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miss the cold. A lot. In this hour of the end of January, when the cold almost winter is almost completely abandoned this city, former owner of a temperate climate and suffering today about climate fluctuations and would like my emotions for a holiday. I miss the mornings and cold nights that lead me to think more clearly and serenity, or at least without much apprehension. Strange to say that strange cold my mind of those days. Some people miss our moods, as foreign to the loved ones and beloved places. I feel like I should feel to be in a non-place, on a site that d not have been issued for his disappearance, could be called the limbo, the non-place midway between the also now defunct decree hell and heaven. A bit like drifting. Not the most enjoyable feeling of knowing I am in the midst of a sea of \u200b\u200bdoubt and not fear, but with the apprehension caused by the possible arrival in strange and unintended costs.

Strange write without fear of the unknown watchful eye (of course, more familiar). I miss my carefree days disinhibition and not so long ago. The strange and I rebel against this feeling of shame, almost childish, but no less insistent and annoying, which of late round me as I start to wander (and bang on the keyboard.)

all this mess to say that I miss writing more often here, but I hope very soon to return some life to this blog has given me so much satisfaction (and the odd headache , such as trolls, who after all are part of the virtual world as in the case of adverse political , Which are 99.99% - must learn to live with them).

*****

"I do not care what the faux pas that makes you fall on my body" Marguerite Yourcenar

Internet Explorer Buffering Choppy

strange ramblings, wanderings and encounters ... Parish notice

I'm sick, but not feverish and, yes, refused to take medicine that causes me sleep or make me fly (that feeling so rare that it causes the intake of certain antihistamines ). And yet, without fever or medicine to blame, I digress, I digress, and as for that I have a blog, to pound the keyboard with my ramblings, here I am. Dubious confession: I do not remember ever using the phrase "I lost my way." I do not claim not to have used, just do not remember doing it. And not because I've never felt something missing, but because in my mind that something like declaring 'm lost, without direction . Completely lost and not knowing where to point my feet. Too emphatic. Drastically. Almost fatalistic. Up to write. But today I woke up thinking about that expression, ie what it contains. Not that I feel properly so. I think not. Still, I wrapped an inexplicable sense of strangeness. In not find me anywhere while and find myself quite happy. As if suddenly, and intermittently, I lost in a sea of \u200b\u200bdoubt, bored by endless unanswered questions and that either do not know if it leads somewhere and if it is worth answering, but that in any way involved my time distracting from other issues ... but not agonize. Some time ago I read (can not remember exactly who said it could be Roland Barthes I'm not sure) that one does not read or write, for answers but to find new questions and possibly other ways of looking and questioning. Something happens to me, although my strange questions I do not have arisen as a result of reading. At least not in a fit. Is it because sometimes you find where you least expected and almost without looking. A few days ago, while watching a video of the exhibition of Piet Mondriaan at the Centre Pompidou (hence the image illustrating this post), someone sent me the dearest Chapter 9 Cortazar Rayuela , just where Oliveira, La Maga and friends discuss the assessment of the work of Mondriaan. says Etienne :

"pure sensitivity can be satisfied with Mondriaan, while for Klee (German painter Paul Klee) need a hodgepodge of other things. A refined refined . Instead Mondrian painting all. you stand in front, or naked, and then one of two: see or not see (...). A Mondrian canvas itself is sufficient. Ergo, your innocence requires more than your experience. I speak of Edenic innocence, not stupid ... ".

And it was this paragraph, hidden in my memory hazy from my reading of the novel preparatoriana flagship Cortázar, which made me think my way of dealing with the events of my life: that rather than as a Mondrian canvas and take the normal complexities of life as they are, I'm turning as if it were a canvas Paul Klee, for whose arrest would require a full PhD expressionist painting and another had an abstract. And is that for some stubborn reason I often need to explain everything, put a name and surname, found no reason and motive. And while I racked my brains in search of answers and reasons (not always match), I forget to appreciate things for themselves, without any further elucidated, just feeling them.

And of course, after rereading that paragraph, I have a feeling atypical. Une mélange (pun used the name of this blog) of feelings and emotions so imperfect vast as found (with the permission of Rubem Fonseca). I doubt and I think, I let go of situations that once would have thought unthinkable, like someone left a canvas wrap Mondriaan no explanation for what the artist meant. And if this happens to a skeptical, almost by necessity a skeptic like me, the result is doubly disturbing because, against all odds, I do not feel well ... anxiety

Image: Piet Mondriaan. Broadway Boogie Woogie (1942 -43). Museum of Modern Art, New York

****** "I do not care what the faux pas that makes you fall on my body" Marguerite Yourcenar

Feel Nauseous After Flu

frame of film Hiroshima mon amour

For if anyone missed me: she was not dead. Nor, unfortunately, was on a binge. Hopefully. The only thing that happens is a laburo me mad, absorbing and exhausting. And strange to write here. Strange banging the keyboard with extraordinary joy, so be it for venting.

While back, I leave this little piece won out there.

"Like you, I've tried to fight with all my strength against forgetting. Like you, I forgot. Like you, I wanted to have an inconsolable memory. A memory of shadows and stones. I struggled on my own. With all my strength. Against the horror of not understanding and the need to remember. Like you, I forgot.

Why deny the obvious need for memory? Listen. I still know. Start again. Two hundred thousand dead. Eighty thousand wounded in nine seconds, are official figures. Start again. There will be ten thousand degrees on the earth. Ten thousand suns, they will say. The asphalt will burn and a deep chaos reign. A city will be destroyed then and will become ashes. I meet you, I remember you, who are you? You kill me, give me pleasure.

How do you know that this city was made for love? How do you know your body was made for me? I like you, what event, I like. How slowly, suddenly. How sweet. You can not know. You kill me, give me pleasure. Kill me. You give me pleasure. I have time, I beg you, Devour me. Why do not you, in this city tonight? So similar to the others as to confuse ... "

[Marguerite Duras. Hiroshima mon amour ]

***

"I do not care what the faux pas that makes you fall on my body" Marguerite Yourcenar

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"chocolates or kisses?

A world is born when two kiss . Octavio Paz

Kissing is a form of dialogue . George Sand .

The kiss is the contact of two epidermis and the fusion of two fantasies .

Louis Charles Alfred de Musset

woke this 2011 with a kissing mood very marked, well, actually it started since late 2010. Not that I'm complaining or anything style, just a little surprised me. Is it because, following the sentence of George Sand, I like the dialogue. Or because, following the words of the great love of Madame Sand, Alfred de Musset, for better or for worse I'm very imaginative. Or maybe, leaving aside the romance, kissing my mind reinforced only mechanism (somewhat childish) to counter the mood around me to leave Mexico in international surveys ranked as the second most stressed country in the world ( should be thanks to our proverbial hearty spirit that Mexicans will not occupy the first place ... I mean, just take a look at the headlines in the national press to feel stressed or at least sad, very sad). But I do not detour. It happens that in mind my mind kissing (just to counter the disappointment, it is clear. Do not think otherwise, eh), I remembered a scientific study carried out for nearly four years in Britain, where scientists (Centre British Mind Research Lab), sought to know the variations in heart rate, both in quantity and power, and they decided to expose them to different stimuli. Par achieve this, made a comparative study between the levels of excitement produced by a passionate kiss, no hug and a piece of bittersweet chocolate, minimum 60 percent cocoa. Based on the results obtained by twelve pairs of twentysomethings, who first ate dark chocolate and then kissing (in that order, leaving between each "test" a space for quiet time), scientists found, not surprisingly , the twelve couples in the frequency of heart rate and level of brain stimulation was four times greater after eating chocolate, compared with those reported after taking a passionate kiss. I still remember when I read the results of this study, at least I thought it was disproportionate and unbelievable. And coming from someone who confesses to loving chocolate, or bitter, almost as much as kissing. True as other scientific research, it is proven that a good chocolate (70 per cent minimum cocoa) is a good brain stimulant (more or less like coffee) or that regular intake (10 grams) is beneficial for the heart. That, plus what we already knew about the true feeling of comfort that causes tasting. So far so good. But hey, that's one thing and another, I say, I say that chocolate excites you more than a good kiss. Finally, one that is skeptical up to the scientists, the most that can be committed before so studies to apply that maximum give them the benefit of the doubt and while, in parallel, to promote his own dictum: a binge is almost always kissing, of course, depends on who you kiss a-better than a chocolate because it generates pleasure without calories.

******

"The chocolate, more exciting than a passionate kiss" study.

AFP 16/04/2007 14:15 London. A kiss can be more romantic and inspiring poems and ballads, but is not as exciting as the chocolate melted on the tongue, says a study published Monday by British scientists. A team of researchers directed by psychologist David Lewis, Mind Lab research center, conducted a comparative study demonstrating the superiority of chocolate on the kiss even more passionate. In the interest of scientific study, many young couples, who was placed electrodes on the head and heart monitors, melted dark chocolate chips in their mouths and then kissed passionately.

The results were stark: the chocolate doubled the heartbeat of the 12 volunteers, all twenties, which led scientists to conclude that British excitement caused by the chocolate is greater than that generated by the kiss. "There is no doubt that exceeded chocolate kiss, no hug, to cause more body and brain stimulation," said Lewis. According to the results of the study, the stimulus caused by the dark or bitter chocolate was in many of the participants "up to four times as long as the most passionate kiss," and affected all regions of the brain. Palpitations caused by the kiss did not last as long as those caused by chocolate, which caused the heart rate increase of 60 per minute to 140, the researchers said.

Although he said he already knew that substances present in chocolate have a stimulating effect, Lewis stressed that the results had "left shocked and intrigued" by investigators. "Although we expected the chocolate, particularly dark chocolate, increase the heartbeat because it contains highly stimulating substances, none of us had anticipated the duration and intensity of stimulation" caused by chocolate, "along with the powerful effects it had on the mind. "

Lewis stressed that the chocolate used in the experiment had been dark chocolate with 60 percent cocoa. The scientist, formerly at the University of Sussex, stressed that the secret to greater arousal may lie in letting the chocolate melt in your mouth, without chewing. Both women and men respond well to chocolate, British researcher said. "

*******" I do not care what the faux pas that makes you fall on my body " Marguerite Yourcenar

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hits restart

Photo: Pascal Petrod (photo tour The Tour de France : http://bit.ly/gurKEN )

ever I have wandered here on thing as happiness . I remember from that post in the comments, even in its diversity, one constant was the questioning of the concept of happiness, so variable from person to person, and obviously, that its generators are as diverse as different is the way humans think. Someone said do not believe in happiness as a whole but as a somewhat fragmented, and intermittent moments of happiness, happy little moments. Rethinking it, and with the understanding that there is a unique concept of happiness, I would say the first stroke happiness-in the broadest sense of the term "memory than I have, goes back to my nearly six years. It was the summer prior to my entry into primary and spent a few days by the sea. An almost empty beach, perhaps due to the cloudy day (as is often the last days of summer in Mexico). Although almost empty, presumably well we had more people, but I just remind members my family, almost all adults, and me ... the girl who discovered the sea in the Pacific Ocean . I wish someone had recorded for posterity the look on my face filled with amazement at the immensity of the sea so blue. I'm sure my eyes widened when he saw the fierce beauty of the waves crashing on the rocks. Me with a pink bathing suit, whose sole decoration was a kind of golden yellow star at the height of the heart. My family has always been strange, and not dealing with normal things like taking pictures of children, better sit down and contemplate the view from a palapa and drink coconut water, while I I've always been curious and somewhat reckless, amused me make a small wet sand with my footprints. Literally clouded by the beauty of the sea, walking without thinking, less measuring consequences, and just when I was engrossed in my contemplation ... a violent wave attacked me putting tremendous tumble. Only then my family seemed to remember that I was out there and some of them helped me to my feet, as I tried to restore calm after such a fall, even with the saltiness of the sea and my irritated eyes water hammer. But neither cried nor felt aversion to the sea, only a mixture respect and admiration for his mysterious and violent force. Within minutes I forgot the shock (and the thump) and went there ... happy at the seaside. Years have passed and I still remember clearly that little moment that I went flying prey to a strange feeling that linked the surprise and shock to an indescribable emotion. A coup happiness, whose onslaught took me by surprise as much as the wave that made me like tumbled. I bring this anecdote as this, literally, childish, because yesterday morning I read a newspaper article: happy misery , where the writer John Villoro comments on the results of the survey on the perception of happiness in the world by Gallup: What is the happiest country (its citizens say be) and what country is the least happy? Which was obtained as a result that Nigeria is the happiest country land and France champion bonjour tristesse.

"(...) It is impossible to assess la dicha al margen de cada sociedad. Las ilusiones son tan cambiantes como los países. Quienes saben que las cosas podrían estar mejor no se declaran satisfechos. En este sentido, el descontento es un atributo de la conciencia crítica. (...) 'Sólo un cretino es feliz de tiempo completo', comenta Umberto Eco. (...)”

Desconozco cuáles son los parámetros de medición para algo tan subjetivo e intangible como me parece es la felicidad. Asimismo, no sabría decir si en la encuesta visualiza a la felicidad como un estado o si su conceptualización considera las intermitencias en donde se alternan happy moments with others who are less so. Anyway, it draws attention to what the title alludes Villoro article: that the five happiest countries, with some exception in the case of Brazil, ranked third, "are far from being characterized as highly developed or by a distribution of wealth fairly equitable. In this regard, says Villoro:

"(...) in Nigeria, the joy is not the result of a promise fulfilled life but that life is possible. Equivalently, in France, a certain amount of nihilism is not a symptom Suicide but sophisticated requirement for acceptance. In the end, be happy in Nigeria is similar enough to be sad in France. In both cases the adaptation is a problem: where there is lack, there is excitement ... "

conclude before getting lost in the maze of my ramblings: I'm not a member of Club happy optimists do not believe in happiness as a single absolute concept, nor as an enduring state. As I do believe is in shock, almost always unexpected, of happiness. Usually small, but sometimes not so brief. I know that for many happiness is directly related to inner peace. Not exactly my case. Not necessarily must live in constant anxiety to feel happy, but both peace and that amazes me. I need a certain amount of excitement, adrenaline. This is not to require extraordinary events. It is possible that the simplest things, nothing grand, events that could well be seen as nitpicking, invisible cause that hit me. And yet ... if I had been polled by Gallup, maybe my answers would have been more close to the French than the Nigerians, because I'm one of those that even when he cries like Magdalena ... enjoy. For me, the melancholy, the joy of being sad, I feel fine.

*****

"I do not care what the faux pas that makes you fall on my body," Marguerite Yourcenar

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are hard times for dreamers. ( Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain ).

Restart. Resume the path already traveled. More than once I have come to believe that it is more difficult to remake something (joining the salvageable pieces of broken dreams, the good times fateful years, fragments of a lost love ... the pieces of a shattered heart) to start from zero. Perhaps it is a thought generated in one of my stages in mood confused, but the truth is that they are firmly attached fragments of a broken mirror, nothing will ever be what it was, nothing will ever be as it was then . Nothing. And yet, nothing prevents sometimes the rubble of a ruined past, the remains of a broken book, a letter made a thousand pieces, a shattered life, making rescue times, entire segments, valuable. I do not know if I sin optimistic, but as I said a philosopher * then walks around here: a man without memories, and are the most painful, I add, is a lost man. And reboot or restart is a bit of that: try, from the memories of the past, new horizons, different paths.

Having said the above and the understanding that restart, or start from scratch as he sang the great Edith Piaf, is not subject to pre-established dates, ie need not necessarily be linked to the onset of a new year, I'll make a confession: I have come to believe that the time of this blog has come to an end. I do not I have a lot to offer and that my regular readers will already be a little tired of it (the marked decrease of comments have a message, but is contradictory and curious that now that there are fewer comments, have many more fans than when had over a hundred comments on a post). I've come to think, which means no it is satisfied. I sure mulling one of those moments when I am in mood weirdo . But no, I think it is not time. Maybe it's just time to endorse taste for the blog. Another confession (he had already said something here): steal my work time and twitter distracts me against my will. Demand more time blogging twitter. The egotism is the same in 1400 characters in one hundred forty. But the time required to express themselves in 140 characters is nothing compared to that necessary to baste a halfway decent writing. Who we are egocentric virtual life (and who says no ... or is it a saint or a liar ... and the world is full of liars not Santos). The other day I saw a tweet was pure truth: in the land of the ego is king twitter . And I completely, and ground-based blogger ... too. Just like that. And yet, all in all, amid chauvinisms supine, there are good things (and better people, virtual friends incredibly interesting and even lovable.) Just for that I'm there, because I always find interesting information, letters that touched me very closely. And the only reason I will continue here. Because I like palaver as Fernando Pessoa said. Because I like to bang on the keyboard, says Marichuy. Because writing, Gustave Flaubert said, is a way of life. And while a writer is not like writing.

"Why write? What name? Why count? To understand. To love and be loved. To know, to know. For fear, by necessity, for money. To survive, because not everyone can dance the tango, play good football. By custom, the custom to kill, to live other lives and revive their own. " ( Why write ? http://bit.ly/hYNfOM ) .

And I would add. For as you do not choose love or to love, write-bang on the keyboard-is a necessity and more than that, it is a relief but serves as a relief, does not remove the penalty but provides better restlessness, does not give us answers but helps us to become new questions, it does not look ... it is. Because writing, as I said Marguerite Duras, is howling noiselessly, is screaming in pain, joy, desire, passion ... without deafening screams. Write-try, just for no reason.

Welcome we are, for better or for worse, the first year of the second decade of the twenty or sings Etienne Daho: welcome the first day of the rest of our lives .

* Armand Salacrou.

***** "I do not care what the faux pas that makes you fall on my body" Marguerite Yourcenar

What Should You Say To Birth

happiness and sometimes the silence

As

background music

springs a note that while vibrating

grows and thins

until other music mutes,

arises from the bottom of silence

another silence, acute tower, sword,

and up and increasing, and we adjourned

and fall while climbing

memories, hopes,

small lies and big ;

and want to scream and throat

vanishes cry

flows into silence

where muted silence.

[Silence , Octavio Peace. man root, Sex Barral, 1979].

* / this is a no-post, while back ... to be in a while.

Good year 2011

***** "I do not care what is the wrong move to make you fall on my body, "Marguerite Yourcenar

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Keep Your Head Down - TVXQ Rom + Video

    Rom    

    
    
  
   Keep your head down U-Know time (Max)   
  
   You know what time it is?   
    
  
 This is return of the king 
    
  
   (modu kumnaboryoda) nan shishakdo an heboanunde       
  
   (heoshyo boryoda) nan iyushocha mon dudgo       
  
   Shubyon sharapdul modu hanajati nalbogo       
  
           
  
   Na we   kure   we   kure   we     kure           
  
     Nan    imi nappun nop       
  
           
  
   (shoiramyon) nal saranghan ge shoiramyon       
  
   (kuge shoiramyon) shinshil hedanunge shoiramyon       
  
   (na nun Keep it low na nun Keep it low)       
  
     Nan   chapanego ne sharil shikyo       
  
           
  
   (Keep your head down)       
  
   Non shongmal yeppushiman       
  
   Nomu darun nowi sogi nan nomu duryowo        
  
   (Keep your head down)       
  
   Sarangheda hashiman nan ishe nol nogeda       
  
           
  
   (we?) nal kuroke suipke tonani       
  
   (we?) nega suiwo boyodon koni       
  
   (we?) ne gasumun shishoshishana       
  
   (we?) modu han sunk\ganwi kumiopdamyon       
  
   (we?) baroshapul shikani issopdamyon       
  
   (we?) shebal nega hengbokagil barepda        
  
           
  
   Na, onshena onshena       
  
   Norul gashin golo chungbunhepgo       
  
   Sesangi muoredo       
  
   Katun kumul kuoso hengbokepgo       
  
   Shikumun nol bonege doeshiman       
  
   Ochapi ne gilul galppunigo       
  
  
   Now I'm just chillin'   
    
 Feel like I'm healing 
  
  
  
 Nushoboryopda non dashi doragal su opdanda 
    
  
    Nega opdamyon nan munoshil gora midgeshi       
  
   Yeshonbuto non       
  
   Kugon chakakirago nega       
  
   We   kure   we   kure   we     kure           
  
   Nol tailopshana       
  
           
  
   Hey nan shongmal, shongmal sulponda       
  
   Choli opdon nega       
  
   Hokshirado nappun saram mannalka Why? Baby       
  
       
 
  (Keep your head down)    
 
  Non shongmal could    
 
  Kuppuniya ne Gasum shongyohange opnungol    
 
    (Keep your head down)    
 
  Sarangwi apumul chamnun game against bakgo    
 
     
 
  (we?) personnel kuroke suipke tonani    
 
  (we?) negative suiwo boyodon koni    
 
  (we?) ne gasumun shishoshishana    
 
  (we?) Modu have sunkanwi kumiopdamyon    
 
  (we?) Baroshapul Shikan issopdamyon    
 
  (we?) Shebal denies hengbokagil barepda    
 
     
 
  has no Saram ~ Kuroki Kago    
 
  Shongnan, shongnan Chisho mara    
 
  It apeson yoreshore    
 
  Koshimalmanul nuronogo    
 
  Nugae Boado Nugae Boado    
 
  not shingmal ishungsholiya        
  
   (we we we) sushong gadon maumduli       
  
   Onshe kuroke takeshyoni       
  
   Sarangul kuneda       
  
   Nol bonen kasumi tong biwoshyoda       
  
   Hashiman ne mirenun machi       
  
   Ironaso usurago sonshihanda       
  
   Norul bonenda       
  
   Shongmal hengbokhage sara (we we we)       
  
   Mon hutnare mon hutnare       
  
   Kunyang pyonhage utgo shida haha    
 
     
 
  (we?) we    
 
  (we?) sarangul kuroke suipke noaborinun Norul    
 
  (we?) nugunka kokshonghalgoran    
 
  Sengkakun heboana    
 
  (we?) Noa niga borin to nonun muonshi    
 
  (we?) Ashik morunun kok said    
 
  (we?) kudero momulo narul shikyoboa    
 
     
 
    (Keep your head down)       
  
   Shiwonshyoda, sarashyoda       
  
   Ne gasume niga shuko modu taboryoda       
  
   (Keep your head down)       
  
   Shiwonshyoda, sarasyoda       
  
   Ne gasume niga shuko nonun ishe opda           
  
    
    
  
       Esp       
  
        
        
  
       Video       
  
         
 
    
    
 
   Credits: MiroticWorld