Mexico, bien pinche pretencioso

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, June 30, 2011

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me gustaría hablar de lo que me hizo pensar hoy. pero esto de hacer posts, publicar algo escrito hace a las cosas muy legitimas. y no creo que nada de mi opinión a cerca del tema sea digno de legitimar, ya que es mucho más complejo que un simple post perdido en el mundo.

El tema es de los indígenas en México.
pero en verdad es una critica antropológica a la cultura occidental y a la construcción de la realidad.

Veran, hay dos corrientes muy notables cuando se trata de los indigenas:

1) La más común, jurarse colonial y discriminar a "los pinches inditos" que seguro nada saben, nada entienden, no tienen tele ni carro. Son pobres porque no son blancos y no van a colegios ni universidades, pero bueno, pobrecitos hay que ver si les podemos mandar unas limosnas.

2) Menos común: Las bases de la cultura mexicana, la verdadera cultura madre de donde todos partimos y de la cual deberíamos estar todos bastante orgullosos. En sus valores se mantiene la rectitud, la honra y todo aquello honorable en la condición humana, y su conexión con la naturaleza denota un entendimiento superior del funcionamiento de las relaciones humano-ambiente-espíritu.


Como en todo estereotipo, la mayoría se encuentra en algún punto entre los dos extremos. Si estas leyendo esto, lo más seguro es que sea tender hacia la 2, y seguro esperas que este post te de medio la razón. pues no.

Creo que ambas posturas tienen sus vicios y desfaces de la realidad.

La primera me parece obvia. Culturas diferentes, respeto, derechos humanos, no eres pinche junacamanei (sp), bájale de huevos, date cuenta que eres un retrograda de quinta si te cruza poquito por la cabeza. ( en el -todosevale- diría que cada quien, pero ahora si que con esto no)

Mis problemas con la visión 2 son varios, y el más grande de todos es con la gente que se jura super-socialmente-consciente sintiendo mucho orgullo por sus raíces indigenas, las cuales aprecia desde lo más honda, porque como Mexicano se reconoce parte de una herencia indigena.
Por favor, dense cuenta que idioma hablan, dense cuenta que religión profesa la mayoría de la población, abran los ojos hacia los ideales que imponemos sobre nuestra sociedad.

No-pinchen-mamen más herencia española-europea no podríamos tener, y no veo a nadie comprando camisas típicas ibéricas o investigando profecías de folclore español. Y eso es porque en todos lados en México se esfuerzan mucho por enaltecer nuestra herencia indígena, vea nada más por favor el fervor por el arte prehispánico. Cuando en realidad los grupos indígenas en México son los más vulnerables, marginados y subyugados por el sistema.

Comprate todas las pulceritas chiapanecas que quieras, ponte blusitas de manta en verano, y si quieres presume tus huaraches (super in) que compraste en San Cristobal. Eso no cambia que los pueblos indígenas esten olvidados en su mayoría, tratando de sobrevivir el hostil sistema que tratamos de imponer en todo lo que se mueve.

Bajo ninguna circunstancia estoy negando las raíces indigenas del país, están ahí, pero me parece ridículo que se busque enaltecer sus valores, siendo que en verdad muy poco se hace por buscar equidad. Se habla de mantener tradiciones vivas, se habla de ayudar a las comunidades, de hacer programas para ponerles pisos y carreteras. ¿Pero nos detenemos a pensar en la búsqueda de equidad, de ver como somos culturas diferentes, pero iguales?

El segundo punto por el que creo que esta pretensión está "equivocada" es por el hecho que elevar a un concepto tan romántico estos valores y cultura, al grado de hacerlos ver como el modo utópico de vida soslayado por el cruel hombre blanco, en mi opinión lo aleja. Alejas a la cultura haciéndolo un icono de pureza y rectitud, y lo alejas de tal manera que se vuelve ajeno completamente a una realidad, se vuelve más bien una letanía de una sociedad perdida.

Este tipo de idealización provoca la desvinculación, a la ya de por si perdida cultura. Además, vale la pena considerar que esta visión es completamente sesgada y subjetiva. No que haya otro tipo de visión. Pero hay que darnos cuenta quien lo está viendo, y esos somos nosotros, una cultura occidentalizada, siervos del neo liberalismo, atormentados/amortiguados por el post-modernismo. (al que le quede, pongaselo). Hay que darnos cuenta que estas son visiones de NOSOTROS a cerca de ELLOS, en su mayoría tienen un trasfondo de querer ser políticamente correctos al contar a cerca de la vida indígena desde nuestros paradigmas y concepciones propias.


Obviamente ya me di en la torre, asumiendo que esto es también una visión des contextualizada.

Sería imposible hacer una visión objetiva, pero esto no es lo que se busca. Lo que trato de decir, más que nada, es que debemos percatarnos que cualquier intento nuestro por percibir la cultura ajena y enaltecerla o degradarla la aleja de la equidad.

Abramos los ojos, veamos otras realidades, pero no perdamos de vista nuestros ojos mismos. Y aguas, porque el daltonismo puede no diagnosticarse nunca.

Adiós.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , , | Posted on Wednesday, June 29, 2011

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Y por las malas aprendimos a no querernos, a enterrarnos cuando el corazón apretaba, a quedarnos callados, a no escribir sobre los desamores a la luz de la vela.
¿Cómo te dejo si eres el muso de mi desencanto? ¿Si hace tanto que no escribo?
Lo malo del dolor es que a veces se disfruta, lo bueno es que mata.
Eso pasa por querer abrazarnos con los puños cerrados, con los ojos abiertos y los labios ardiendo.
Adiós.

Pop

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, June 28, 2011

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Blogs were supposed to be this sort of proto-tumblr where one would tell his adventures in the web right? I mean, nowadays it's rather a collection of pseudo-diary records/opinions with poetic/political aspirations. I'm 100% sure I've talked about this before, but who cares (remembers)?

Today I'll show you I'm the penguin at his most pop. Showing you one of my favorite photographers, which in the eyes of alternative/hipsters would be sacrilege for being so commercial, but ask me if I care. He's a father fucking genius.

Without further ado, I present you very talented: David LaChapelle













must see: this, and this
I don't want your ugly, I don't want your disease, because in the long run it's not gonna be free

Atento en estos días de calor.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Monday, June 27, 2011

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Tómate tu tiempo. Respira profundamente para mantener el pulso.
Se que la emoción y la ansiedad pueden estar muy presentes, pero es clave mantener la calma.
Observa como se mueve y no hagas nada, al menos las primeras tres veces que decida detenerse convenientemente frente a ti. Parecerá que la estás dejando ir por siempre, pero repito, no desesperes. Las herramientas son importantes, pero no demasiado. No seas muy pretencioso, tus manos hábiles pueden ser suficiente si has sido entrenado en estas complicadas artes.
Ya que tengas bien estudiados sus movimientos, no lo medites demasiado y lánzate, rápido pero preciso (tener un fondo contrastante puede ser muy útil). Si no estás usando herramientas, tendrás que cerrar la mano en el momento preciso y atraparla. A mucha gente le da asco hacer esto a mano limpia por lo que recomendamos usar algún tipo de protección o artefacto, al menos las primeras veces.
Atento, que en estos días de calor abundan sobre todo moscas con relleno. A nadie le gustaría abrir la mano para encontrarse con una pasta de huérfanas larvas amarillas retorciéndose.

Zooranting

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, June 26, 2011

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When we are 50, what will I remember about now?

That's a question that has got me thinking a lot lately, because of course we will all have idealized versions of what our youth was, but how much will I have to back up that idealism? At some point I feel a little overwhelmed with the responsibility I have to my own future, and that's just ridiculously neurotic.
I'm that character am I not? The worrying owl.

I can cling on to the ideas and the friends, which are the best there is. i suppose. And the shinning wit and the passion for irony. The bonobos and bitch fight clubs. There's some unicorn dancing on the way, somewhere.


Thinking about the characters we are I remembered our talk, and my posts. And like you said, there are characters we can only play with some people, and if they're gone, there goes our role. And while I love the dramatic penguin and the freaky owl, I wish I could get the part of the quirky wolf more often. There's something about wishing and entropy that is fun just to leave out there.

Because there's little or no difference between nostalgia and yearning for the future. And there is such a romantic feel to nostalgia.

Que añito.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Saturday, June 25, 2011

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Me dices, "No eres tú." y te digo "No eres tú."
Ese es precisamente el problema: nunca fuimos nosotros.
Y te puedo decir que me gustas cuando callas, y buscar esta noche tu boca en otra boca.
Decidir irme de exploradora y agradecerte por ser un embustero.
Quizás lo haga, quizás llore ahora y ría luego.
Pero no. Ni voy a escribir los versos más tristes ésta noche, ni me mato si te muertes.

Lo único que pienso es:
"Vaya, que añito."

Presente vendado

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, June 24, 2011

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Hoy leí esto


"El hombre atraviesa el presente con los ojos vendados, sólo puede intuir y adivinar lo que de verdad está viviendo; y después, cuando le quitan la venda de los ojos, puede mirar al pasado y comprobar qué es lo que ha vivido y cuál era su sentido."
Kundera

En cierto modo es la excusa perfecta que he buscado por años para ser tan ausente, para armar presente una vez terminado, atesorarlo como nunca fue y esperar un futuro que jamás será como lo esperaba. Pero quizá solo era yo.no, a fin de cuentas todos pecamos de soñadores que no?

Cuando se sufre de una insoportable levedad, no queda más que asumir que la única manera de amar al presente es verlo hacia atrás, que el tiempo juega con nosotros porque nos atrapa siempre unos cuantos segundos en el futuro, esperando luces que no se verán, dejando pasar instantes fugaces que tardaran siglos en volver.

Y te preguntas entonces, qué diablos es el presente si no un sin fin de pequeños pedazos que llegan antes de que te des cuenta, y de la misma forma se van. Solo queda estar lo más atento posible al segundo que pasó y esperar que nos demos cuenta que nos quemamos antes de que llegue al hueso.


-If you spend all your life with one foot on the past and the other in the future, you'll end up pissing on the present.- QaF

Salty

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Thursday, June 23, 2011

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And if you’re good when your body dies, will they use your bones to salt the skies?

Driftless Pony Club

If I die now all I want from you is to remember who I am and who I've always been.
If I die now what is the point of all my memories? It won't be long until they're gone you'll see.

Friska Viljor
remember this post?
Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too many to mention.

Morrissey
when singing 'My Way'

Sabes que

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, June 22, 2011

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Sabes que eres bien pinche raro cuando...

te das cuenta que ya hiciste un habito el encontrar un grupo de gente nueva y sospechar que uno tiene capacidad leementes; comenzar a confundirlo y tratar de jugar con su mente por si acaso interrumpe la privacidad de tu fortalezadesoledad.



Sabes que ya valió madres el crush cuando...

en una sola conversación te dice "ay amigo" más de tres veces. #foreveralone


Sabes que ya eres un #universitariopretencioso cuando...

tus ultimas tres conversaciones necesitaron que usaras la frase -cambio de paradigmas-





Sabes que ya valió madres tu inspiración para hacer posts cuando...

...










La canción.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , , | Posted on Tuesday, June 21, 2011

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Suena una guitarrita sin corazón.

Y pensamos que nos habla, que nos está dirigiendo la palabra. Mientras hacemos muecas al recordar ese último momento sin querer se ríe y toca algo más alegre. Para no perdernos, para tenernos al borde de la silla. Y luego regresa a su son desalmado.

Ya nos tiene ahí y lo sabe. Te dice cosas que solo tu podrías saber, como si te hubiera estado siguiendo todo este tiempo, esperando el momento adecuado para introducir una percusión que cale.

A veces cala porque dice la verdad, a veces por decir las mentiras que querías escuchar.
Y al final, querrás cambiar de melodía, pero la verdad es que estás solo, y sólo ella te entiende, sólo ella puede compartir tu dolor y hacerte disfrutarlo.

La maldita logra entrar a una playlist, y de repente estar sola, y tocar, y tocar, y tocar...

Espacio

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, June 20, 2011

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Últimamente me da por evocar al espacio como la sucesión universal.
Se busca instructor jocoso que muestre los segundos que una pendiente tarda en hacer las rodillas temblar, los muros más allá del concreto y los colores que componen algo más allá de un edificio. Las caras de una ciudad que en el bullicio de lo cotidiano murmuran sus historias e intenciones, las lineas necesarias para crear terrible vértigo a nivel del asfalto.





Se busca maestro de espacio que no se detenga por juegos de tiempo.

Reunión, sólamente.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Sunday, June 19, 2011

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Nos recibieron con champán, ofrecido por uniformados.
Rodeadas de grandes aires de glamour de sábado por la noche.
Busco caras familiares, y al fracasar durante el primer sondeo y medio me decido a bajar la mirada y esperar a que ella encuentre a alguien a quien saludar, para yo seguir como la sombra-señorita introducida a socieda'. (guácala)
Lo esperado sucede, y comienzo a saludar por detrás y enseguida, mientras me presentan con nombre y parentesco. No está tan mal. He visto a muchas de estas personas, es sólo cuestión de que se encuentren de humor esa noche para amablemente buscar iniciar una charla con la niña perdida. La niña de 20 años que debería estar en otro lado. Quizás, sólo quizás, les interese un poco preguntarme que es de mi vida, pero no, la mayoría manda pequeñas piedrecillas (no lo hace realmente, pero así lo siento yo) con frases estilo '¿te acuerdas de mi hija? es de tu edad.' Siento que me lo dicen de manera personal, como un: 'no deberías estar aquí, no te vamos a ayudar a sentir comoda, bye.'
Ciertamente hay hostilidad en el ambiente, pero dudo que se trate de lo que acabo de mencionar. Creo que va mucho más lejos. A pocos les podría importar que yo esté ahí. Y no es que sea yo, no es el momento emo del blog ni mucho menos, simplemente no creo que a muchos les importe en principio quien está ahí. Tan pronto ven un apellido (en verdad parece que lo ven, no estoy segura de que lo hagan, quizás es solo un feeling que les da) se lanzan como perros hambrientos a discutir el siguiente negocio, soltar la risita de 'claro, claro'
Este comportamiento es válido. Todas las reuniones de esta gente son iguales, crecí viéndolas y teniendo una relación algo similar con sus hijos, pero en petite. Pero nunca lo había visto en una fiesta de cumpleaños. It's sad, actually.
Ella se va a hacer lo suyo, y me deja por ahí a la merced de las miradas que no me conocen. Tuiteo en mi soledad. Luego veo un nicho disponible. Corro, corro, corro.
Platico finalmente. Me invitan a platicar a un grupo más grande y me juro.
Se marcha de la fiesta mi 'padrino' de socieda'.
Me quiero ir.
A los dos días me entero que me aman. Que todas las fantasías Ivyleagueanas que tuve tienen sus fundamentos que no están en mi cabeza ni eran parte de una ingenuidad adolescente. Pero ahora que soy LA del tema que les interesa. Sacan el billete.
A ver que tal.

Moleskine wannabe nunca más

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, June 18, 2011

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El mundo celuloso en el que me dejé exorcisar de mi mismo hoy parece decir que mis pasados sobrepasan la capacidad para resarcir futuros presentes.










¿Qué tanto es simbolo de un cierto fin?

Not hapi [sic]

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Friday, June 17, 2011

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Hapi, you got my name wrong, and something tells me you got yours wrong too. Probably you're trying to reference your mood with your pseudonym and it's alright, but maybe you would be happier if you could spell right.
By the way, I'm Mrs. K, we're not in the fusion-mode anymore.
No hapi, I don't want Glitter Effect Mouse Pointer in our Blog. I'm sorry hapi, but I couldn't think of something tackier, (well I could, maybe. No, glitter mouse pointer is too much for me)
I know you think we could be friends, but it just won't work, you're a bot and I'm a person, or maybe it's the other way around.
It's probably not you, it's me and my rejection towards spam bots. It's not my intention, and it's is not your fault, it's just the way I was raised.
Nevertheless, I hope you find someone. Someone like you that loves spam, and enjoys navigating trough the internet as they find obscure blogs like this one.
I really do.
I wish you only the best.
Au revoir.

Cielo

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, June 16, 2011

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Si pudieramos solo pausar, extraviarnos y contemplar.

El Cielo de Canarias / Canary sky - Tenerife from Daniel López on Vimeo.




If freckles don't mean anything does anything mean anything?
we're just twinlking stars resurrected.

Home home home.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, June 15, 2011

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This is my first day back home. Yesterday night was not very significant in a being-home-acknowledgment way. Still.
I wake up to see the white tall ceiling. 'This is not my ceiling' I say to myself.
It feels a lot hotter, the room is bigger, and there's a large window which I finally recognize as my old house. My 'real' house, the house I left but never abandoned.
I tell myself it's going to be a reading summer, I see the book by my side, but instead I grab my iPod and listen to some music.
Finally, when I feel too hot, I get out of bed. I go to the TV and watch some quality comedies with my brother as I grab some cereal.
And for a while, just for a little while, it is as if I never left... then, I can't find the sugar in the kitchen, or the cables for the stereo.
I realize I don't live here anymore.

Del cuerpo y el ser

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Tuesday, June 14, 2011

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Mi mano es suave
Mi cabeza es impredecible
Mi pie es rosa
Mis dientes son cúmulos de calcio y nervios

(no, no es pésima poesía)
¿Has notado como para hablar del cuerpo usamos posesivos? Cual si fueran entidades externas a aquello que somos, ajenos a nuestra esencia.

Yo no soy mi cuerpo.

Entonces que soy, si no soy mis posesiones. Ciertamente al morir, dejamos de ser, pero el cuerpo permanece, ¿sera entonces que conservamos un sentido heredado de lo ajeno de la corporeidad?

A poco inconscientemente nos damos un trip tal que fracturamos la materia del ser, y asumimos que el cuerpo nos pertenece, pero nosotros lo trascendemos, cual espíritus silfides ante la inmensidad.



Cualquiera podría decir que le hecho crema a los tacos y que solo es cosa del lenguaje. Claro. Pero eso sería todavía más interesante, porque esto significa que nuestra forma de estructurar lenguajes (solo puedo decirlo de los que usan partes del cuerpo con posesivos) está estructurada de tal forma que solo podemos entender un fenómeno una ves que lo analizamos, lo desmembramos, y entonces los asimilamos.

Partimos al cuerpo en partes, las desvinculamos de un todo para que tengan esencia propia. Y esto no es nada del otro mundo, ya perdí la cuenta del numero de posts que le he dedicado a decir que la lógica occidental lo que hace es partir ideas en cachos digeribles, masticarlos y abstraerlos (y tratar de no estreñirse).

Pero aquí no hablo de la construcción social intersubjetiva ni choros del tipo. Hablo de como formamos nuestra visión de nosotros mismos, como es que a pesar de ser, los sesgos con los que vemos al mundo son los mismos con los que nos percibimos a nosotros mismos.

Y esto me lleva a una duda jalapelos, ¿donde acabamos nosotros y donde empieza el mundo externo del que tanto nos (me) gusta hablar? ¿La frontera es el cuerpo?¿ Entonces donde está la mente?


ideas del post robadísimas de un capitulo de Diary of a Bad Year de Coetzee

That's life.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , , , | Posted on Monday, June 13, 2011

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They say that's life.
I was back on top on June.
Then I wasn't, and just now I'm going back up.
This last days have been too much for me. Now I just really really go to my forest and stay there for a long time. I don't want to see this city in a while. I have tons of beautiful things to read, beautiful friends to see. In this moment, I regret everything I said about the Friday I'm in love business. Lets just forget about that and go to read something, watch some movies, live the hipster life I miss so much. I need that right now. Very mucho.

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn and a king.
I've been up and down and over and out
And I know one thing:
Each time I find myself, flat on my face,
I pick myself up and get back in the race.




The tripod

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, June 12, 2011

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I'm sure you remember this movie. It won Sundance 2004 I think. Because of the unpredictable plot, the deep characters and their powerful gender equity message. You loved the film, remember?



Please don't think I'm stealing a conversation of ours to do a post. (I don't usually do it this shamelessly).

About this blockbuster you only have to remember the ending. "I will always remember... the tripod"

Sure, the characters are never really joined in brotherhood-like adventures until the very end, but who cares. They're the fucking tripod.

And yes, this is lame, and such, but this is tots our movie. The same feeling of pathetic noobishness and unadventures that makes this movie plot-bearable are the kind of crap we went trough. And I wouldn't change it for the world, my dearest tripod.

@DHL @Mrs.K
(se juraba en twitter el)

Overwhelmed

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, June 11, 2011

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I don't know how to start this particular post.
I know what I want to get out, but I just can't.
I would like to disappear for a little while, or go back in time.
But it just gets me thinking about some philosopher-convo I recently had.
And it also, somehow a reply to your last post.
Everything in life, (even life itself) might be incredibly special, or incredibly random and unimportant.
If you seat and think about all the things that had to happen to get you into a specific situation or moment, you see all the small turning points of the story, how every single detail influenced somehow what you're doing.
Does that make life incredible amazing and special? Just imagine the wonderfulness of being here and that all those elements collided.
Or does that make life so incredible random, so unspecial because in a fraction of a second everything could've just changed?

I don't know what to think right now.
I just know I hadn't felt so overwhelmed in a long while.
I want the world to stop.

Same old ramble

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Friday, June 10, 2011

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Today (yesterday) I didn't have many of those moments where I realize something about life, or take a picture, or do anything blog worthy. I think.

I saw dearest DHL, had some unexpected waffles and at the end I went back to kiddie times.

Things could have probably gone different. A day earlier I was about to take out 6 great movies, maybe today I would have 6 epiphanies, or maybe I would have written a poem, a short story, something inspired by great works of art. Must surly just another crappy art-wannabe-essay. But that would've been something.

It could have gone differently by us going to the bookstore and finding something/someone interesting. Maybe a book would have changed my life completely, or maybe just a magazine article, who knows?

And instead of going to the kiddie times I could have ran to the teenage vampire slaying decadence with my Faiths. That could've ended in rainbow joy. But it didn't.

I could be different person today, maybe. But I'm not.(amI?)

That's something we sort of miss out of sight, everyday there are things that shape us, and we never know when we could have easily missed the chance to a great perhaps, or the last fall, or the first love. Sure, I've been talking about this same shit for centuries now, but it never ends to amaze just how much we leave to uncertainty about our lives.


And the amount of responsibility we give to uncertainty, fearing its just our choices that are making our lives what they are.



Get them to love you,
while the may depending
on your words and wealth,
the only one who's really
judging you is yourself.
Nobody else.

Silence.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , , | Posted on Thursday, June 09, 2011

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I want to post about Silence.

J'écouterai ton silence, et me perdrai dans tes yeux fermés, dans tes mots compliqués et tes idées... surtout dans tes idées.
-Mrs. K
What if we made up the words for silence? (La-di-la-da.)
Would it be sights?
Would it be sighs?
Would you take my hand?

I would like some silence in the dark,
to feel your breath without a sound,
to be your guide no matter what,
to sleep so tight, between your thighs.

We might not be able to bring back those days
I might not find you anywhere
but we'll always have that land of silence.

(*the words above, particularly the ones on italics are inspired mainly by the following song, and some other songs by the same artist, I'm a huge fan.)


Seems as though the years have come
when you and I like brick and stone
Made up the words for silence.

And conversations kept roaming around
Out quest for trasures remained unfound
in the land of silence.

On and on the break of dawn is our new song.
Here, take my hand
before it hits the ground.
Oh, darling, you're my sound!

Long ago they said to me:
"You know there's a cost for living free",
but I don't have a wallet
'cause life depends on water.

On and on the break of dawn is our new song.
Here, take my hand
before it hits the ground.
Oh, darling, you're my sound!

We cannot bring back the days of laughter,
the goal we're after,
'cause I know that I
will live a life that's free of strife from pain and sorrow,
today and tomorrow
'cause love is my device.

Doesn't matter if I leave this Earth
and no one remembers my date of birth
I'll always be beside her,
in the land of silence.

We cannot bring back the days of laughter,
the goal we're after,
'cause I know that I
will live a life that's free of strife from pain and sorrow,
today and tomorrow
'cause love is my device.

Seems as though the years have come
when you and I like brick and stone
Made up the words for silence.


Silence by Urrusti

Ah.

Hollywood and art

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, June 08, 2011

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Words are flying out like endless rain into a paper cup

There's this... dream, it's more like a day dream. We are inside this garden, and I only know it's a garden because we feel so calm, so eased. We're not bored, we're not anxious, we're not waiting for anything. This garden smells like the English-speaking-bookstore, and it's fresh, and we're looking through books. They're all what we wanted, and when we touch them we get the feeling you have when the book has finally cut trough the skin and become part of you. We are devastated by the most overwhelming pains, and giggle with ridiculous banalities. It's only the three of us, and we chat about everything and nothing. And words just spill, making static bonds with the particles of air that hold us together.


Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes


Growing up movies meant for me, the easiest way to get a story told, through actors and solid imagery an entertaining story was shown. Growing up in the 90s it was mostly Hollywood formulas that inserted cliques and archetypes into my head, making it easier to understand stories as a whole and, sometimes, people too.

But then I became narrative conscious and started seeing how scripts were made as a formula and the whole business was ran by entertaining purposes based on star systems and making whatever people wanted to see. This led to me finding out there were movies that were well scripted, and thus were art. Sometimes they looked sort of pretty too. Because to my literary based creativity, a movie was just a medium to express a story.

And eventually I was told that the cinematography actually started being an art when the story scripted on words was superseded by the story told by the cameras. In every change of angle, in every closeup to the tear, every wide shot of a forest were not just props, it was the camera telling its own story. A language which consists on many complex linguistic and semantic constructions, and it is there, and it is what makes movies to be actually movies.

It was only then when I was not watching the adaptation of written scripts (for those too lazy to read), but realizing there was something else. And so I began watching cinema, not just block busters. It would be easy to blame Hollywood for making me believe movies were just cheap entertainment, and the lazy alternative of books. I could blame it all on it for blinding me away from the art and shoving entertaining formulas down my throat.

But it would be not just Hollywood, but the entire system I suppose. It got me thinking how every expression of art needs some context, some knowledge to appreciate fully. And if such thing is true, shouldn't education focus also on the ability to appreciate art? Isn't art an expression of society, and if so, shouldn't we all be mildly instructed on how to get it?

Personally, I think it's the same reason why the showbiz tries so hard to keep us away from reality. Art is reality, entertainment is mind numbing. We need to start understanding art its not just there so pretentious bourgeois can feel cultured in museums, galleries and independent film theaters. Art is the expression of a context, a culture, a series of transparent constructions which elude simplicity, and as such we can't just take it lightly. Beauty and truth are not to be taken lightly. (whatever they are)



Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns It calls me on and on across the universe

The dream team

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Tuesday, June 07, 2011

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I think we were/are.
Remember those labs?

Librotecas

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Monday, June 06, 2011

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No aún al menos...

Queridísima Mrs.K. hoy encontré esto y obviamente pensé de inmediato en ti. Divagaba y deambulaba en mi bosque favorito: la biblioteca.

Ahí me encontré a Galeano por accidente, de nuevo. Comienza a parecer más tradición que eventualidad eso de perderme entre los místicos pasillos polvorosos solo para acabar justo donde se esconden dichos libros. Cual faro, murmuran bellas, críticas y absurdas palabras que hacen que termine en el mismo lugar. Hay un libro en particular: Palabras andantes.

Ya de por si el solo título hace que uno se sonría con la imagen, pero las historias que ahí viven, mueren y se deshacen son juegos de palabras que las ideas no se atreverían a pronunciar. Una compilación de pequeños cuentos y pensamientos que por si mismos son bellos, violentos, absurdos y mágicos. A final de cuentas se roban un pedazo de ti que por siempre vivirá con Calamity Jane, buscando su lugar en el mundo.


Rambling about music and convos.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, June 05, 2011

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Lately, I've been thinking a lot about our shining wit and our passion for irony.
about people say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing,
and flying like paper and getting higher than planes.

There's something just wonderful about communication. The ability to let someone else know something you're thinking about. It ma
kes me think about mirror neurons, language, consciousness, and that sort of things, but it also makes me think about art, about music.
The music referenced above obviously reminds me of you, Mr. Penguin (We made a film-Tom Milsom, Watching The Wheels-John Lennon and Paper Planes-M.I.A.)
Sometimes, I find myself über engaged to a lyric, and feeling there's no best way of describing what I'm feeling than that song, to the extent of which it actually becomes annoying for being such a cliché. But I stop caring as I fall asleep with my iPod.

That's one thing I wanted to put out there, the other thing, is about a conversation with our other very dear amiga y siempre compañera del desencanto. Referring to the graspability of reality, for us scientists it's all alright if the universe can actually be understood, but if it isn't, then what? She said something like: 'What if it isn't? maybe it's just like a huge canvas that we can just observe, admire, enjoy.' I answered something like, 'Maybe, but as scientists we also get to paint.' Ah, bring me some philosopher's cookies please! ( :D )
So, lets hope we can have some nice chat on that kitchen table of yours I miss so deeply.

Love.

Apes and people

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, June 04, 2011

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It's weird, yesterday I was at a fancy place, socializing and whatnot, today I did physical work at the forest. In one I felt like a pretending ape, in the other like a person (whatever.that.is)

Let me context you.

Yesterday I was in front of a group of people who could hardly care less about the misinterpretations that make me me. Don't think I'm going soft, I'm used to this, the difference is that with this particular group I'm forced to act like there are bonds beyond affection, when there's really only boredom and avoidance. But anyway, it was time to pretend.

So we drank expensive wine, held our glasses up high and celebrated the presumptuous clique. Bossa nova and a mix of this-month-hits was heard in the background while the most snob (pretteh!) decoration surrounded us. And everyone there had this self-assurance that this was it, being at the peak of upper-middle class social ladder, having disposable income, dining at the best place in town, chatting about the most trivial of subjects and managing to include some -culture- so to feel educated.

Get jobs in offices, and wake up for the morning commute.

It was as if we were all apes, eating each other's fleas while we pretended to be something else. But the sole act of pretending made the hoax so very obvious, me, there, having the time of my life, I saw and laughed upon the fact that we were just naked apes trying too hard to wear suits and monocles. It was really rather pathetic, and amusing.

But there's really nothing, nothing we can do
Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew.


But then I went back home, to the forest.

There I worked from early in the mourning, knocking down burned trees to leave place for new ones. Every act of creation is first an act of destruction. Then there was some new tree pruning so they would grow up right, and some soil daming to contain erosion. There was not much thinking about it, let alone complex socializing or abstraction of social structures as in the previous episode.

There, no structures were set upon, it was just us working. And I agree, trained monkeys could have been able to do it (maybe better). But there was something about knowing we didn't have to pretend, something about being at work inside nature that made sense, something about our essence that actually made me feel more human. Whatever that means.



Thoughts on trees and classification.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , , , | Posted on Friday, June 03, 2011

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You might remember this post: how?
It's was written last semester as I was in awe about my broken paradigms and new thought-trains.
Curiously enough, I left those thoughts resting for a while, and now they return with new teeth, to mess my head again. I don't need to tell you, my dear Penguin about all the details again, and I don't want to bore whoever is reading this with my career rants today. Perhaps next week I will. In summary you just have to add how? + Math: not for dummies . (we're always touching by underground wires, you said xD)

My point is: I have learned a lot about Systematics this year.
I encourage you to search in google images 'phylogenetic tree'. (I am not familiarized with how the order of the search results appear in google, but nevertheless...) the first result I get is this (lets call it 1), then a rather childish drawing I will decide to ignore. Then this (we'll call it 2), then 3 very similar others, and then this (3).
Sighs.
I would need some more information about how each one is constructed, but apparently, none of this is actually a phylogenetic tree. Sigh. I'm serious.
1 caught my mind today, and it's the one I do have information on, so we'll leave it to the end.
2 is (by drawing) a phenogram. (It's missing some important things but the drawing style is totally phenetic) A phenogram is built based on similarities or differences of organisms. From the phenetic school, developed in the 60's-70's mainly by Sneath and Sokal. It does not intend to reproduce evolutive history, it is an artificial criteria.
3. (same as 2, I would need more information but by drawing) it is a cladogram. From (guess..) the cladistics school, developed around the same time that phenetics, mainly by Hennig and De Rosa. It tries to be natural (although they have big internal debates on that) and it is based on homologous charaters.
1. It's a really really famous diagram proposed by Woese. He refers to it as a phylogenetic tree, but if you read Phylogenetic structure of the prokaryotic domain: The primary kingdoms. (Woese and Fox, 1977) you'll be disappointed to find as Table 1. A matrix of association coefficients, used to build... a phenogram. (which I repeat, he referred as a phylogenetic tree, and actually drew somehow as a cladogram, great.)

So, the closest thing we got to a phylogenetic tree is perhaps the childish drawing.

Phylogenetic trees are from the evolutionist school, developed in the 40's mainly by Mayr, Simpson and Huxley. They are interpreted and build in a whole different way from cladograms or phenograms. This would be more like a phylogenetic tree (though AGAIN we would have to see how was it built and all those details that go beyond the drawing)

By taking this class (Systematics I) I really expected to end up understaning how classifications are made (which I think is a complete mess), and to know the infallible method to reconstruct the evolutionary history, turns out: There isn't. Not even our beloved molecular methods (I had hopes on you molecular methods!) So we are left with evolutionism, phenetics and cladistics.

Now I'm looking forward to Biogeography, who would've thought?

Summer's bright side

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, June 02, 2011

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Today he died, the first boy that I met who could appreciate ... ow ow ow. He was more of a chemical than a physical, or so it goes. You never met him my dearest kite, but he was a good imaginary friend.

it's embarrassing to need someone the way i do you


Yesterday I went to the fabulous -Crown market- let me tell you, not filled with the kinds of queens you'd expect. There my perspective of socio-economic macro universe kept on shifting, I realized that the true face of middle class in this country is not the one the mirror shows, and it's rather ridiculous to think I'm near to understanding all its complexities. I just realize every day how much of a bullshit life is the micro cosmos in which i'm inserted. #whiteboyproblems

We're always touching by underground wires

There's this pilot:

Ever since I was six-teen, the reason I got up for school, the thing I thought about while walking home, the words I repeated to myself to go trough silly angst was this short-film contest. Since I found an old camera in the house when I was five, and I discovered I could steal the light, mess with time and make up stories that would last forever (i.e. making shitty movies) I was hooked. Then, when my dream was to be fucking Spilberg or something (yes, I knew nothing about movies), and because I had a gazillion friends entering high school, I devoted my lonely life to winning the Sunnylane High schools Initiative for Nacreous Expertises: SHINE. Because that's what you do when you're young and merry right? Focus on your passion and wait for things to be bliss.

Well, if you expect this to be the story of hard work, glory and the value of friendship better turn on the Disney Channel and leave this. This is not about your dreams coming true, or the great perhaps within the film industry, it's rather a chronicle of the fall down of naive minds into decadence, failure, and why not? selling your body in front of thousands(?) of people. But don't get me wrong... it's not like I'm not having the time of my life.


[high school story cliques killed. obviously story would need to be tropicalized]



It seems as if we weren't made for this world!

Lately I've been going back to the beginning of many things. Video games, extra-nerdy stuff, the vampire slayer, old series, old ideas, old friends. As if subconsciously I was searching a time, the matter is, I think this is not the kind of nostalgia that aches within because things happened in the past, but a nostalgia for events that never happened, and places that never existed. an people i've never met.


Meanwhile in Narnia, he found himself in an empty desert.

As time goes by.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Wednesday, June 01, 2011

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You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.
It is funny, how about two days ago I was reasonably angry, about your cowardliness and cruelty. Today I don't care that much. Today I don't even feel used by you. I feel as if you're just a friend I can talk to, never my lover, a kiss is just a kiss, I would say. Nevertheless, I feel the urge to listen to this music, this stupid love songs. It doesn't make sense. Maybe I want to be in love again. (I say again with confidence, I know I'm not in love at the moment) but it's the same damn feeling I had about a year ago. Which I regretted about 4 months after.
It's just like that that The Cure song:

It's Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Oh, Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday I'm in love


It's just that, this time, I don't want to be in love with you.