De lo que son

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Thursday, July 28, 2011

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Soy más de lo sutil que de lo burdo, más de significados que de cosas.
Lo mío es más lo sencillo que lo simple, amo más lo complejo que lo complicado.

Mis lugares son azules, son el underdog, los míos son los que no se escuchan cuando resquebrajan. Son ocasos amarillos y naranjas tenues. Conmigo viajan los sueños bizarros, los claros y los claridosos. Visiones lucidas de día que en la noche se vuelven grillos.

De mis arboles sale fruto de lo que soslaya y se pierde en el infinito. De mis plantas parte el suelo que no se detiene, la calma que marea. De mis yemas, llamas que te reclaman.

Es mi lápiz quien desangra madrugadas de silencios, que luego se callan.

Daylight I'm so absent minded

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, July 16, 2011

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Physics makes us solid, bitches.

Making me think again, Coetzee added in one of his books that evolution is rather questionable when looking at the human. It is rather ridiculous that our advantage as homo sapiens is being rational, and with this we are self-aware of being, the outside and the otherness, yet despite this we cannot comprehend the world in its entirety. We are aware there is something to discover, yet we're unable to.

If you ask me, he's got wrong what evolution is all about. But my point here, is again, science and discovering the world.

We've reached a point where we can no longer assume we have dominance over nature, social phenomena, fuck not even ourselves. I think the time where science tries to operate in order to understand, thus dominate its surroundings is over, actually my personal belief is that science never did this, but some of the people working on it did.

The new perspective should be that of contemplation. We can only observe the cosmos with our little eyes made of cells and draw the shapes of shadows. Just because they're freaking awesome.

(There's nothing new to it you'd think, but the weight of history forces me to see my reality as a brand new pile of recycled shit)


Vanish.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Monday, July 11, 2011

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Ever feel like, vanishing?

Lo pasado, pasado(?)

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Sunday, July 10, 2011

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Estaba esperando a que esta idea se desarrollara más, o a leer algo al respecto para dar una opinión más estructurada/educada. Pero ese tipo de pensamiento es lo que tiene a este blog tan vacío (2011wise).

Últimamente me he paseado en la historia, y me he percatado de que en el pasado la gente, también era gente.

Y lo que pasa es que por más ridículo que suene, tenemos una tendencia muy grande a simplificar todo, y el resultado es que consideramos al pasado como una anécdota con la que explicamos cosas previas a nuestra experiencia. Me atrevería a decir que es cuestión de la educación formal, su mayor esfuerzo es lograr que aprendas fechas y personajes, asignarles un rol y dar generalidades de su quehacer. Sin embargo resulta reduccionista dejarle toda la culpa a la educación, cuando creo que es una cuestión cultural.

Comprendemos a la historia, me parece, como un bagaje de curiosidades a cerca de un tiempo remoto, un periodo inexistente del que solo queda la poca información que creemos saber al respecto, y la visión acartonada de la sociedad de ese tiempo, descrita desde la forma más oficial posible. Y el problema con esto es que hacemos que esos tiempos se conviertan en cuentos heredados, no nos percatamos de un contexto mayor, del peso que esa historia tiene sobre nosotros además de la independencia en 1800, los asentamientos coloniales, la hegemonias políticas, las guerras, las leyes. El peso que la historia hace sobre nosotros es mucho más que eso.

El sistema ético, los roles de género, las tradiciones, las religiones, los saberes, etc. Son cosas que heredamos inconscientemente, y que suponemos, al saberlas diferentes al pasado (en detalles), que somos ahora -modernos-. Sin embargo el peso que la historia, y sus contextos culturales y sociales, tienen sobre estos aspectos es imposible de ignorar. El occidente no es sinónimo de capitalismo judeo-cristiano por nada, el paradigma patriarcal no es ser machistas solo porque ellos son bien chingones y ellas son bien chingadas. Nosotros no somos nosotros solo porque así somos.

Al asumir una historia como creo que los hacemos, las personas que habitaban esos tiempos se deshumanizan y son en vez símbolos de antaño con una bidimensionalidad de los tres o cuatro aspectos que recordamos. La consecuencia de esto es que olvidamos que es la misma especie que existe ahora, son el mismo tipo de personas, con exactamente las mismas facultades, necesidades y vicios que tenemos. Externalizadas de diferentes maneras, obviamente, pero a mi parecer es lo mismo.

Me alegaras que los avances tecnológicos e ideológicos son abismales, y a eso te digo: hoy en día vivimos con una serie de paradigmas en todos los aspectos de nuestra vida, hay quienes los aceptan y los obedecen, hay quienes los cuestionan y marcan nuevos límites. Y toda una gama entre esos dos aspectos enormes. Lo mismo aplica para otros tiempos, si bien las creencias y saberes pueden ser distintos, las conformaciones más instintivas continúan.

Con esto voy a que en tiempos victorianos también había puestas de cuerno, los mayas seguro algún día cuestionaron a sus dioses y hacían chistes, entre los colonizadores habrá habido uno que otro sarcástico, seguro Newton tenía un genio de la chingada y un ego que no obedecía la ley de gravedad, habrá habido egipcias clásicas feministas. En todos los tiempos la gente ha sido gente.

Y siento que pasa que en el presente asumimos que todo es nuevo, que ahora todo lo sabemos, estamos en el epítome de todo avance humano. Y sí, por mera definición el presente es lo más actualizado en todo. Pero esto no significa que antes la gente fuera ingenua, solo esperando el día en que alguien descubriera algo para que al fin la civilización comenzara.

El mundo no estaba esperándonos para que al fin, nosotros que conocemos los errores de la historia salváramos el día. Somos igual de tontos que antes, solo ahora tenemos más pantallas y menos mundo enfrente de nosotros.

DeVotchKa

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Saturday, July 09, 2011

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We talked about DeVotchKa the other day. It is (very) worth listening. :)



Something changed.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , , , | Posted on Thursday, July 07, 2011

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Today, I would like to start by quoting some lines of (500) days of summer:

Most days of the year are unremarkable. They begin, and they end, with no lasting memories made in between. Most days have no impact on the course of a life. May 23rd was a Wednesday.


It took a long time but Tom had finally learned. There are no miracles. There's no such thing as fate. Nothing is meant to be. He knew. He was sure of it now.


And end by posting this video:

Mood humming.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Tuesday, July 05, 2011

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Poom dun tu rum,
poom dun tu rum,
poom dun tu rum,
POOM DUN TU RUM,
DUUUUUN.





What kind of music did you hear when you read this?
I'm very curious about this one.

L’odeur et la saveur restent encore longtemps.

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in , | Posted on Sunday, July 03, 2011

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While reading your post Zooranting, I wikiquoted Proust and felt the need to post this:

Mais, quand d’un passé ancien rien ne subsiste, après la mort des êtres, après la destruction des choses, seules, plus frêles mais plus vivaces, plus immatérielles, plus persistantes, plus fidèles, l’odeur et la saveur restent encore longtemps, comme des âmes, à se rappeler, à attendre, à espérer, sur la ruine de tout le reste, à porter sans fléchir, sur leur gouttelette presque impalpable, l’édifice immense du souvenir.
Et dès que j’eus reconnu le goût du morceau de madeleine trempé dans le tilleul que me donnait ma tante (quoique je ne susse pas encore et dusse remettre à bien plus tard de découvrir pourquoi ce souvenir me rendait si heureux), aussitôt la vieille maison grise sur la rue, où était sa chambre, vint comme un décor de théâtre.
---------
When from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.
And once again I had recognized the taste of the crumb of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-flowers which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy), immediately the old gray house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like the scenery of a theater.


In Search of Lost Time: Vol I: Swann's Way, Marcel Proust

Mansion's tale

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, July 02, 2011

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Remember the Golden Boy? The one who inherited the throne as king of brains. Well, I (we) went to his eighteen year old birthday party. I don't remember the invitation, but being there we reckoned that he was throwing a massive celebration not because it was in his character such extravagant fest, but because being as Victorian as he is, he saw fitting to follow the tradition of big-fat-crazy parties for boys reaching manhood (yearight). But of course he made it so that both family and friends would have a good time.

Where else could that have been, other than the Mysterious Mansion/Mall. You know, it's actually a little weird that the building is half a mall and half a mansion, but nobody cares, it's just a fusion of bourgeois elements in one decadent symbol of squander. (it's quite cool). It's also funny how nobody knows who owns the place, its sort of a secret society, but we all know that they go by the pseudonym of Mae West. So much for a rotten feminist symbol huh?

Anyway, I don't remember seeing you at any point of the party, so I'll tell you my version of the night, because even if you don't believe me, I was not half as drunk as you think I was. The things I do remember are rather blurry, but the ones you think I don't are not blank, they are memories of something else that happened that night, something I can't really put together, but I'll try. I still don't know why I can't seem to glimpse my arm.

At first a group of people (extras) and I were walking around the mall/mansion, talking about how hard must it had been for TheGoldenBoy to get such a place, not just for the money, but the contacts and such affairs. I had never been in the mansion, decoration was rather eclectic from room to room, deco to gothic to radical activist to rainbow road to plain kitsch. There was this boy I don't remember from anywhere, but we were hanging around the Mall. We commented on the grotesque structures, made for numbing shopping at the day, they seemed so stupid and pointless at night, like a fat lizard on the tundra.

Back at the party I remember drinking a bit, but not enough to hallucinate, I think. We danced like morons and sang the most ridiculous of tunes as if they meant something in this teenage wasteland fest. But through the furious head pumping and heap vectorizing, I still felt I had to be somewhere/sometime else. I'm always feeling it in these types of events, it's a strong pull that tells me I'm not where I'm supposed to be, that probably I forgot a rendez-vous, a wedding, a first day of school, a first love, a burning house. There is a place in the universe where I'm being pulled at, and it's not the mansion's dance floor.

So I start moving, I have to get there. Where? I don't care, does it matter? But I have to get there, so I walk past rooms of the Mae West halls. Is it a room there? Am I looking for you? Am I looking for me? Who's looking after me? After a while I'm just lost, wandering the many rooms until I find one where I hear voices. There's people and lights, but as soon as I enter they vanish, poof. It's dark, a bathroom I think. Yes, it is a bathroom, now I can see everything, but it is huge, there are bath tubs everywhere I look at, all installed, all prepared for anyone to wash away the night's anxieties and go back to the spree. I need to shower, I have nothing on me, but I need to shower.

Choosing the right tub she appears, Mae West, or so she says. I recognize her right away, she's the Kite's Rich-fake-aunt. (the one we like). She doesn't really remember me at first, but as soon as I make the Kite sign, she knows I'm for real. This is too ridiculous, I tell her. She doesn't care and begins to tell me all about the secret society who own the Mansion and how she's part of it, and being a woman doesn't mean she can't be masonic and all. I think that's an old discourse, and I tell her about feminism, it is not about making the woman superior but equal, it is about freeing women and men. Men? Yes, from their stigmas and social duties that make them insensitive and stereotypical. Fuck men, they had it coming, she says. She proceeds to take a shower.

I look away and shower too, I never take off my clothes, but I shower. At some point I was again with the same boy I criticized the mall with, he knew where I was supposed to be, so I followed him. Now, this is where people say I went to the party, soaked in water/alcohol/blood (varying in gossip versions), to shake my cochleas like a maniac, and then ran off with strangers(yes, plural.). But, this couldn't have happened, because I was with the guy, who we will now call Red. He and I had gone to another dimension, or something like that it seemed.

I know how that sounds, but you gotta trust that is all I can make out of the memory. It was as if we were inside a ship, near the machine room. It was -as if- because I knew it was a make believe, we were inside the idea of a ship, so I can't really say we were still in the same dimension, let alone mansion. In this ship we had to save someone, but it was all alone. We had to procure its safety, but it was drowned in the bottom of the Baltic sea. I started to tell Red I was uncomfortable there, the place was a ghost. This is where we are supposed to be, you know it called for you, he said. I didn't care, this was not what I wanted the place to be, this was not the calling I was dreaming for.

Then there was black, and red. And were on the surface and something went on for several years inside a canteen, but I can't remember any of that, I just know it happened.

The mourning after, I went back to the mall, hoping nobody had noticed my departure for years. As if nothing, I gathered around everyone, they were all hang over, sharing the missing/invented pieces of the night, writing the official version of what had happened yesterday. The same old stories, mistake make-outs, lost V-cards, embarrassing singing and twisted confessions. The Golden Boy/Man was having fun, as Victorian as ever, but amused by us mortals.

Then I saw you, at first you were one more of the crowd, but you looked at my arm, then at me and you turned around. In my hand I was holding a beer bottle, which was not crazy weird, but I just didn't remember when had I grabbed it. Then I looked at my arm, it was blurry. I couldn't make out the lines, the color, the texture, nothing. My arm is a blurry memory which I couldn't glimpse. Then you stared at me again.

You ask if I remembered, if I wasn't playing dumb before. I don't know what you are talking about and so you approach me, really close. You ask me if I remember, and I can't make out your expression, if you're talking about something great or something horrible. Your face comes really close to mine, and I can make it out. It's the first thing I can really define. You ask once more, do you, or don't you remember that last night...


It's over. I have my arm back, but I guess you and that night are lost forever.

Fantastic Mr.Fox

Posted by Mrs. Kite | Posted in | Posted on Friday, July 01, 2011

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Forget super... ignore incredible... it's all about fantastic.

Mr. Fox: Allright, let's start planning. Who knows shorthand?
Mr. Fox: Great! Linda! Lutra lutra - you got some dry paper?
Mr. Fox: Here we go. Mole! Talpa europaea! What d'you got?
Mole: I can see in the dark.
Mr. Fox: That's incredible! We can use that! Linda?
Linda: Got it.
Mr. Fox: Rabbit! Oryctolagus cuniculus!
Rabbit: I'm fast.
Mr. Fox: You bet you are. Linda?
Linda: Got it.
Mr. Fox: Beaver! Castor fiber!
Beaver: I can chew through wood.
Mr. Fox: Amazing! Linda!
Linda: Got it.
Mr. Fox: Badger! Meles meles!
Badger: Demolitions expert.
Mr. Fox: What? Since when?
Badger: Explosions! Flames! Burning things!

http://www.colisito.com.ar/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/fantastic-mr-fox-character-posters.jpg
This is one of the most epic movies in the world. I love it.