Saturday afternoons by means of reading, heavy metal and co. (I’m not that poppie, Sesinürén), diadems, thoughts to create micro-cosmos and surrealist cosmogonies, observing realities and kitsch worlds. Here I am, while everything keeps going, rolling, running. Forward. Forward. Fast forward. Sometimes I dwell in dreams or in some anachronic space, inspired by the 60es or the 80es. I guess I’m not the only one. Moreover, the nationalists in this State (all of them) make me feel I’m misplaced and that I can’t belong nowhere. Thinking about such things I feel I’m too old to adopt some decorer style, mainly because of the colours and freedom it implies. Too late to express that sort of freedom, maybe. About to turn 24 this month...I’m too old for decorer style...but not to keep adding some elements of such colourful style into daily life. Golden shoes, violet, green socks, happy-blue tights (pantyhose), flowers, polka dots, pins, hairpins, diadems...some odd make-up on the eyes and lips from time to time. After all, I’m looking for some freedom I can’t reach by leading some kind of modern-hermit life. Too free inside, but only inside, like most of us. And several constraints don’t let me have a peaceful and repairing sleep....just one or 2 nights of decent sleep per month...or each 2 months. Maybe that’s the physical reaction to my hermithood at a wrong time...too much time alone thinking about too many things...and too poor sleep to compensate too much thinking and hypothesising. Sometimes I think I’ve gotten used to it...ah! but I’m wrong, indeed. It all makes me become a bit more surrealist, having lost notions of time and space, of me as a real person, sometimes, having written strange poems to the wrong person, being grabbed violently by events and memories from the past, grabbed and then thrown against a wall. Then comes a bunch of nightmares and nauseas...and realising the problem comes from a lack of sex (no more months, please), which for me is therapeutic...inner chemical stuff, another kind of communication. My mind misses it (even when it was surrealist...hehe.. that voyeur-funky-red lamp, M., and the sillage of the night of the bikes...well, that story was kinda taken out of some movie and was a bit murakamian, actually it was better when things were unreal around, than all the times the context was normal)...my unbalanced brain taking refuge in death metal and kitsch music from the 80es. That’s it, too young to lead a kind of hermit life. Getting old, maaaan, but at the same getting young. I might end up developing some sort of schizophrenia...

mental techniques and metal

From time to time, since many years ago, I have periods I feel like listening more to metal than to other styles...but I either listen to classical heavy metal (like AC/DC, motörhead, Turbo, from Poland...), power metal (gamma ray, mainly, some ballad by Iced Earth, Pantera), hair/glam metal (such as Kiss...but here I would include the Japanese band X-Japan) and Gothic Metal (Tristania, Lacrimosa, Theatre of Tragedy). Rarely I would listen to the newest subgeneres (like nu metal) nor the darker genre, that is, scary black metal (however I’ve listened to some songs by some black metal band)...too dark..uff...

I did some experiment listening to some online-radio playing only black metal, to see the psychological effect or its effect on one’s mood and fight it if it was negative...even without paying attention to the lyrics (fortunately it’s almost impossible to understand the lyrics due to the way of singing). Better death metal (Death, Vader, Quo Vadis, the polish ones, not the Canadian homonymous band, God Dethroned...), dark, but not that much (but dark anyway)...and since it’s not as dark, I even find the kind of guttural singing interesting and somehow funny (black metal is too wrapped with something too obscure)...the fact is that i don't take it seriously. But again it’s also better, for me, not to think too much about the lyrics, rather than of the combination of guttural voices and the melody (great guitars!). Then I came across Viking metal (sounds funny to me...thinking of "Wickie, the viking" cartoons)...different topics (rather epic, related, logically, to viking world) but the same kind of music and voices, being it a subgenre within death metal for some people. Amon Amarth is the band I first found and listened to...good music (well, i've just listened to their "death in fire" and " the pursuit of vikings"). Again, i'm not talking at all about the lyrics.

Why stepping off a path leaving behind softer/lighter bands within metal i usually listen to? First I remembered 2 songs of extreme metal genres I used to have (“spiritual healing” by Death and another one of who knows with a strange title...Dr. Karl! No m’enrecordoooo!! Potser era d'alguns individus que fan black metal la que m’enviares fa temps...)...and I remembered metal concerts several years ago in my city...open air free concerts, being some of them of death metal. Secondly I wanted to test the changes in my mood listening to such music for some time and see better the difference between different genres. Of course normally it has some effect on me (besides the headache derived from being at my pc, since my CD player doesn’t work), but I wanted to avoid it and turn it positive. Turn darkness into light...with the help of alternating other kinds of music I also like, from relaxation music, to electronic, including, ballads, jazz, traditional music from Asia, alternative rock, power pop, new wave, and so on. and the mind and some control of the mood did the rest.

Test your mind and mood!strengthen your mind. It’s somehow like trying to read or study on the train (what a comparison) while there’s a lot of people talking at the same time, the music is on...and sometimes somebody is talking about something interesting tempting you to pay attention....In both cases (music and train concentration) the key is to find the way to keep one’s mind focused on something else than on the background or something coming directly to our senses in the case of black and death metal, avoiding the darkness of the lyrics(but I repeat that I like death metal..and most people i know that listen to such gernes are pretty normal people in appearence and don't have obscure souls or minds)...well, not much darker than the reality of nowadays world. These tactic/technique/experiment could be somehow compared to tantric techniques, if i'm allowed to do so. avoiding certain reactions and feelings, keepin one mind and soul clean and following another path. And metaphorically it was a bit like watching the news (the Bad News always on tv...) trying not to get hurt and keeping a positive attitude towards everything...walking away from impulses, wishes, suffering...Walking away. And now Quo Vadis play a cover version of a love song by Maanam (polish too, from the 80es...kinda pop/rock/eighties sound) with guttural voices and so on. Superb version. Why aren't there death metal bands or some other subgenre within death metal singing to more positive things. making songs like the cover version i just mentioned?..or even why isn't there a bit of humour?

list of bands sorted by heavy metal subgenres: http://www.metal-archives.com/browseG.php?g=heavy

Tibetans on my street

Tibetans in a town/city like Granollers? Yes! Strange but possible. I fist spotted them last X-mas in a square next to one of our 2 local libraries, selling Tibetan things in a stand, besides the stand of an Argentinean man selling mini-books (there was also some stand of Brazilian people selling jewellery). I had some short talk with these tibetans in Granollers (a young woman and 2 men), and they confirmed that it was their first X-mas selling stuff in Granollers. They talked to me about the high prices of everything in Barcelona and how expensive it was to have a shop there in the big city. Then X-mas craziness of buying-buying-buying faded away in early January (it’s Spain and people have to buy presents till 6th January) and so did these 3 tibetans, until one day, having a walk with a friend (Sandriiiii!!!), we saw them entering some stuff into some building. Oh! Tibetan people living in Granollers (I think there were already a couple of them living in this town, according to some report on local TV). Some other day I came across one of the Tibetan men while walking around the town/city centre (I said nothing, thinking he and the other Tibetans might not remember me and in fact, I had just had a short conversation with them). The day I had to take the exam on introduction to Tibet and Mongolia, again, I came across these tibetans, but there was a new one, a baby with them! Then, every 2 Fridays, these Granollers-tibetans have a stand placed on the main square, in front of the Town Hall, beneath the Porxada and sell a few Tibetan things, fewer than in X-Mas time...and stay there morning and afternoon together with Argentinian, African, Brazilian, Spanish and Catalan stands selling many kinds of things. And the last episode took place today, about an hour ago. I had lunch with a friend (Dr. Karl!) at a Tibetan restaurant in Barcelona and we spent most of the afternoon having a look at some shops and visiting Casa Asia....on the train back home I met another friend (who I hadn’t seen for aaages). And some meters before reaching home, I saw 2 of the Granollers-tibetans....in front of DIA autoservei i descompte!!! Tibetans buy at DIA supermarkets!. But why the one in my street? Here come my hypotheses concerning their residence. Do they live in that building Sandri and I saw them entering some stuff??? If so, why coming to a supermarket here, when they have a Caprabo supermarket close to that place...and I think also a mercadona (is it there where you can find that brand named Hacendado, which I find really funny...but I do respect it, since Sandri praised the quality of some hacendado products). Maybe it’s useful to be able to speak some Tibetan and to be studying it...

wiiiiild horses

Sometimes I wonder whether people appearing in pictures in textbooks do exist or not. That happens to me especially when names are given. I think I can say that those people are real. Some courses of German ago, the word Pferdepfleger appeared and it would never (not yet) leave my mind. And there was a picture of a man taking care of horses, whose name I have neither forgotten: Hans Draga. Hans Draga, der Pferdepfleger!! I like this word indeed and the man (there was a picture in the textbook and in the workbook!!) seemed to be a nice person.

On Sunday the Pferdepfleger word and Hans Draga came to my mind again because a friend of mine (Masa) told me about some dream he had years ago about some Mongolian horse. Masa and I happened to be thinking at the same time about Mongolia...he had been reading those tales trying to find something about his dream ...I’ve not read Mongolian tales but I’ve been reading about other issues related to Mongolia (ah! i must say that none of us knew that the other one, thousands of kilometres away was thinking about something related to Mongolia) ...and besides I, logically, associate horses with Mongolia and Mongolia with horses, even though I’m not affected by any kind of horse-virusSuddenly I felt like looking for info on the net about the existence of that Hans Draga. It’s not a common name, I’d say and it’s not likely that if there are many Hans Draga, they have something to do with horses. And I found out that Hans Draga existed!!! Yes!!! But no new pics of that man...but the discovery of horse lovers and something oddly named “Pferdevirus”...which sounds basically negative.

Well, something else. “Wild horses” is one of my favourite songs by Mazzy Star.

yuyu en el bazar oriente!

Ah!!! los mejores museos de lo kitsch, venerados irremediablemente por todo tipo de criaturas humanas o semihumanas, como los gatos, que me atrevería a afirmar que alguna devoción por los bazares oriente deben tener, porque no se conoce gato no curioso...y no hay escasez de cosas con qué curiosear en esos museos.

Mis incursiones en bazares oriente siempre se han fundamentado en la búsqueda de fundas de plástico para documentos, así, con una parte blanca taladrada (es que los que venden en los bazares oriente son diferentes del resto...el plástico es más fino y tiene una textura más extraña). Otras incursiones en tales lugares han sido también motivadas por otras cosas de la sección papelería, como la búsqueda de sobres de colores (ah!! pero que nadie vaya a esos lugares a comprar sobres acolchados, que salen mucho más caros). Y que decir de una diadema a 0.75€, negra-no hortera ni para niños...habiendo visto diademas (ya ves, un trozo de plástico de nada) por precios relativamente indignantes.

A parte de todo lo kitsch contenido en los bazares oriente, también hay mucha cosa que produce yuyu. A mi personalmente casi me quita el sueño el escaparate del bazar oriente de mi calle....es lo que tiene pasar por delante a horas poco comunes de la noche y también la elección de los dueños (gente muy maja, por cierto), de dejar luces y cosas indescriptibles encendidas, en plan navideño. Esta semana me fijé más de la cuenta y vi la aterrorizante imagen de la antorcha falsa encendida iluminando una figura de un loro gigante, amarillo de cerámica o plástico (o mejor no saberlo). Efecto película de terror versión kitsch. No tiene desperdicio el escaparate...bien figuras de loros, como cuadros con imágenes en movimiento (o el mítico cuadro con una estampa de Jesucristo con un círculo de luces alrededor y otras luces dispuestas a modo de rayos....que claro, por qué lo iban a dejar apagado por la noche!! Oh! La luz de Jesús en un escaparate de un bazar oriente!!!)...Y claro, en mi persona se produce un efecto extraño y me entra la risa por la calle. Yuyu+risa, que sí se pueden sumar. Las peras y las manzanas siempre se dijo que no se podían sumar, pero el yuyu y la risa, pues sí. Que vamos, que me cruzo con alguien y con mi cara de quiero-reír-pero-casi-porque-mejor-que-no....miradas de resignación de la gente pensando ¡cuánta gente rara suelta por la noche!

OstMusik

Das Thema!! Endlich... (Ich wollte seit langem zum Thema Ostmusik schreiben) und darüber wird es besser auf Deutsch als auf Englisch geschrieben. Obwohl die, die Deutsch nicht können, es nicht verstehen werden, entschuldige ich mich.

Na gut...ich gehe zum Thema. Seit Monaten, vielleich seit etwa ein Jahr ist meine Interesse an Ost-Sachen, bzw. Autos und Musik, vergrößert worden. Ich habe in anderen Posts über OstAutos geschrieben, deswegen schreibe ich nicht mehr darüber heute.

Aus der damaligen DDR...erst Karat, danach Magdeburg, IC Falkenberg, die Puhdys, Perl, Keimzeit, City, Lift...auch zahle ich Sonja Schmidt und ihre „Ein Himmelblauer Trabant“ und die lustige-naive Lieder von Frank Schöbel und Chris Doerk. Dieser Mann hat den Titel „Mädchen du bist schön“ einem seines CDs gegeben....kein Kommentar passt dazu...Meine letzte Entdeckung waren die Lieder von IC Falkenberg...die finde ich aber gut...beide Melodien und Texte. Sie haben eighties-artiges Musik..viel anders als die andere deutsche Gruppen, die ich genannt habe. Karat, Magdeburg, die Puhdys, Perl, City, Keimzeit haben alle Rock gemacht. Ich empfehle euch ein paar Lieder: „Harte Tage“ von Magdeburg, „Jede Stunde“ von Karat, „über sieben Brücke“ von Karat, „am Fenster“ von City, „Zeit die nie vergeht“ von Perl, „alt wie ein Baum“ von den Puhdys, „Mann im Mond“ von IC Falkenberg...

Aus Polen...dort gab es den ersten Czesław Niemen mit seiner 60es-artigen Musik, ein bisschen zwischen Folk und Etwas mehr psychodelisches, und Czerwone Gitary (die Rote Gitarren).... Meine Lieblingsmusiker aus Polen, gehören zu der 80e Jahren: Kombi, Maanam (interessante Melodien), Ireneusz Dudek (und alle seine Bands...glänzend!), Lady Pank, Budka Suflera, Bajm, usw.

Leider kann ich gar nicht von was Gruppen aus anderen damaligen Ostländern gesungen haben (auf Polnisch kann ich manche Sachen verstehen....mit meinem Wörterbuch, na klar)...Es gab doch gute Gruppen in Ländern wie die Tschechoslowakei und Ungarn. Ich kenne aber nur Plastic People of the Univers, aus dem ersten Land und Bergendy aus Ungarn. Schade ihre Lieder nicht zu verstehen zu können....

Und...Hier habt euch ein paar Empfehlungen..falls ihr habt die Chance Ostmusik zu hören!

Für mehre Info:

http://www.ostmusik.de/

Trabaru and momos

Finally yesterday took place the dinner (dinnersession v.0.1 beta, since one person was missing due to some illness) we had been trying to arrange for some time. And this time, escaping from the lunch menu at the tibetan restaurant we went to, we could find a wide range of dishes willing to be tasted...including momos, which i hadn't tasted yet (momos weren't in the lunch menu the other times i went to that restaurant). Ah...the world of momos...momos, gyoza, pierogi (polish), ravioli, and the less unknown variants. There are always variants ready to appear at the less expected moment, just like another polish version of something...well, not exactly a version but an hybrid, the trabaru. Basic Mathematics: Trabant+ Subaru Impreza= Trabaru (impreza). Quite obvious, but it didn't come to the mind of Germans (East Germans in this case), who gave birth to Trabant in Zwickau. I can affirm so on the basis of the results for trabaru in Google (uuuh...so scientific!), which on the whole (well, almost) show links to pages in Polish...Sites of, by or for trabaru or any kind of customised trabant lovers...The possibilities of a Trabi are almost as many as those of momopierogigyozaetc. A Trabi can be used as a car, obviously, but also, as a sculpture/decorative structure for your house (i've heard of one case of somebody having a trabi inside a room, lucky one), as a charriot, as something for unknown purposes, like an image of a trabi, in oblivion, somewhere in Mongolia, next to some ger..how did a trabi reach Mongoliaaaa??????!!! i'll place the link here when i find it), as a place for some lost stork to build its nest, as work of art, as nomad garden, or static garden, as a tool to give all sorts of messages..a trabi can be media...infinite possibilities. After the fall of the iron curtain, the possibilities of a trabant in society and in art multiplied themselves, i'd say, from what those pictures showing forgotten trabis tell.
And the trabi in the image above shows some communion between trabi and momos. A cardboard trabi (badly painted, by the way), moving across some printed e-book talking about Nomads in Tibet. And momos come from Tibet. And trabis from Zwickau...and, as ideas they both are, they spread their possibilities, their different possible faces across the world. momos and trabis, or pierogi and polski fiat 126 (customised or not), ravioli and fiat 500...and so on.

Citroën DS, marry me!!!!

I might write love songs for a car...and rather marry a car, a Citroën DS:A car or a man? what a question!...i'd say that a car is better concerning love songs and marriage and i'm in fact talking about a car (it's not a metaphor). Citroën DS...marry me, you're the car of my life! And it/he feels moved by my words and takes me far away to another out-of-nowhere. And maybe, by declaring one's love to a car, it acquires the ability to fly or it/he might become more human than many so-called humans. A car won't let you down but when it/he is sick or dies. A car won't even dare to image to treat you like an object nor lie, nor do any other negative actions...but cars have soul, pure souls. I believe so, and they can accept love with no conditions and will be always thankful if they're properly treated.

Yes...and i could become Y. DS, Mrs DS. And inside him/it, my beloved-car-of-my-life, no worry, no pain...only boosted energy and a handful of dreams to go somewhere else, together. Inside him/it, it's possible to weave dreams, out of clouds seen outside, out of the movement seen through the windows, out of beautiful silhouettes hidden in impossible landscapes.

keep you shiny

keep your engine beating healthily

never let you down,

die together when there are no more roads to go along.

like old-fashioned japanese lovers.

AU SZA LA LA LA!

Here come Shakin' Dudi (Polish band, from the 80es..but still alive!, in which Ireneusz, or Irek, Dudek played)...and their "au sza la la la" (1985)!! and it becomes like some kind of hymn...it feels like becoming a happy Lego figure. Yes! i want to become a customised Lego figure with a happy expression on my face...a happy Lego figure that acquires a soul and wanders across Mongolia...and lies down from time to time to observe the movements of the clouds in a clean sky and think of Polynesian navigators and their stick and shell charts. But it's impossible, and i can just get the spirit of a happy Lego figure listening to Shakin' Dudi. Not bad at all...the roads to reach legohood are many and very different. Regaining a good mood, and enjoying days is a matter of building, like Lego's existence aim. We get the parts, the pieces, the colours... the methods and we have to build something positive by ourselves. Then we reach legohood wellbeing.

siempre suaves!!!

Hoy, de nuevo, uno de esos días en que la necesidad de tener una sobredosis de música de los Suaves no se puede evitar (otras veces ha sido de Gammaray, Marea, Kiss o AC/DC..o incluso melodías darkwave de BlutEngel). También la necesidad de recordar aquallos conciertos de rock, en especial, claro está, el momento apoteósico en que los Suaves (Yosi con la melena cana y la guitarra), en un concierto en Badalona...junio de 2004 (con Rubén y compañía, con la gran ausencia de Verónica), cantaron hacia el final "Dolores se llamaba Lola" (para entonces estábamos ya sólo Rubén, su amigo heviata auténtico, el otro amigo con la camiseta de Iron Maiden...y el chico extraño salido de la nada). Grandes canciones, incluyendo la manera cruda y realista de ver las cosas. "Maldita sea mi suerte", "hotel", "ese día piensa en mí", "dulce castigo", "si pudiera"...

Y hoy es además de muchas cosas, el cumpleaños de mi amigo Juanma (eiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!! boas! txipirón gran reserva del 81!)..así q le dedico "si pudiera", una de las canciones más positivas de los Suaves, con sabor a himno. Dedicartela me alegra el día...y también saber que tendrás una celebración tras el trabajo (si es que no te transtorna eso del genba con los chicos del bronx..suena a peli del gran Jackie Chan)!!!!

uselessness

write-write-write-type-type-type. Here i am again "pretend you are happy when you are blue" as i read in a book by Murakami Haruki (i don't like his books, though..sorry Murakami-sama), referring to some song. Me...thinking of old stuff, listening to old songs (now,i'm in the 80es in Belgium....TELEX!!!), walking along my personal path to escape from something, many things, things running right after me, following me. Somehow today i met ghosts from the past, such as my dearest feeling of uselessness (waiting for today, huh? after a not-so-good exam?). I fell onto the earth to get lost without a place, without any possibility to reach any aim or dream. Nobody around right now...but there are always pens or keyboards willing to be grabbed/touched gently...press press....a million of combinations of keys waiting for me to be pressed. Useless combinations, useless messages. But i know that suddenly i'll think less about uselessness, when other things pop up violently in my mind. Then comes laughter and silly ideas, and an image of the 6th Dalai Lama, long-haired, dressed in silk (colourful and shiny, i guess) clothes...dancing like Locomia guys, with a huge fan (Think of the typical 80es-look and feel better). Other thoughts: Canon Palmtronic 8M calculator, with happy green numbers...and my loved Smith-Corona electra 120 typewriter (see picture...2nd hand, from the 60es but bought in the 70es), the citroën DS spotted in Firenze with Takehiro (car-spotting-photographing in Italy almost 1 year ago), soft pillows demanding hugs, the memory of a handful of strange dreams, tears mixed up with cotton fabric texture and silent, the beautiful-inside-outside man. And little by litte everything fades away and i get back to some state with is said to be normal. Forget uselessness through useless-ideas-things. Noisy Smith-Corona electra 120 forgotten inside its case inside some cupboard. And then comes some strange and unexpected dream, like usually. Last night i dreamt of me buying pencils. 7B or 8B? harder or softer lead? Too many birds spreading their wings within my head with nowhere to go.

parallelhood

Neither exotropia or esotropia....parallel sight, eyes looking toward the same direction at the same time. Ode to all strabic people. Ode ode ode! 3-D movies will never be 3-D movies to us, but movies with overlapping colours at the borders of images, of silhouettes...colours with nothing to do with the figures, actors, animals, whatevers... wearing or not the magical glasses. Nothing floating on the air, seemingly between a screen and ourselves. Aesthetically, exotropia is beautiful (at least for me), but i was given, by luck or who-knows-what was given the uglier-modality of strabismus to share its life with me (eye-surgery wasn't effective enough but together with glasses it hardly becomes apparent)...in my opinion. But metaphorically esotropia is the best one....esotropic vs. parallel things in life? uhm....i prefer things suffering from esotropia...coincidence, people finding links between each other, meeting points. Maybe my esotropia trascends its physical condition and becomes part of my nature. Here i am, following coincidences, waiting at them at unexpected places, some kind of wish to be unreal, like wanting to be in black and white or out of time, sometimes, to meet other realities. Beeing parallel might not bring many interesting things into life. Like the beloved one behind a glass...lovers walking parallel along an infinite wall of glass...and never meeting. Convergence required...for most important things in life. May metaphorical esotropia be praised.

image above: GARCÍA SANTESMASES, J. Física General . 1968.