Sexo y violencia
La historia de la humanidad según Milo Manara...
Más de esto aquí...
Milo Manara
Estas muchachotas son fruto del lápiz de Milo Manara.
Papel arrugado
Una hoja de papel arrugada es como un sueño no cumplido, un camino que quise recorrer y el desaliento borró con su niebla diluída...
Mi corazón
Aún el más duro mineral se vuelve arena,
incluso la arena en el desierto más árido es moldeada por el viento,
hasta el propio viento por momentos se acalla,
sólo mi corazón permanec eimperturbable
apático, entristecido y profundamente adolorido...
03-10-07
Corto animado Defective Robot
aquí un corto animado robótico y divertido, realizado por Rani Naamani.
Blog de música rock
Todo el mundo
Escuchando un recopilatorio de R.E.M, escuché esta canción que se convirtió en un himno en los años noventa, algo así como el Imagine de ésta década. La verdad es que la escuché muchisimo, en la radio, en la televisión (formaba parte de la banda sonora de una película de Meg Ryan yAndy García) y en formato lp en aquél inolvidable Automatic for the people...
"Everybody Hurts"
When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone,
When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on.
Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.
Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along.
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on.
Everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends.
Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand.
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone
If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,
When you think you've had too much of this life to hang on.
Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
Everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes.
And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. (repeat & fade)
(Everybody hurts. You are not alone.)
La letra aquí...
Y la traducción acá...
La sentencia
-Nuestra sentencia no es aparentemente severa. Consiste en escribir sobre el cuerpo del condenado (...), la disposición que él mismo ha violado.
(...)
-¿Conoce él su sentencia?
-No -dijo el oficial. (...)-Sería inútil anunciársela. Ya lo sabrá en carne propia.
(...)
-Pero, por lo menos ¿sabe que ha sido condenado?
-Tampoco- dijo el oficial(...)
-¿No? -dijo el explorador (...)-, entonces,¿el individuo tampoco sabe cómo fue conducida su defensa?
-No se le dio ninguna oportunidad de defenderse.
Franz Kafka.
Señales
En esto reconoceréis las señales de los tiempos...
El aparato
-Este aparato (...) es un invento d enuestro antiguo comandante. (...) Como usted ve, consta de tres partes. (...) La inferior se llama la Cama, la de arriba el Diseñador, y esta del medio, la Rastra. (...) Las agujas están colocadas en ella como los dientes de una rastra, y el conjunto funciona además como una rastra, aunque sólo en un lugar determinado, y con mucho más arte. (...) Aquí sobre la Cama, se coloca al condenado. (...) Está totalmente cubierta con una capa de algodón en rama (...). Sobre este algodón se coloca al condenado, boca abajo, naturalmente desnudo. (...) En cuanto el hombre está bien asegurado por las correas, la Cama es puesta en movimiento. (...) Sin embargo, la verdadera ejecución de la sentencia corresponde a la Rastra.
Franz Kafka.
En la colonia penitenciaria.
Precio
Después de una travesía que recorrí cegado, desposeído de cualquier espíritu o voluntad, me sorprendí a mí mismo en un punto muerto, náufrago en una isla desierta.
Ya no podía borrar el pasado y el futuro era una herida abierta en incertidumbre. Y lo peor fue que no aprendí nada, ni dejé rastro alguno de ese tiempo transcurrido...
Escaldado, convaleciente, acepté el primer empleo que me ofrecieron y me dediqué a él con feroz indiferencia. Pensé que si sacrificaba algo de mí mismo, podría comprar un poco de libertad que compensara la claudicación. Pero incluso esos pequeños momentos de liberación se vieron empañados de amargura: el precio a pagar por ellos era muy alto y estaban contaminados de cansancio y desilusión...
Cerdos (2)
Pigs on the wing (part 2)
You know that I care what happens to you,
and I know that you care for me,
so I don’t feel alone,
or the weight of the stone,
now that I’ve found somewhere safe
to bury my bone.
And any fool knows a dog needs a home,
a shelter from pigs on the wing.
Pink Floyd
Las letras de aquì...
Borregos
Sheep
Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away,
only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air
You better watch out, there may be dogs about.
I’ve looked over Jordan, and I have seen things are not what they seem.
What do you get for pretending the dangers not real.
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
down well trodden corridors, into the valley of steel.
What a surprise! A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now things are really what they seem. No, this is no bad dream.
The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want He makes me down to lie.
Through pastures green He leadeth me the silent waters by.
With bright knives He releaseth my soul.
He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places.
He converteth me to lamb cutlets.
For lo, He hath great power, and great hunger.
When cometh the day we lowly ones,
trough quiet reflection and great dedication,
master the art of karate,
lo, we shall rise up,
and then we’ll make the buggers eyes water.
Bleating and babbling I fell on his neck with a scream.
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
march cheerfully out of obscurity unto the dream.
Have you heard the news? The dogs are dead!
You better stay home and do as you’re told,
get out of the road if you want to grow old.
Pink Floyd
Cerdos
Pigs on the wing (part 2)
You know that I care what happens to you,
and I know that you care for me,
so I don’t feel alone,
or the weight of the stone,
now that I’ve found somewhere safe
to bury my bone.
And any fool knows a dog needs a home,
a shelter from pigs on the wing.
Pink Floyd
Pigs (3 different ones)
Big man, pig man, ha ha charade you are.
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha charade you are.
And when your hand is on your heart,
you’re nearly a good laugh, almost a joker,
with your head down in the pig bin,
saying, ” Keep on digging”, pig stain on your fat chin.
What do you hope to find, when you’re down in the pig mine?
You’re nearly a laugh, you’re nearly a laugh,
but you’re really a cry.
Bus stop rat bag, ha ha charade you are.
You fucked up old hag, ha ha charade you are.
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass.
You’re nearly a good laugh, almost worth a quick grin.
You like the feel of steel, you’re hot stuff with a hat pin,
and good fun with a hand gun.
You’re nearly a laugh, you’re nearly a laugh,
but you’re really a cry.Hey you, Whitehouse, ha ha charade you are.
You house proud town mouse, ha ha charade you are.
You’re trying to keep our feelings off the street,
you’re nearly a real treat, all tight lips and cold feet,
and do you feel abused?
You gotta stem the evil tide,
and keep it all on the inside.
Mary, you’re nearly a treat, Mary, you’re nearly a treat,
but you’re really a cry.
Pink Floyd
Perros
Dogs
You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need.
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you’re on the street,
you gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed.
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
you gotta strike when the moment is right, without thinking.
And after a while you can work on points for style,
like the club tie and the firm handshake,
a certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
so that when they turn their backs on you,
you’ll get the chance to put the knife in.
You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder.
You know it’s going to get harder, and harder and harder as you get older.
And in the end you’ll pack up and fly down south,
hide your head in the sand,
just another sad old man,
all alone and dying of cancer.
And when you loose control, you’ll reap the harvest you have sown.
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone.
And it’s too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around.
So have a good drown as you go down, alone,
dragged down by the stone.
I gotta admit that I’m a little bit confused.
Sometimes it seems to me as if I’m just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If I don’t stand my own ground, how can I find my own way out of this maze?
Deaf, dumb and blind, you just keep on pretending
that everyone’s expendable and no-one has a real friend.
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner.
And everything’s done under the sun,
and you believe a heart, everyone’s a killer.
Who was born in a house full of pain,
who was trained not to spit in the fan,
who was told what to do by the man,
who was broken by trained personnel,
Who was fitted with collar and chain,
who was given a seat in the stand,
who was breaking away from the pack,
who was only a stranger at home,
who was ground down in the end,
who was found dead on the phone,
who was dragged down by the stone.
Pink Floyd
Animales
Una sociedad de animales humanizados, algo asì como La Granja de Orwell, es lo que proponen Pink Floyd en este album que acabo de conseguir y se suma a la lista de albumes de los Floyd en estar entre mis favoritos...
Pigs on the wing (part 1)
If you didn’t care what happened to me,
and I didn’t care for you,
we would zig zag our way through the boredom and pain,
occasionally glancing up through the rain,
wondering which of the buggers to blame
and watching for pigs on the wing.
Tarde lluviosa
Un inmenso aguacero borrò los lìmites de la tarde.
Oscurecido tras el cristal de mi ventana, espiè tus piernas blancas emergidas, separados por el doble muro del cristal y de la lluvia...
De repente escampò y el mundo quedò tan sorprendido que guardò silencio. Una luz crepuscular difuminò los objetos y todo a mi alrededor fue nostalgia.
Soñè con nacer de nuevo, surgir de esta mundo recièn lavado, libre yo tambièn de culpas y remordimientos, y acercarme a tì con mis manos como ofrenda.
Pero tu puerta cerrada pronunciò una profunda negativa, y mi pasado erizado cortò cualquier posible retirada...
Còpula mundi
El amor ya no es la còpula mundi de los renacentistas.
Ahora es una divisiòn màs de la industria del entretenimiento.
Noche desvelada
Oscuro como una noche desvelada
silencioso como agua contenida...
Restos
Restos del naufragio
la lenta dispersiòn de los signos...