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"... And what is even worse, without even suspecting that there was a thing called language and that was what she could give birth to a literature
. The result was that a writer or
Corrientes Maldonado wrote and was read as a Flaubert (mis) translated
never written. And to complicate the picture, I was pretty
rooted in the minds of those who allegedly made "
literary criticism," in editors of some opportunistic and, above all, in
the self-styled local writers-that is, talking about a handful of obvious intellectual mediocrity but anyway dictated the course to potential readers, "I was very much on the minds of the people some laudatory view of writing, something close to the belletrismo deep and no less profound a bad taste in literature, which generated an amazing amount of petty and pompous texts that were consumed by a public pretentious cult and reader ", ie, a crony network formed by friends of the author "co-writing" and literary faithful little flock, which obviously not lacking self-promotion and opportunistic. And when dealing with Argentina, giant egos, provincialism etc., ran the idea that if you do not read the problem out there was one who did not read and that they know they lost a "great literature". "

sides of the circle. Amilcar Bettega (the text). Núñez Lola Flores (translation) Baile del Sol 2011

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Social Network

A network multi

Links and Outcomes

Ricardo Martínez García

An original idea can be said to be one that combined several smaller and offers applications in isolation they do not. This is one of the fudamentos of the invention or creativity. Whoever sees the opportunity to create something new from what already exists, and is quick to make it happen, is considered its creator.

David Fincher, director among other usual suspects , Alien 3, Seven , Fight Club and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button , presents Social Network ( The Social Network , 10) a dizzying and amusing version of how the Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg with many strokes of genius and opportunity, comes to become the youngest billionaire in history.

With the idea of \u200b\u200boffering something that was popular, that show cool things as Interchange messages or opinions about people, first among students of different houses of Harvard University, then for all people around the world through internet, the draft Zuckerberg is growing like a snowball, just as growing expectations and ambitions of the people close around him.

The passions unleashed by the unexpected success of Zuckerberg page (Jesse Eisenberg) begins to wreak havoc on his friend Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield) and his misunderstanding and lack of vision to the phenomenon that triggers Zuckerberg, which itself channel could observe and Napster founder Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake), which generates the complete misgivings about his speech.

With music by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, and with a screenplay by Aaron Sorkin based on the novel by Ben Mezrich The Accidental Billionaire , Fincher presents a breathtaking film, based on testimonies of the characters, flashbacks, builds the story with fragmented episodes that the viewer has to re-join, albeit with some kind of intuition that what is at stake is a lot of money generated by an unexpected and surprising pie that everyone wants to try.

A quote from Zuckerberg shows his attitude to life "is not the same be obsessed to be motivated, and motivation is what it takes to build the largest virtual network and on the planet, generating no only the inadvertent addiction to this new and strange way to exist, "being connected." It is of course an accident that the network is worth over twenty billion dollars.

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Dear Leya: I saw you walk like a sigh. a white spot in a split second. I only had time to think again you had escaped. what was going to do with you.

called you. but true to your usual ignored me. opened the door and called you. and I was attentive, waiting to hear your trot, the rustling of eucalyptus leaves in your path. I waited at the top of the stairs, waiting for your arrival. tongue out after the race and the smile on. I waited, ready to let go the string that you knew so well: fuck you are a heavy Leya, goes walking. and you, as always, from my anger because you knew it was our game.

saw you on the road. and ran, ran as he had done you a little earlier. and in these twenty meters begged, I thought he should have taken the car, I thought what would have broken, I thought it not happened to you go. if you were going I do not seen again. what would we do without you. boring. Leya

dear: there bipeds, who do not accept that things like you can express emotions and feelings. you can love and affection claim. There are beings who do not accept, you can be part of the family, being a member. are well Leya, or case.

there motherfuckers, that after playing you leave lying around, you kill, mistreat and torture for fun. yes, there are so many sons of bitches. there are murderers, that gun on his shoulder, surrounded by a pack of dogs, say sports rounding up poor frightened rabbits. yes, there are. now I know that there motherfuckers, they understand that first there is the metallic gray four-wheel its your life. and pass, and leave you off the road. so quiet and go to work.

these Leya, those sons of bitches in particular, I wish a few things. I will not say out loud, because I want my wishes are fulfilled. Dear

Leya. I woke up in the morning with you in thought. I just wanted to write this, thank you for your bad breath, your hair in the hallway, by the sound of your nails walking home. to get to watch TV with us, play me the ball. to care for my cats, love them, for getting me out for a walk on Sundays, for giving me cuddles ...

in a few months, the tree will be filled with flowers, and this year, the plum of summer will be a little sweeter. and you know, when you wore heavy and I told you to leave me, you do not want to because I just wanted my cat was not true. is that I did not want dolieras like you're doing.

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re-start this weekend, reading the novel The child, the writer Hanos Hay. 'm definitely stuck on page ten. I like his way of describing human relationships. maridomujerpadremadrehijo. full of raw, everyday reality. nothing of banality, romance and illusions. of do not care where you are because this is what it is, here or there.

"I thought many times, almost as planned, however, there was always something, even she herself did not know what, that prevented him from carrying it out. Once he had the idea that the imagination was too hectic, so was so vividly the man's severed head lying on the kitchen tiles on the tile, groaning like an animal when he cut the neck, and slowly losing blood, drop by drop, while the air coming out of that court Sparkling open the broth became blood, all that I saw so clearly that he could not imagine it was more real than when he really finish him off. In addition, then the carnage would end forever the night, what would be the end of man, but hers, would end forever, and over she would regret. That said the neighbor, who also regrets the torment, and not only would be happy to remind man dismembered and carved, now finally got what he deserved, but it would be rather horrific and desperate. However, not carry it out, could kill it every night. "

I like the constant irony and irreverence clear.

"Later, the boy's mother would be under the window of the house lamenting: my son, your father. At that moment the young man cursed the moment when he abandoned the idea of \u200b\u200bdeserting the military and sewing to death the man who was his father, despite the fact that once a priest, who had confessed that his own purpose, he said he thought of the Redeemer, in how much he had to suffer, and yet even in through their greatest torments had said that when he died and came to the kingdom of heaven, look at that fucking bastard and would break their noses, and you would pay more than the first by what he had done to him, and then the creation itself, for all that he had made the world. Therefore, man should also be sympathetic, said the priest, kneeling before the altar to pray five faiths and three Our Fathers for his sin will be forgiven. "

The child, the writer Hanos Hay. Dance sun.

2011

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... "He was not alone. On a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry looked at him and the bird gave him a bitter look, again by issuing its particular sound. Seemed very sick. His eyes were dull and as Harry watched, he dropped two tail feathers.

I was thinking that the only thing missing is that Dumbledore's bird died while she was with him alone in the office, when the bird burst into flames.

Harry uttered a cry of horror and stepped back onto the desktop. He looked if he had about a glass of water, but saw none. The bird, meanwhile, had become a ball of fire, issued a sharp screech, and a moment later she found him more than a smoldering pile of ashes on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore entered, looking grim.

"Professor," Harry said nervously, his bird ... I could not do anything ... just burn ...

To the surprise of Harry, Dumbledore smiled.

"About time," he said. For days it looked awful. I told him to hurry.

He laughed at the shocked face that put Harry.

- Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. The phoenix is \u200b\u200bon fire when the time comes they die and then reborn from its ashes ... "

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Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Salamandra Ed. JK Rowling.

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Tron, the legacy

Best of the tape is Olivia Wilde

virtually soporific

Ricardo García Martínez

Ni

including the beautiful Olivia Wilde (House) can lighten the fabric of dense soda game that prevails in this film by Joseph Kosinski, Tron: Legacy (10) in a programmer named Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges) gets spend natural life to a digital existence in a computerized world, like a sort of digital Jumanji, but sad and dark scenery with phosphorescent color effects and that sort of paraphernalia that is a virtual world.

Flynn achieves the goal of moving your life in this digital universe but fails to prevent the system generates a double of his, who knows how and without explaining the reason for this, and also becomes his antagonist called Clu , who intends to return to the world of human-user-to ... seize it, like any villain worthy of the name.

If the tape of the same name directed by Steven Lisberger in 1982, which revolved around a programmer whose life becomes part of your own programs (played by the same Bridges), and a computer-generated character named Tron, no was a blockbuster by any means, this new version is a duty, despite the advancement of special effects.

The result is a flat tape and no joke, predictable and pointless, whose greatest effect on some viewers is a lethargy that invites the yawn or the abandonment of the theater for something less boring. Sad return to the big screen in Bridges.

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hyperbole burning, incinerating
feelings. Mirrors
metaphors that portray the truth. Daily
verses that outline faces.
Minds of perennial concern.

No platitudes
not harass a cliché.
Rather than displaying a work

is a need to give to drink. Chaves Jimenez Fabiola


11/01/2011 - 7:51 pm

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systolic-diastolic

... Never in my life had written anything so quickly and in a moment than the dawn ...

anyone chasing me, and nobility

suits the subtlety is its name and its costumes

your tool

anyone chasing me, someone who

is about calling me a smile

an arm that extends

anyone chasing me someone who loves me wants to stop

want to destroy

But someone

strikes me someone else looking

me someone who loves me wants to protect

Someone who lifts me

snatches

lethargy that lends me his gun and tells me

battle.

Fabiola Jiménez

10/enero/2011 Chaves - 1:10 pm

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... "- Where were you?

She stood leaning on one elbow and looked at Ofeyi. He had not expected his insistence.

"You're funny. All you men ...! After all this time ...!

- Where were you?" And I'm not "men".

"But

want to know, right? All I want.

"Tell me where you were.

"The sun came out and I like the dew evaporates."

Great

this small fragment of the novel, Season of chaos the Nigerian Nobel literature prize Wole Soyinka , that within little, very little will be published in the Sun Dance

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... "Men ran in all directions, cut up stones , pushing trucks, rose roots ... Everything under the watchful gaze of the white foreman. And Mankuku was fascinated by this man, these men: Where did his power? Do your ancestors? Look at that man alone, without arms, his face reddened by the heat, protecting its white hull. It would only take two of us, one, me for example, to put out of action, kill, and yet no one dares, something stops us. There is, alone, giving orders, dictating their will to ten, hundred, thousand, thousands of us. And to me, Mankuku Mandala, whose ancestor was knocking back the powerful. Moreover, nothing could resist his will. If a rocky annoyed they did away with the noise that would ten times one hundred guns. If a montabña bother him, cut it in half and dug a tunnel to pass underneath. If a river bridged bothered him over and went his way. Where were the case, chasing a horizon that constantly running away? Mankuku tensed his muscles, taking the burning cross, the deposited, returned to his companion to look for another. Yes, what could stop them? Naturally, at times, our ancestors took revenge: some mornings, the workers were yet carrying its rail sleepers hanging in the air over the gap as a result of a landslide that had drawn thousands of cubic meters of earth; as well, not that discouraged foreign, began again, made them work double hard, consolidated the edges of fill and continued. The death of dozens of workers was indifferent: traveler, if you ever take the train that carries the great river to the ocean, listen carefully for the click wheel on the rails, as each of them, each tac-tac, account the dead, then think a little of all the men buried in these mountains as you pass and remember that here is a dead man for each cross. Maybe that will help your soul to sleep in peace . "

" The fire's origins. "Emmanuel Dongala. The Copper-House Africa.

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with Fragile and light

sincere rate shocks that accompany

your breath

Strokes accelerate and decelerate

strokes that sculpt your motivation

Blood

walks

blood returning light

a soul just one trip

Lacking

arrhythmias and acceleration

systole and diastole

a quiet heart

Fabiola Jiménez

06/ene/2011 Chaves - 2:02 a.m.