This evening London was in the mood for an absence, weeping and sobbing quietly as it was, inconsolable child. My self joined the town in the wet drizzle; in fact, a certainly unadvised activity for a heart with a budding hole. If I were a poet, I'd keep wr; if a storyteller, I would dry your eyes up with a tender tale of love and superb humanity; if a musician, I will fill the lagoons of sadness with the airs of emotion. But, unfortunately, I am none.
The night came down beautifully upon the deserted town. Naked and ravishing, London offered itself to the eyes of the lover, the eyes of the ones looking far in and beyond. Marvellous sightseeing for a boiling heart... If the story could just be played back from the very beginning! Life is like a fluorescent ice-cream _it only tastes afterwards; its senses run along its memories, its beauties come up for us mortals to feel once time passes away.
Oh, how bitter, how sweet Life is!
What a perfect gift for the courageous heart!
God, give me one.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Participative democracy
Today, we are back, beer at hand, ears in music, so we are back.
It displeases me and makes me bored, but I guess further comments on the demonstrations in Spain are due, illegal demonstrations, as we speak. I told M. last night that I was not getting any emails from a common acquaintance, but I was mistaken. I got their mails and learned about the actions in the move. Now the mass is calling for an organized event against the banks consisting of withdrawing 155 euros on May 30th, all within the very same day. It is an organized gang-action -by who?-, albeit different messages claim not to be organized.
All of us to withdraw 155 euros at the same time? What for? To fuck our fellowmen? To pull the strings and do other people -who?- a favor? "Vanitie of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanitie of vanities, all is vanity", sings the Ecclesiastes. Many years ago, a saying was enlightening: daring is ignorance. Again, the banks. Why the banks? I heard a financial crisis has stricken globally and so I shall believe, but the current situation in Spain is only partially due to it. It is a matter of management, a matter of poor, very poor management. Good manager would have not gotten us into this. Even more, did you not see a year ago the PM and all the rich, powerful bankers meet up together? Why did you clap then your hands and not scream your heart out? The rich and the powerful together! Oh, God. How can you be so gullible!... Oh, you did not clap... Just stayed quiet.
The Movement -as the demonstrators call themselves- aims at solving problems by means of participative assembly. But what if I am not good at assembling? What if I am a stammerer? What if I am shy? What if I am ugly and, worse, unappealing without sex? What if I don't know anyone in the assembly? Will I be treated as fair as the rest? What if I have to take care of my ill, old aunt? Oh, what if my ideas are opposed? Will that not be a hen house?
Of course, it is cool to get together and be around people you are fond of when you happen not to have anything more important to do. But what if you have to work? What if you like doing dancing afterwards? Will you have time? What if you have to practice your piano lesson? What if you have a woman to love? What if you like having a drink at La Amistad and then walk slowly down the river to your place before you cook your own dinner? Will the sacrifice be worth the price? We are all getting old enough to reckon how our friends change when their lives change. What makes you think this time will be different?
Fortunately, there is a system to participate entirely of democracy by oneself, away from the charms and toothmarks of the mass: voting, the most egalitarian of all the shots. I certainly praise each individuality and his freedom of action.
That's why I despise so profoundly such Movements. That and that I deeply disagree with their old-fashion and confused ideas. Stinks.
Their short-sightedness towards the case of ETA supporters -renounce to ban pro-terrorism political parties or accept debating with terrorists- not only stinks, but hurts... And gets one savagely enraged... At this hour in the night.
**
A few days back I came across this nice place... At least, look nice to me, first sight. Liked this song by Yael Naim. Precisely, yesterday at lunch time, while wandering up and down Tottenham Court Road in search of "some optics specialties" -if you believe that-, we entered in Pret-A-Manger to grab a sandwich and, I think this was the song being played. The video is kind of... But it is ok. The problem is not "making every possible mistake", but to be trapped always in the midst of the same mistakes.
**
Speaking about coming across, I did discover today When the sidewalk ends, one of Shel Silverstein's poetry books for children. I was enjoyably touched; the mind of this man was entirely creative and brilliant. Years ago, then my friend B. took me to a the theatre in Huntsville to some alternative performance of Silverstein's stories for adults. B said: "I used to love his children stories when I was a baby girl and I am curious to see how his adult stories look like". Well, his children's poetry and drawings are amazing!
**
My last words tonight are actually collected to set a recommendation. Give a try to Muriel Spark's The Prime of Miss Brodie. It is a vast luminous sky over the mysterious, unassailable waters of femininity. A well-written, delicious short novel.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
It displeases me and makes me bored, but I guess further comments on the demonstrations in Spain are due, illegal demonstrations, as we speak. I told M. last night that I was not getting any emails from a common acquaintance, but I was mistaken. I got their mails and learned about the actions in the move. Now the mass is calling for an organized event against the banks consisting of withdrawing 155 euros on May 30th, all within the very same day. It is an organized gang-action -by who?-, albeit different messages claim not to be organized.
All of us to withdraw 155 euros at the same time? What for? To fuck our fellowmen? To pull the strings and do other people -who?- a favor? "Vanitie of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanitie of vanities, all is vanity", sings the Ecclesiastes. Many years ago, a saying was enlightening: daring is ignorance. Again, the banks. Why the banks? I heard a financial crisis has stricken globally and so I shall believe, but the current situation in Spain is only partially due to it. It is a matter of management, a matter of poor, very poor management. Good manager would have not gotten us into this. Even more, did you not see a year ago the PM and all the rich, powerful bankers meet up together? Why did you clap then your hands and not scream your heart out? The rich and the powerful together! Oh, God. How can you be so gullible!... Oh, you did not clap... Just stayed quiet.
The Movement -as the demonstrators call themselves- aims at solving problems by means of participative assembly. But what if I am not good at assembling? What if I am a stammerer? What if I am shy? What if I am ugly and, worse, unappealing without sex? What if I don't know anyone in the assembly? Will I be treated as fair as the rest? What if I have to take care of my ill, old aunt? Oh, what if my ideas are opposed? Will that not be a hen house?
Of course, it is cool to get together and be around people you are fond of when you happen not to have anything more important to do. But what if you have to work? What if you like doing dancing afterwards? Will you have time? What if you have to practice your piano lesson? What if you have a woman to love? What if you like having a drink at La Amistad and then walk slowly down the river to your place before you cook your own dinner? Will the sacrifice be worth the price? We are all getting old enough to reckon how our friends change when their lives change. What makes you think this time will be different?
Fortunately, there is a system to participate entirely of democracy by oneself, away from the charms and toothmarks of the mass: voting, the most egalitarian of all the shots. I certainly praise each individuality and his freedom of action.
That's why I despise so profoundly such Movements. That and that I deeply disagree with their old-fashion and confused ideas. Stinks.
Their short-sightedness towards the case of ETA supporters -renounce to ban pro-terrorism political parties or accept debating with terrorists- not only stinks, but hurts... And gets one savagely enraged... At this hour in the night.
**
A few days back I came across this nice place... At least, look nice to me, first sight. Liked this song by Yael Naim. Precisely, yesterday at lunch time, while wandering up and down Tottenham Court Road in search of "some optics specialties" -if you believe that-, we entered in Pret-A-Manger to grab a sandwich and, I think this was the song being played. The video is kind of... But it is ok. The problem is not "making every possible mistake", but to be trapped always in the midst of the same mistakes.
**
Speaking about coming across, I did discover today When the sidewalk ends, one of Shel Silverstein's poetry books for children. I was enjoyably touched; the mind of this man was entirely creative and brilliant. Years ago, then my friend B. took me to a the theatre in Huntsville to some alternative performance of Silverstein's stories for adults. B said: "I used to love his children stories when I was a baby girl and I am curious to see how his adult stories look like". Well, his children's poetry and drawings are amazing!
**
My last words tonight are actually collected to set a recommendation. Give a try to Muriel Spark's The Prime of Miss Brodie. It is a vast luminous sky over the mysterious, unassailable waters of femininity. A well-written, delicious short novel.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Friday, May 20, 2011
Evil flowers
After this break, let's continue, shall we?
**
First thing.
G. is awaiting my comment on the events of the so-called Movimiento 15 de Marzo, camping in Puerta del Sol. It is an illegal settlement and police -depending on Domestic Affairs, as Madrid does not have regional police- is not enforcing the law. A second, fundamental element, is that photographs are restricted. And, you know, don't understand this very well... . What does it mean? How is the act of taking photographs being restricted? The matter is very serious.
I was cooking dinner and listening to the news this evening and I feel -I guess- like listening to a war report, socked as I was. The contents are the typical 50-year old crap, nonsense, old-fashion anti-system propaganda in a post-Communism era. Intellectually speaking, the proposal are dishonest, at best, but truly a joke with no humor whatsoever.
The developments are scary, that's all I can say. I am not worry too much about what or who is behind, not about the topics; it is a predictable crap. My concern is about how highly unrecognizable democracy is in Spain, how dead and putrefied the Constitution of 1978, how corrupted its institutions and spirits, how caged its rights and liberties. The beasts behind the Movement are dangerous; their stupid grandparents -ideologically speaking, as the biological ones belonged to ruler and bourgeois classes, in most cases- led the country to a bloody Civil War in the 30s. What can you expect now?
It is a very scary scenario. I already mentioned it: was like listening to a war report. A nation hit right at its heart... Oh, the scarlet breach, the bleeding... .
**
Muriel Sparks' Miss Jean Brodie used to speak to the set of girls of the Marcia Blaine Academy, la creme de la creme, ten years or so before the World War II, about many prosaic topics, all of them defiant and in open contradiction with the standards of the elitist School. Among the stories and episodes Miss Brodie brew out of her prime I read that of Dante contemplating Beatrice in Ponte Vecchio and falling in love with her at once, struck to the bone. "A sublime moment in a sublime love", that's true!
Beatrice denying salutation to Dante in Ponte Vecchio, Florence - Henry Holiday (1883)
Centuries later, it can be found in many places the tale of Germans and Americans in phone conversation to save intact the bridge in the midst of devastation. The story of Nazis and Allies, if true, sparing the bridge by mutual agreement in one of the bloodiest conflagrations of humankind history has nothing exemplary nor anything to be proud of. It plainly states the fact that poetry, mysticism, beauty and sacrality are a common ground for all flowers and weeds on this planet, including, of course, the gruesome flowers of evil.
(Is there any sense of sacrality left in the animals behind the Movement of Puerta del Sol? Things can always worsen up).
Nevertheless, the story of Dante is sweet and tender. I read he concealed his love for Beatrice by pretending to be interested in another woman. Oh!... Who has not done that? I have. In contrast to an Universe full of caprice, Dante's obduracy at Ponte Vecchio is a testimony of true love... Or true madness, or sickness or just an unabridged deployment of fluids and hormones, as you prefer... .
Where, oh, God, is this world now? Where are its inhabitants?
I've learned later that Pulteney Bridge is, along Vecchio Bridge, one of the few built historically with shops into it. The Pulteney Bridge crosses the Avon River in Bath, Somerset, England. I was there recently... .
Me and the Pulteney Bridge on the background. I did not know this bridge was anything at the time of the photograph; honestly, did not find anything special with it.
**
I wrote a comment on the arrest of Strauss-Khan a few days ago in the hope of posting it and catch up a little. It is off-date now. All I can say is that this criminal is out of prison under house arrest after plunging $1M. I think it is a shame. This man should stay in prison, no bail whatsoever. Hey, US, kind of disappointment, hm? What happened in the last days to grant him a release for the next 2 weeks?
**
On Wednesday I spent the morning, under request, in a Seminar of scientists talking about challenges of device design for medical applications. I did only find a couple of 20-minute talks meaningful and proper. The rest was horrible, boring, unprofessional, should be unacceptable. Curiously, both talkers were not employees of Universities -mainly UCL-, but somehow experienced consultants, related to hospitals in London and somewhere in the US.
I like the message conveyed by one of them at the end of his presentation: the end user as a designer. Look at this picture:
Utensils from the dark ages
These utensils have survived for thousands of years and are praised as prodigies; their forms and features shed light about the knowledge and technological status of prehistorical man as well as information about their hand anatomy. On the contrary, mouse devices for computers, phones, objects of many kinds change each month, all of them with advantages and disadvantages, different targets... . For sure, those stones were fully user-oriented, user-designed.
I like the idea of users and operators being key participants in designing, rather than passive elements to accept the design and be trained to use it.
**
Ok, go to bed now. Go to bed.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
**
First thing.
G. is awaiting my comment on the events of the so-called Movimiento 15 de Marzo, camping in Puerta del Sol. It is an illegal settlement and police -depending on Domestic Affairs, as Madrid does not have regional police- is not enforcing the law. A second, fundamental element, is that photographs are restricted. And, you know, don't understand this very well... . What does it mean? How is the act of taking photographs being restricted? The matter is very serious.
I was cooking dinner and listening to the news this evening and I feel -I guess- like listening to a war report, socked as I was. The contents are the typical 50-year old crap, nonsense, old-fashion anti-system propaganda in a post-Communism era. Intellectually speaking, the proposal are dishonest, at best, but truly a joke with no humor whatsoever.
The developments are scary, that's all I can say. I am not worry too much about what or who is behind, not about the topics; it is a predictable crap. My concern is about how highly unrecognizable democracy is in Spain, how dead and putrefied the Constitution of 1978, how corrupted its institutions and spirits, how caged its rights and liberties. The beasts behind the Movement are dangerous; their stupid grandparents -ideologically speaking, as the biological ones belonged to ruler and bourgeois classes, in most cases- led the country to a bloody Civil War in the 30s. What can you expect now?
It is a very scary scenario. I already mentioned it: was like listening to a war report. A nation hit right at its heart... Oh, the scarlet breach, the bleeding... .
**
Muriel Sparks' Miss Jean Brodie used to speak to the set of girls of the Marcia Blaine Academy, la creme de la creme, ten years or so before the World War II, about many prosaic topics, all of them defiant and in open contradiction with the standards of the elitist School. Among the stories and episodes Miss Brodie brew out of her prime I read that of Dante contemplating Beatrice in Ponte Vecchio and falling in love with her at once, struck to the bone. "A sublime moment in a sublime love", that's true!
Centuries later, it can be found in many places the tale of Germans and Americans in phone conversation to save intact the bridge in the midst of devastation. The story of Nazis and Allies, if true, sparing the bridge by mutual agreement in one of the bloodiest conflagrations of humankind history has nothing exemplary nor anything to be proud of. It plainly states the fact that poetry, mysticism, beauty and sacrality are a common ground for all flowers and weeds on this planet, including, of course, the gruesome flowers of evil.
(Is there any sense of sacrality left in the animals behind the Movement of Puerta del Sol? Things can always worsen up).
Nevertheless, the story of Dante is sweet and tender. I read he concealed his love for Beatrice by pretending to be interested in another woman. Oh!... Who has not done that? I have. In contrast to an Universe full of caprice, Dante's obduracy at Ponte Vecchio is a testimony of true love... Or true madness, or sickness or just an unabridged deployment of fluids and hormones, as you prefer... .
Where, oh, God, is this world now? Where are its inhabitants?
I've learned later that Pulteney Bridge is, along Vecchio Bridge, one of the few built historically with shops into it. The Pulteney Bridge crosses the Avon River in Bath, Somerset, England. I was there recently... .
**
I wrote a comment on the arrest of Strauss-Khan a few days ago in the hope of posting it and catch up a little. It is off-date now. All I can say is that this criminal is out of prison under house arrest after plunging $1M. I think it is a shame. This man should stay in prison, no bail whatsoever. Hey, US, kind of disappointment, hm? What happened in the last days to grant him a release for the next 2 weeks?
**
On Wednesday I spent the morning, under request, in a Seminar of scientists talking about challenges of device design for medical applications. I did only find a couple of 20-minute talks meaningful and proper. The rest was horrible, boring, unprofessional, should be unacceptable. Curiously, both talkers were not employees of Universities -mainly UCL-, but somehow experienced consultants, related to hospitals in London and somewhere in the US.
I like the message conveyed by one of them at the end of his presentation: the end user as a designer. Look at this picture:
These utensils have survived for thousands of years and are praised as prodigies; their forms and features shed light about the knowledge and technological status of prehistorical man as well as information about their hand anatomy. On the contrary, mouse devices for computers, phones, objects of many kinds change each month, all of them with advantages and disadvantages, different targets... . For sure, those stones were fully user-oriented, user-designed.
I like the idea of users and operators being key participants in designing, rather than passive elements to accept the design and be trained to use it.
**
Ok, go to bed now. Go to bed.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Sunday, May 15, 2011
An outrageous betrayal
Blogger was off for at least 24 hours since Thursday night. It went down precisely at the time I was posting my comment on a painful betrayal: the rendition of Spanish institutions to the ETA.
Yesterday, the heroes of our time got together again in Madrid to demonstrate against. In this occasion, the case is outrageous. The Constitutional Tribunal has given a green light to the ETA participation in council towns and, in general, in democratic elections. It is not a new thing though. In Guipuzcoa and Vizcaya 42 local councils are under the rule of pro-terrorists or terrorists directly, under the names of ANV. Before it was Batasuna, PCTV, etc. The new name is Bildu, but it is the same nasty, fucking crap, the same heart of crime underneath a different skin. It is a total, unacceptable shame. Justice has voted against Bildu, but under the rules of a so-called democratic game, another Tribunal, constituted by and for politicians, has turned the decision. Something must be done, something must be changed.
How can you be sure that Bildu and ETA is the same thing? Simple: Look below at this ETA inmate, minutes after being released from prison, holding a placard in favor of Bildu. It is appalling, gruesome:
The case of Spain against the terrorism is so painful and discouraging; the cause of the victims, of genuine heroism. If there is God above, Justice shall be exerted some-time, some-how, some-where. I can only show here my utter disrespect and hate for the criminals. I wish them to be condemn to never die and be spoilt in hell.
The case of nationalism in Spain, learn this by heart, you stupid morons of the non-Spanish press (who call the ETA separatists) -with or without violence- is unjustified and untrue, hold and impose by evil, greedy motherfuckers for more than a century already... But this is another battle.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Yesterday, the heroes of our time got together again in Madrid to demonstrate against. In this occasion, the case is outrageous. The Constitutional Tribunal has given a green light to the ETA participation in council towns and, in general, in democratic elections. It is not a new thing though. In Guipuzcoa and Vizcaya 42 local councils are under the rule of pro-terrorists or terrorists directly, under the names of ANV. Before it was Batasuna, PCTV, etc. The new name is Bildu, but it is the same nasty, fucking crap, the same heart of crime underneath a different skin. It is a total, unacceptable shame. Justice has voted against Bildu, but under the rules of a so-called democratic game, another Tribunal, constituted by and for politicians, has turned the decision. Something must be done, something must be changed.
How can you be sure that Bildu and ETA is the same thing? Simple: Look below at this ETA inmate, minutes after being released from prison, holding a placard in favor of Bildu. It is appalling, gruesome:
The case of Spain against the terrorism is so painful and discouraging; the cause of the victims, of genuine heroism. If there is God above, Justice shall be exerted some-time, some-how, some-where. I can only show here my utter disrespect and hate for the criminals. I wish them to be condemn to never die and be spoilt in hell.
The case of nationalism in Spain, learn this by heart, you stupid morons of the non-Spanish press (who call the ETA separatists) -with or without violence- is unjustified and untrue, hold and impose by evil, greedy motherfuckers for more than a century already... But this is another battle.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Earthquakes
I read yesterday that crowds were escaping from Rome in fear of an earthquake that Raffaele Bendandi (well, well-passed away) allegedly predicted more than 10 years ago to happen on May 11, 2011. Today I saw somewhere that even the Chinese store keepers have been shutting down their business and taking off. My Italian friend V. -who has a flat in Rome for rent- did comment and mock such predictions this morning when I asked her.
The prediction failed because, indeed, the Earth did not move today in Rome, but in a large town in Spain, Lorca, about 40 miles from Murcia, in the SE. It happened in the afternoon, with two main shake-offs of around 5 points in the scale of Richter, preceded and followed by replications of lesser magnitude. Last replication was about 2 hours ago and people are scare to go into their houses for the night. Cornices, facades and even buildings and belfries fell down, panes scattered. Some folks have died and others, wounded.
The area reposes just at the friction region between tectonics (African and Eurasian). Although minor tremblings are common, it seems to exist a pattern of energy peaks released every 60 years of magnitude about 6 points in Richter scale. The last earthquake of this magnitude was that of Granada, 1884.
I must say that the first question that came to my mind when I learned about this was how acquaintances I have there would be affected, if so. I used to drive once a month at least through the area, and stay in Aguilas. I remember this man, head of R&D of the factory in Villaricos for many years, originally from Lorca. He said to me: "I do respect sales people. I myself started as a salesman. I worked for X for just 6 months. I could not make it longer. The first month I was in Lorca and did the job in one week. And I said, this is a piece of cake. Unfortunately, as soon as I tried other areas, I was pretty miserable. And I said, this is not for me".
But also, what about the factory in Alcantarilla? It is just a few miles away from Lorca. And what about the API facility in Alhama? And... Oh, God, I can hardly remember what they make, nor even their names... This two places in Beniel.
I am a little surprise that despite how much and profoundly I dislike my previous job and the tough time I had with it, I miss as much deeply the unique things of it: the travelling and the long nights driving back; the stories clients and customers tell me; the exciting challenges and the bitter disappointments and failures; the being alone most of the time and contemplating the world in silence and tormented by your own cycling thoughts. I was in Aguilas, sitting at the hotel, with the beach behind me, having a beer, a hamburger and a portion of salty almonds at the cantine (in between a noisy crowd), when Carles Pujol score that magnificent goal against Germany during the past World Cup.
A month ago, I walked along the South bank with a peculir Turkish guy of about my age, a muslim. We had been walking for a long time, so we sat down on a bench and start talking about the dull, gullible and depressing things two good men talk about when there is not any woman around to make their lives vibrate. And this guy, C., said to me: "Remember the earthquake in Turkey in 1999? I was at home, a tall building with many stories, surrounded by other tall buildings. The shaking came and 45 seconds after it there was not any building standing, apart from ours... Alberto, 45 seconds! That episode changed my life".
And he asked me: "What is the purpose of your life?".
And did not know what to answer.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
The prediction failed because, indeed, the Earth did not move today in Rome, but in a large town in Spain, Lorca, about 40 miles from Murcia, in the SE. It happened in the afternoon, with two main shake-offs of around 5 points in the scale of Richter, preceded and followed by replications of lesser magnitude. Last replication was about 2 hours ago and people are scare to go into their houses for the night. Cornices, facades and even buildings and belfries fell down, panes scattered. Some folks have died and others, wounded.
The area reposes just at the friction region between tectonics (African and Eurasian). Although minor tremblings are common, it seems to exist a pattern of energy peaks released every 60 years of magnitude about 6 points in Richter scale. The last earthquake of this magnitude was that of Granada, 1884.
I must say that the first question that came to my mind when I learned about this was how acquaintances I have there would be affected, if so. I used to drive once a month at least through the area, and stay in Aguilas. I remember this man, head of R&D of the factory in Villaricos for many years, originally from Lorca. He said to me: "I do respect sales people. I myself started as a salesman. I worked for X for just 6 months. I could not make it longer. The first month I was in Lorca and did the job in one week. And I said, this is a piece of cake. Unfortunately, as soon as I tried other areas, I was pretty miserable. And I said, this is not for me".
But also, what about the factory in Alcantarilla? It is just a few miles away from Lorca. And what about the API facility in Alhama? And... Oh, God, I can hardly remember what they make, nor even their names... This two places in Beniel.
I am a little surprise that despite how much and profoundly I dislike my previous job and the tough time I had with it, I miss as much deeply the unique things of it: the travelling and the long nights driving back; the stories clients and customers tell me; the exciting challenges and the bitter disappointments and failures; the being alone most of the time and contemplating the world in silence and tormented by your own cycling thoughts. I was in Aguilas, sitting at the hotel, with the beach behind me, having a beer, a hamburger and a portion of salty almonds at the cantine (in between a noisy crowd), when Carles Pujol score that magnificent goal against Germany during the past World Cup.
A month ago, I walked along the South bank with a peculir Turkish guy of about my age, a muslim. We had been walking for a long time, so we sat down on a bench and start talking about the dull, gullible and depressing things two good men talk about when there is not any woman around to make their lives vibrate. And this guy, C., said to me: "Remember the earthquake in Turkey in 1999? I was at home, a tall building with many stories, surrounded by other tall buildings. The shaking came and 45 seconds after it there was not any building standing, apart from ours... Alberto, 45 seconds! That episode changed my life".
And he asked me: "What is the purpose of your life?".
And did not know what to answer.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Too much energy
London was indeed beautiful today. The weather is being wonderful for about a month already and even the rain seems sunny. Tones and textures of sky and showers of different lights come and go during the day, in fact, pop in and out hundreds of times in just a few hours. The town is like a actress or a clown rehearsing costumes. In sunny intervals, even the breeze is luminous; in cloudy periods, it turns green as the urban forest (which tends to be this town) dances in huge patches of that color. Gardens, squares and parks are lovely at lunch time; when it comes appropriate I keep thinking how simple and totally inexpensive is to sit on the grass, grab a sandwich and pause for a breath. Light overflows from 5.30 am till more than 8.30 pm. Who said the weather was terrible in this town?
Got to walk through Theobald Rd at lunch time to buy something for the research set-up (I dislike, don't know why, the word "rig"). And there is this placard stuck in a window pane: "Thought for the day: Nietzsche_ Is Man God's Gubler or is God Man's?". I don't understand it. Do you?
I have not being without thoughts today, though. In fact, some could I spare for further developments. But, look. There is this ironmonger store in Theobald Rd managed by two brothers of Indian origin, I figure. It is so old-fashion; there is something odd about the whole thing, the way they look or talk or walk... Don't have any computer but these notebooks to hand write the invoices; and also, a couple of huge binders with prices and discounts typed in nonuniform A4 sheets, stuffed in plastic covers.
They mocked at me because I asked whether or not this product will do the job I need done and they laugh, along with a third customer, "you have to know that, I don't use it, I just sell it". The answer is just too old-fashion, too ridiculous, but I find it sweet. Oh, boy! Had chances today to get crossed for different reasons in different places, according to my normal outbursts but, curiously enough, I did not care. And I felt good.
Too much energy in search for an image, a reputation... What for? That's too old-fashion. I shall think more of myself. And nothing more. Ever, evermore.
While I write this, I listen to this.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Got to walk through Theobald Rd at lunch time to buy something for the research set-up (I dislike, don't know why, the word "rig"). And there is this placard stuck in a window pane: "Thought for the day: Nietzsche_ Is Man God's Gubler or is God Man's?". I don't understand it. Do you?
I have not being without thoughts today, though. In fact, some could I spare for further developments. But, look. There is this ironmonger store in Theobald Rd managed by two brothers of Indian origin, I figure. It is so old-fashion; there is something odd about the whole thing, the way they look or talk or walk... Don't have any computer but these notebooks to hand write the invoices; and also, a couple of huge binders with prices and discounts typed in nonuniform A4 sheets, stuffed in plastic covers.
They mocked at me because I asked whether or not this product will do the job I need done and they laugh, along with a third customer, "you have to know that, I don't use it, I just sell it". The answer is just too old-fashion, too ridiculous, but I find it sweet. Oh, boy! Had chances today to get crossed for different reasons in different places, according to my normal outbursts but, curiously enough, I did not care. And I felt good.
Too much energy in search for an image, a reputation... What for? That's too old-fashion. I shall think more of myself. And nothing more. Ever, evermore.
While I write this, I listen to this.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Monday, May 9, 2011
Four
As I have said already three times that I was off this weekend, I still have to post one more comment to make the balance even... .
FOUR
Injunctions
Two or three Sundays ago, I had breakfast outside a coffee shop and read a couple of magazines in the meantime. The morning was brilliant and sunny. There it was this documentary piece on injunctions. Don't remember exactly, I think it was this lady who wanted to write a book about her life and tell the story of her affair with a politician.Of course, the man was protected by whatever injunction and it was about it. Is it fair? Is it not? And all the questions you can imagine to unroot the real drivers of the case.
The papers have today the case of Jemima Khan and Jeremy Clarkson. Ok, I confess that I had no idea who these people were -until now-. The story is interesting in the sense that some user of twitter (operated from the US, outside UK, according to The Telegraph) has led to stake Miss Khan and her kids, in fact her whole life. It is not the first time. No rules, no laws, like a divine punishment, no race difference nor occupations. But why? What is the purpose? No purpose, just for fun?
It sounds weird that, if accusations were really untrue, someone who finds her picture in the paper in the morning, goes to twitter herself and writes something as much affected as "I've woken up trapped in a bloody nightmare". But, anyhow, now, what? In theory you can track the accuser, but on what grounds? Would be on those of injunction, but that will mean it was true and humiliation will be added on top. Perhaps, on those of libel and slander?
Again, a black abyss in only 150 words. Twitter, an evil curse.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
FOUR
Injunctions
Two or three Sundays ago, I had breakfast outside a coffee shop and read a couple of magazines in the meantime. The morning was brilliant and sunny. There it was this documentary piece on injunctions. Don't remember exactly, I think it was this lady who wanted to write a book about her life and tell the story of her affair with a politician.Of course, the man was protected by whatever injunction and it was about it. Is it fair? Is it not? And all the questions you can imagine to unroot the real drivers of the case.
The papers have today the case of Jemima Khan and Jeremy Clarkson. Ok, I confess that I had no idea who these people were -until now-. The story is interesting in the sense that some user of twitter (operated from the US, outside UK, according to The Telegraph) has led to stake Miss Khan and her kids, in fact her whole life. It is not the first time. No rules, no laws, like a divine punishment, no race difference nor occupations. But why? What is the purpose? No purpose, just for fun?
It sounds weird that, if accusations were really untrue, someone who finds her picture in the paper in the morning, goes to twitter herself and writes something as much affected as "I've woken up trapped in a bloody nightmare". But, anyhow, now, what? In theory you can track the accuser, but on what grounds? Would be on those of injunction, but that will mean it was true and humiliation will be added on top. Perhaps, on those of libel and slander?
Again, a black abyss in only 150 words. Twitter, an evil curse.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Three
I don't remember very well, but I would say that I said before that I spend the weekend off -not to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz- but off somewhere else in the West of UK, close, close to Ilfracombe on one side and Stonehenge, on the other... And so, I still have a thin row of two comments to make.
THREE
Watch This
Would you say that societies are being more vulgar than before, let say, 30 or 50 years ago?... I believe so. In fact, it might be the only real problem with us. As I mentioned sometime before, every day should be a battle against mediocrity. (Some day I must face such battle with this blog).
My good friend G. draw my attention a couple of weeks ago about this series in the 60s with Leonard Bernstein imparting some insight on pop music. I find it sweet and interest, not at all mediocre, and a good start point to regeneration. I am sure that S. will enjoy it, providing he did not watch it before.
After a good introduction to the social facts of that music in the 60s, Bernstein says: "Pop music raises lots of questions, but for openers, two of them concern me the most: why do adults resent it? Why do I like it?". Hahahaha, like it.
What do you think?
THREE
Watch This
Would you say that societies are being more vulgar than before, let say, 30 or 50 years ago?... I believe so. In fact, it might be the only real problem with us. As I mentioned sometime before, every day should be a battle against mediocrity. (Some day I must face such battle with this blog).
My good friend G. draw my attention a couple of weeks ago about this series in the 60s with Leonard Bernstein imparting some insight on pop music. I find it sweet and interest, not at all mediocre, and a good start point to regeneration. I am sure that S. will enjoy it, providing he did not watch it before.
After a good introduction to the social facts of that music in the 60s, Bernstein says: "Pop music raises lots of questions, but for openers, two of them concern me the most: why do adults resent it? Why do I like it?". Hahahaha, like it.
What do you think?
Two
I think I said I was off for the weekend to the cliffs, undulated hills and green meadows of Devon and Somerset. The night is tenderly falling now on to London; I have an opened window behind me, breeze and all, and the chirping of birds finding their way trough the silence between tracks of my music. And as I was off for the weekend, I still have a row of three comments to make.
TWO
A Story for a Flight
During my flight back to London last week, I read a couple of stories by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Have you heard about her? I had not... . She was American, a riding life between two centuries. Seemingly a well-known feminist, she killed herself in 1935, one year after her husband death.
Did not enjoy much The Yellow Wallpaper, but Turned is a breath-taking story. I have asked myself how I would react myself if I come back home after a business trip and my wife is gone with my kids because she found out something terrible about me? I would probably be gnawed inside, hopelessly tormented all the time... Would I kill myself? Seems like there would be not any place on Earth to relieve my regrets and clog the wounds. No religion could alleviate my bitter sorrow; no language would have the words required to apologize; no tenderness, to repair the damage.
But this man is after them and eventually finds them, his wife and the little, innocent Gerta embracing her son in her arms. Well, their son. "And the woman who had been his wife asked quietly: 'What have you to say to us?'". And end of the story.
Charlotte P. Gilman
TWO
A Story for a Flight
During my flight back to London last week, I read a couple of stories by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Have you heard about her? I had not... . She was American, a riding life between two centuries. Seemingly a well-known feminist, she killed herself in 1935, one year after her husband death.
Did not enjoy much The Yellow Wallpaper, but Turned is a breath-taking story. I have asked myself how I would react myself if I come back home after a business trip and my wife is gone with my kids because she found out something terrible about me? I would probably be gnawed inside, hopelessly tormented all the time... Would I kill myself? Seems like there would be not any place on Earth to relieve my regrets and clog the wounds. No religion could alleviate my bitter sorrow; no language would have the words required to apologize; no tenderness, to repair the damage.
But this man is after them and eventually finds them, his wife and the little, innocent Gerta embracing her son in her arms. Well, their son. "And the woman who had been his wife asked quietly: 'What have you to say to us?'". And end of the story.
One
I've been off this past weekend and I have a row of four comments pending.
ONE
The Matrix of Facebook
Facebook is a virtual reality. Facebook is a would-be space where everyone is what he would like to be: good-looking, funny, healthy, happy and full of friends. What an abyss from reality! I could give you here a few good examples and anecdotes, but I won't.
A column in a magazine I quickly glanced at this weekend states that Facebook is something like a game to be play alone while actually being accompanied. That is, I understand, that the facebooker prefers to be by himself but he is actually in company of others. However, I think it is just the opposite: facebook is the planet where you play to be a social animal when, in many cases, you are scared to death to faceyourself, alone.
There is this place to have a sandwich and a cup of coffee here around Muswell Hill, one of these places too depressing, too gloomy not to get crazy when you walk by and across. I am sure you know places like this one. And, inside, there you find this man of about 50 or 60, alone, sucking the light of his laptop in front of him and a cup of coffee, consumed and dried, with the borders of the color of black muck, you know how it is, when you finish a bad coffee and leave it there for a while... I walk across and notice the man is in facebook, scrolling up and down the blue array of photographs and comments.
What a contradiction, hm?
Pure sadness. Fucked loneliness.
ONE
The Matrix of Facebook
Facebook is a virtual reality. Facebook is a would-be space where everyone is what he would like to be: good-looking, funny, healthy, happy and full of friends. What an abyss from reality! I could give you here a few good examples and anecdotes, but I won't.
A column in a magazine I quickly glanced at this weekend states that Facebook is something like a game to be play alone while actually being accompanied. That is, I understand, that the facebooker prefers to be by himself but he is actually in company of others. However, I think it is just the opposite: facebook is the planet where you play to be a social animal when, in many cases, you are scared to death to faceyourself, alone.
There is this place to have a sandwich and a cup of coffee here around Muswell Hill, one of these places too depressing, too gloomy not to get crazy when you walk by and across. I am sure you know places like this one. And, inside, there you find this man of about 50 or 60, alone, sucking the light of his laptop in front of him and a cup of coffee, consumed and dried, with the borders of the color of black muck, you know how it is, when you finish a bad coffee and leave it there for a while... I walk across and notice the man is in facebook, scrolling up and down the blue array of photographs and comments.
What a contradiction, hm?
Pure sadness. Fucked loneliness.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Beware the press
I guess the Evening Standard fulfills a social function: echoing people complaints and judicial needs. Almost everyday you find in its pages one case, irrelevant but catchy and, sometimes, appealing. Today, for instance, we have these photographs of a bull-terrier savaging cattle. Of course, the owner of the animal and the dog escaped before the police came. And here you have the social function of the paper. I guess the owner of the calf attacked turned to the paper in order to raise the investigation and spread knowledge to public, hoping to catch the fugitive and be vindicated.
I came in the tube thinking that this resource of using a paper to scandalize the readers and draw the attention of the main public in order to get some justice is gregarious and primitive. The reason is simple: it leans on the force of a group, a mass. On the contrary, progress means the recognition of the individuality and, as such, human rights and fundamental constitutions are written in terms of individuals. Thus, the weak and invalid have the same rights as the powerful and rich, and they all are equal before the law.
And here it is my suggestion. Get on with your own business! Help people out! Gain money helping people get some justice. If you are efficient, hard-working and lucky enough, people will happily pay for seeing their grievances justified and the offenders behind bars. You would be sharp enough to solve the case and have a fair and swift sentence.
Hope you understand what I meant, I can't stay more. I am tired, really, awfully tired and need to go to bed now.
(LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
I came in the tube thinking that this resource of using a paper to scandalize the readers and draw the attention of the main public in order to get some justice is gregarious and primitive. The reason is simple: it leans on the force of a group, a mass. On the contrary, progress means the recognition of the individuality and, as such, human rights and fundamental constitutions are written in terms of individuals. Thus, the weak and invalid have the same rights as the powerful and rich, and they all are equal before the law.
And here it is my suggestion. Get on with your own business! Help people out! Gain money helping people get some justice. If you are efficient, hard-working and lucky enough, people will happily pay for seeing their grievances justified and the offenders behind bars. You would be sharp enough to solve the case and have a fair and swift sentence.
Hope you understand what I meant, I can't stay more. I am tired, really, awfully tired and need to go to bed now.
(LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Would you really care for knowledge?
I told the story of L. few weeks back. The guy works for Chevron and came kind of to supervise my/our work. In two-phase flow of two immiscible liquids, in a horizontal pipe, both phases will remain perfectly separated. If you pump them, the flow will be stratified, although interfacial waves will develop at a very early stage (i.e. slow superficial velocities of each phase). If the superficial velocities of the phases are the same, and the mixture velocity sufficiently high, interfacial waves are observed. Why? What is the nature of those waves and the mechanism behind?
L. posed the question. I can say here, with no pretension nor to set any precedence, that I had asked such question myself before. In many papers and publications it is stated -lightly, I would say- that superficial waves develop from differences in the relative velocity of the phases. Nevertheless, it is a simple matter to observe that if the relative velocity is 0 (i.e., both phases move at the same speed or, in practical terms, at very similar ones), waves do grow when the mixture velocity (overall flow) is increased. So the question pops out naturally: why?
The day before my presentation L. must have been in Imperial College, where someone else suggested that the main reason for interfacial waves to develop is the difference in viscosity between phases. From there, the corresponding output of shear forces generates the so-called Yih instability. L. spoke of it as something new; and someone else was not even able to spell correctly Yeh, know nothing about him, in spite of being studying two-phase flows for one decade and a half.
Few days later I got surprised of learning that the Yih instability is based on a 1967-paper and today I was shock to discover that Chia-Shun Yih collected a large and interesting deal of fluid mechanics topics in a book as early as 1969; among that, a whole chapter dedicated to instabilities.
And I came to think of a science-fiction world where the useful knowledge is forgotten in old and carefully elaborated volumes, shut down under dusty hard-covers; a world where knowledge has been relegated to a second line. Could it be possible to have in the real world a constellation of researchers in academia fighting so badly for a position to the extend of acquiring experimental data and messing up with too-partial models for the sake of publication, ignoring the well-known, dedicated and genuine knowledge and clouding the ocean of wisdom? How much of the knowledge available are experts actually conscious of it?
I am sure I will expand and elaborate more this idea and come back to it some other time.
(PLEASE, LEAVE A COMMENT)
L. posed the question. I can say here, with no pretension nor to set any precedence, that I had asked such question myself before. In many papers and publications it is stated -lightly, I would say- that superficial waves develop from differences in the relative velocity of the phases. Nevertheless, it is a simple matter to observe that if the relative velocity is 0 (i.e., both phases move at the same speed or, in practical terms, at very similar ones), waves do grow when the mixture velocity (overall flow) is increased. So the question pops out naturally: why?
The day before my presentation L. must have been in Imperial College, where someone else suggested that the main reason for interfacial waves to develop is the difference in viscosity between phases. From there, the corresponding output of shear forces generates the so-called Yih instability. L. spoke of it as something new; and someone else was not even able to spell correctly Yeh, know nothing about him, in spite of being studying two-phase flows for one decade and a half.
Few days later I got surprised of learning that the Yih instability is based on a 1967-paper and today I was shock to discover that Chia-Shun Yih collected a large and interesting deal of fluid mechanics topics in a book as early as 1969; among that, a whole chapter dedicated to instabilities.
And I came to think of a science-fiction world where the useful knowledge is forgotten in old and carefully elaborated volumes, shut down under dusty hard-covers; a world where knowledge has been relegated to a second line. Could it be possible to have in the real world a constellation of researchers in academia fighting so badly for a position to the extend of acquiring experimental data and messing up with too-partial models for the sake of publication, ignoring the well-known, dedicated and genuine knowledge and clouding the ocean of wisdom? How much of the knowledge available are experts actually conscious of it?
I am sure I will expand and elaborate more this idea and come back to it some other time.
(PLEASE, LEAVE A COMMENT)
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Madrid
Was tired, very tired last night. Now, luch time. Got 5 or 10 minutes to write. Running late, although I was up this morning way before 6. Beatiful sunny dawn in London.
***
For my coming back yesterday, I santified the old customs. It used to be a time when the trip Salamanca - Madrid was a mystery full of excitement. We used to move into the big metropoli to do something. The road and, mainly, the city was an enormeous unknown.
Afterwards, holding a job consisting in travelling most of the time, there was not a single stone in the highway retaining a pinch of mystery: the whole thing was degraded and secularized. And thus, I did my trip on the bus yesterday as in the old times.
Madrid was splendorous, in the sun and in the raging hail. El Retiro was at its best, fresh and splendorous. I saw dozens of young people perfectly able to work and produce and to fulfill themselves in the metro, most of them probably jobless. Dozens of them in the metro, a nice metro, ample and clean. I said to myself, don't they have to go to work? Are they working? If not, what a pity, why is it not anybody saying, I will help you do what you what, just do your thing. Being jobless in a jobless bubble is like to prostitute yourself, always and only thinking in how to sell yourself... And still, I insist, dozens of normal, fine, healthy, young, able people to work and produce... Jobless, troubled in the morning, in the metro.
What is it going on?
What a magnificent city Madrid is! In my Universe, the warmest, the coolest, the prettiest of all. No London -a worl-class town, the greatest shows on Earth, speak proud Londoners of themselves-, no London, no shit.
Ok, gotta go now... Took 15 minutes.
***
For my coming back yesterday, I santified the old customs. It used to be a time when the trip Salamanca - Madrid was a mystery full of excitement. We used to move into the big metropoli to do something. The road and, mainly, the city was an enormeous unknown.
Afterwards, holding a job consisting in travelling most of the time, there was not a single stone in the highway retaining a pinch of mystery: the whole thing was degraded and secularized. And thus, I did my trip on the bus yesterday as in the old times.
Madrid was splendorous, in the sun and in the raging hail. El Retiro was at its best, fresh and splendorous. I saw dozens of young people perfectly able to work and produce and to fulfill themselves in the metro, most of them probably jobless. Dozens of them in the metro, a nice metro, ample and clean. I said to myself, don't they have to go to work? Are they working? If not, what a pity, why is it not anybody saying, I will help you do what you what, just do your thing. Being jobless in a jobless bubble is like to prostitute yourself, always and only thinking in how to sell yourself... And still, I insist, dozens of normal, fine, healthy, young, able people to work and produce... Jobless, troubled in the morning, in the metro.
What is it going on?
What a magnificent city Madrid is! In my Universe, the warmest, the coolest, the prettiest of all. No London -a worl-class town, the greatest shows on Earth, speak proud Londoners of themselves-, no London, no shit.
Ok, gotta go now... Took 15 minutes.
Monday, May 2, 2011
And now, Osama
"We want justice_ we want Osama alive or dead", George W. Bush uttered few years back, recalling the "wanted" placards of Hollywood Westerns, one could imagine in a cockney accent. And, in spite of all the scorn and scame spit on the former US President, the European leaders have embraced the sentence today, in a disgusting exercise of hypocryte global politics. Particularly, here in Spain -I got upset at dinner time-, the hienna and carrion-eaters of local politics have being using the unfortunate expression "the world is safer today without Ben Laden", paraphrasing Bush in regards to Sadam Hussein. Oh, it´s vomiting. Why? Why is the world safer?!
To begin with, to kill Osama is not justice, but revenge. As far as I know, and in understanding of the circumstances of the war on terrorism, of course, Justice operates in court and is independent on everything else.
But the most aggravating aspect of all declarations is the assimilation of Spanish 11-M attacks to Ben Laden or, generally, to Al-Qaeda. From Hilary Clinton to the hienna and carrion-eaters of local politics, it is considered doctrine, a fact, a displeasant mantra, that 11-M attacks were operated by islamic terrorist. That´s a lie! Osama nor Al-Qaeda have ever claimed themselves authors of the bombings, nor even no one in the name of Islam. In fact, the evidence is against it. In fact, we have no fucking idea who did it, though the suspicion is terrible. What we know is that the evidence was to a incredible degree made vanished; that testimonies in trial were faked; that three days afterwards the bombings one Government was displaced from power.
You are hiennas and carrion-eaters! You dishonest bastards of black and stony hearts! You cold bitches of evil, who hypocritically chocke yourself in affected words full of bullshit and deny JUSTICE to the victims of 193 people plus the 1500 wounded and mutilated in the center of the capital of Spain. You blatant liers, shameless perjurers. Where is Justice against you? What can we do against you? Who is there to protect us?
Fuck you!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
To begin with, to kill Osama is not justice, but revenge. As far as I know, and in understanding of the circumstances of the war on terrorism, of course, Justice operates in court and is independent on everything else.
But the most aggravating aspect of all declarations is the assimilation of Spanish 11-M attacks to Ben Laden or, generally, to Al-Qaeda. From Hilary Clinton to the hienna and carrion-eaters of local politics, it is considered doctrine, a fact, a displeasant mantra, that 11-M attacks were operated by islamic terrorist. That´s a lie! Osama nor Al-Qaeda have ever claimed themselves authors of the bombings, nor even no one in the name of Islam. In fact, the evidence is against it. In fact, we have no fucking idea who did it, though the suspicion is terrible. What we know is that the evidence was to a incredible degree made vanished; that testimonies in trial were faked; that three days afterwards the bombings one Government was displaced from power.
You are hiennas and carrion-eaters! You dishonest bastards of black and stony hearts! You cold bitches of evil, who hypocritically chocke yourself in affected words full of bullshit and deny JUSTICE to the victims of 193 people plus the 1500 wounded and mutilated in the center of the capital of Spain. You blatant liers, shameless perjurers. Where is Justice against you? What can we do against you? Who is there to protect us?
Fuck you!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Of course, the Wedding
In many occasions I found myself living somewhere else and upon my return to Spain for a few days discovered that everyone knew more about the news from the place I was than myself. The British Royal Wedding has not being an exception. My sister, my mum, people and people, they all know the names and miracles of the characters attending William and Katherine´s Royal betrothal and I did not. Let´say they got 9 out of 10 in the test; my mark was only 2.
I don´t know how popular Monarchy is, don´t have any idea. Of course, you see different manifestations of all kinds, but it is not feasible to do a fair account of what´s going on. At least, I can´t. I don´t see any problem with having a handful of people enjoying certaing priviledges as long as theyt fulfill their obligations. In fact, will most of the people find priviledges in being a king or a princess if they assume their duties fully?
I don´t mind either paying the salary to these people. Why should I? It does not sound right, it is true, but if you make comparisons with other social parasites (I am thinking of large beehives of politicians, mainly), the amount taking by kings and queens is meagre.
Monarchs and Royal Houses are not equal to us! And it is good to keep it this way. There should be only one point of equanimy between them and us, a symbol of modern times: we are all equal before the law. And law shall be enforce upon the kings too! So if any prince, X, possesses and consumes illegal drugs, for instance, just apply the law. I guess, it seems to be some problem here, so: where is it?
Here at home, someone said that being William a little far from the succesory chain, the wedding was not entirely "of State" and thus the contracting bride and groom and the Royal house could invite friends and acquaintances from different circles. Is it like this? If so, you see? I disagree. Monarchs and Princes do not have friends! Shoud not! They only should have obligations. That´s why we keep Monarchy. If they are entitled as different, apart from equals before the law, they must be super-humans, they shall render their lifes and sacrifices themselves in the name of the nation they represent and they command.
If these premises are fulfilled, Monarchy is preferable to any Republic, in my opinion, at least here in Spain, where the historical balance does not give out many arguments for Republican optimism. A healthy, examplary Monarchy can be a great asset for any country.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
I don´t know how popular Monarchy is, don´t have any idea. Of course, you see different manifestations of all kinds, but it is not feasible to do a fair account of what´s going on. At least, I can´t. I don´t see any problem with having a handful of people enjoying certaing priviledges as long as theyt fulfill their obligations. In fact, will most of the people find priviledges in being a king or a princess if they assume their duties fully?
I don´t mind either paying the salary to these people. Why should I? It does not sound right, it is true, but if you make comparisons with other social parasites (I am thinking of large beehives of politicians, mainly), the amount taking by kings and queens is meagre.
Monarchs and Royal Houses are not equal to us! And it is good to keep it this way. There should be only one point of equanimy between them and us, a symbol of modern times: we are all equal before the law. And law shall be enforce upon the kings too! So if any prince, X, possesses and consumes illegal drugs, for instance, just apply the law. I guess, it seems to be some problem here, so: where is it?
Here at home, someone said that being William a little far from the succesory chain, the wedding was not entirely "of State" and thus the contracting bride and groom and the Royal house could invite friends and acquaintances from different circles. Is it like this? If so, you see? I disagree. Monarchs and Princes do not have friends! Shoud not! They only should have obligations. That´s why we keep Monarchy. If they are entitled as different, apart from equals before the law, they must be super-humans, they shall render their lifes and sacrifices themselves in the name of the nation they represent and they command.
If these premises are fulfilled, Monarchy is preferable to any Republic, in my opinion, at least here in Spain, where the historical balance does not give out many arguments for Republican optimism. A healthy, examplary Monarchy can be a great asset for any country.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
A priviliged father-son relationship?
It is quite intriguing to me how two modelic and smart, very controversial and independent journalists in Spain today, -made themselves free against charges and offenses of all types from the bad guys of the establishment; two genuine drinkers of the bitter chalice all year round- have allowed theirs sons to write irrelevant and, perhaps, pretentious comments in Libertad Digital (LD), the online paper their parents founded, an oasis of fresh, brilliant ideas, at least in 2003 when I started reading it.
Let me see if I can understand it on my own in the time I write this.
On the son´s shore, it is not big deal; most of the young are all irrelevant and rampantly pretentious -I was, I am, although I wish I wasn´t. There are positive angles, though, from where to see the diamond. My experience is that being abroad is not necesarily an easy mosaic of wild parties but, in turns, can be quite difficult and lonesome. In addition, I like to believe that to feel the urgency of writing or communicating your experiences -a sharp break in the so-far familiar world- reflects the surface of an interior stream of water that needs to be brought outside and overflow. And that might be a good thing, the due raw material from which to set the mechanisms in motion and conduct the internal energy somewhere else. (Of course, it is not neccesarily a good thing).
If the parents are the ones who asked their sons to write, the proposal only makes sense to me if the boys are to account for those articles as experience overseas (but not in Spain). Otherwise, the work will only suit them to remain in the warmth of the friends circle created by their parents, mainly one of them; anywhere else in Spain, they will be totally unremarkable at best, unless they prove themselves on their own.
My surprise, though, is with the writing intself in LD. The paper might lose quality and credibility, if it´s too much. LD started mainly as a collection of comments and opinions in columns precisely and brilliantly written. It blew out my mind when I discovered it, because nowhere else I could readily hear such points of view (those of liberalism, in European sense), without smear and offense; the age of Internet allowed also for complementing any particular insight in dozens of places more, thorugh other original readings and audio and video files. In a nutshell, LD was an oasis in an ocean of correctness and controlled hypocrisy.
And my only point of view is that LD should remain this: a sharp blade against mediocrity. Due to its contents and demands, writing in LD for a youngster should be like reaching heaven, an achievement of tremendous proportions.
Other questions are: what Jimenez Losantos and Cesar Vidal do think about it? What is it their stand on the quality of theis sons´ columns?... Oh, oh, perhaps... They were not the ones who asked... Someone like the editor (a youngster) gives a ring to one of them and says: I will ask your son (or daughter) to write an article about.... Then, they argue a little and finally, the answer: well, ok, ask him (her) and see what he (she) thinks. Or, could the kids themselves have entreated to write?
If I were a journalist and had the chance to interview them, that would be certainly questions I´d make. It is a very surprising and interesting topic to me, you know? This loving-obligated, father-son type of priviledge relationship. Where does it come from? Why? What is its nature?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Let me see if I can understand it on my own in the time I write this.
On the son´s shore, it is not big deal; most of the young are all irrelevant and rampantly pretentious -I was, I am, although I wish I wasn´t. There are positive angles, though, from where to see the diamond. My experience is that being abroad is not necesarily an easy mosaic of wild parties but, in turns, can be quite difficult and lonesome. In addition, I like to believe that to feel the urgency of writing or communicating your experiences -a sharp break in the so-far familiar world- reflects the surface of an interior stream of water that needs to be brought outside and overflow. And that might be a good thing, the due raw material from which to set the mechanisms in motion and conduct the internal energy somewhere else. (Of course, it is not neccesarily a good thing).
If the parents are the ones who asked their sons to write, the proposal only makes sense to me if the boys are to account for those articles as experience overseas (but not in Spain). Otherwise, the work will only suit them to remain in the warmth of the friends circle created by their parents, mainly one of them; anywhere else in Spain, they will be totally unremarkable at best, unless they prove themselves on their own.
My surprise, though, is with the writing intself in LD. The paper might lose quality and credibility, if it´s too much. LD started mainly as a collection of comments and opinions in columns precisely and brilliantly written. It blew out my mind when I discovered it, because nowhere else I could readily hear such points of view (those of liberalism, in European sense), without smear and offense; the age of Internet allowed also for complementing any particular insight in dozens of places more, thorugh other original readings and audio and video files. In a nutshell, LD was an oasis in an ocean of correctness and controlled hypocrisy.
And my only point of view is that LD should remain this: a sharp blade against mediocrity. Due to its contents and demands, writing in LD for a youngster should be like reaching heaven, an achievement of tremendous proportions.
Other questions are: what Jimenez Losantos and Cesar Vidal do think about it? What is it their stand on the quality of theis sons´ columns?... Oh, oh, perhaps... They were not the ones who asked... Someone like the editor (a youngster) gives a ring to one of them and says: I will ask your son (or daughter) to write an article about.... Then, they argue a little and finally, the answer: well, ok, ask him (her) and see what he (she) thinks. Or, could the kids themselves have entreated to write?
If I were a journalist and had the chance to interview them, that would be certainly questions I´d make. It is a very surprising and interesting topic to me, you know? This loving-obligated, father-son type of priviledge relationship. Where does it come from? Why? What is its nature?
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