First rain ©janco tanis jancology.com
Es decir, tuvo. Por ahí salió un sol todo disonante pero bueno, el mundo no es todo para mi.Hoy oí la mejor definición de Jazz que conozco, “el jazz es como un mango biche con sal”. Que bonito, la mejor descripción de ese sentimiento de dolor/placer, hacer caras extrañas y siempre [...]
lonely lonely
me recorro a diferentes velocidades. Aún no comprendo las intensidades, pero las experimento. Nunca me detengo, pero tampoco nada parece avanzar. Al enfrentarme con otras velocidades, tratando de mantener la mía, pierdo toda confianza en mi conciencia. Todo son velocidades y no las dirijo yo, no soy más que una de ellas. Prefiero la lentitud, la contemplación y las mañanas largas, prefiero caminar despacio. Prefiero mirar, oir antes que hablar, pensar antes que hacer y conocer antes que inventar. Aunque siempre estoy creando. Tengo una manera, aún incomprendida, de procesar las cosas, decantar el pensamiento, en la parte de atrás de la cabeza, mientras camino, me baño o miro por la ventana. El cuerpo va despacio, pero el pensamiento va a velocidades inconmensurables. Con el pensamiento me cuesta ir despacio, porque siento que se me escapan las salida. Recorro diferentes callejones, cada uno con salidas infinitas, y soy tan ambicioso que quisiera recorrerlas todas. La mínima velocidad es la más alta, pero todavía no la comprendo del todo. Walk slowly; drink lots of water.
Odio viajar. Viajar, perder países. Nunca mejor dicho. Viajar es ir a la velocidad equivocada, ni muy rápido ni muy despacio, perfecta para no ver nada. Prefiero detenerme, habitar. No tengo afán, pero sé que tampoco voy a la velocidad adecuada.
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but youre older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
sonida: lonely lonely (frisbee’d remix), Feist.
la condición autística
“cuando una maestra pregunta a un niño con Asperger que ha olvidado su trabajo escolar “¿Qué pasa, tu perro se comió tus deberes?”, el niño con Asperger permanecerá silencioso tratando de decidir si debe explicar a su maestra que él no tiene perro y que además los perros no comen papel. Esto es, el niño no comprende el sentido figurado de la pregunta o no puede inferir lo que la maestra quiere decir a partir de su tono de voz, postura o expresión facial. Ante tanta perplejidad, el niño podría responder con una frase totalmente sin relación a lo que se está hablando (como por ejemplo, “¿Ud. sabe que mi papá se compró un nuevo computador?”). Ante esto, y a falta de detección del SA, desgraciadamente la maestra podría concluir que el niño es arrogante, insubordinado o “raro”.”
definitivamente. la condición autística.
de wikipedia: http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Síndrome_de_Asperger
sonida: the con, tegan and sarah.
diez variaciones de un impulso.
tres personas, seis manos, treinta dedos, un impulso.
Daniel Villegas, Daniel Lopez, Ma. Angélica Madero
audio: http://www.mediafire.com/?mxtj1dscvmt
niño mostaza once again (espejosenloslibros)
“but such was the singular spirit of our young friend that she could remind herself with a pang that when people had awfully good manners–people of that class–you couldn’t tell. These manners were for everybody, and it might be drearily unavailing for any poor particular body to be overworked and unusual. What he did take for granted was all sorts of facility; and his high pleasantness, his relighting of cigarettes while he waited, his unconscious bestowal of opportunities, of boons, of blessings, were all a part of his splendid security, the instinct that told him there was nothing such an existence as his could ever lose by. He was somehow all at once very bright and very grave, very young and immensely complete; and whatever he was at any moment it was always as much as all the rest the mere bloom of his beatitude. He was sometimes Everard, as he had been at the Hotel Brighton, and he was sometimes Captain Everard. He was sometimes Philip with his surname and sometimes Philip without it. In some directions he was merely Phil, in others he was merely Captain. There were relations in which he was none of these things, but a quite different person–”the Count.” There were several friends for whom he was William. There were several for whom, in allusion perhaps to his complexion, he was “the Pink ‘Un.” Once, once only by good luck, he had, coinciding comically, quite miraculously, with another person also near to her, been “Mudge.” Yes, whatever he was, it was a part of his happiness–whatever he was and probably whatever he wasn’t. And his happiness was a part–it became so little by little–of something that, almost from the first of her being at Cocker’s, had been deeply with the girl.”
In the cage. Henry James
sonida: I believe in you, Cat Power.
“pues estamos hechos de líneas. Y no nos referimos únicamente a líneas de escritura, las líneas de escritura se conjugan con otras líneas, líneas de vida, líneas de suerte o de mala suerte, líneas que crean la variación de la propia línea de escritura, líneas que están entre las líneas escritas.”
D&G. Mil Mesetas.
“She was perfectly aware that her imaginative life was the life in which she spent most of her time; and she would have been ready, had it been at all worth while, to contend that, since her outward occupation didn’t kill it, it must be strong indeed. Combinations of flowers and greenstuff forsooth! What SHE could handle freely, she said to herself, was combinations of men and women. The only weakness in her faculty came from the positive abundance of her contact with the human herd; this was so constant, it had so the effect of cheapening her privilege, that there were long stretches in which inspiration, divination and interest quite dropped. The great thing was the flashes, the quick revivals, absolute accidents all, and neither to be counted on nor to be resisted. Some one had only sometimes to put in a penny for a stamp and the whole thing was upon her.”
In the cage. Henry James
sonida: break my body, Hanne Hukkelberg.
what changes?
difference is what lets us see two things as the same; similarity exists only after the initial assessment of the difference. No matter how much two things to be alike, it is by means of difference that we can even think of them as being separate beings and then join them together once again. The region where things meet is not what they have in common, but what makes them unique; Now, it is because of it that we can tell change, as in the passing of time, as in the growing of things or dying of the self. It is because difference is what lies beneath everything that we perceive movement and life.
and if you look at the ceiling, or the white wall in front of you, maybe you’ll see the differences inside you. ravishing with movement, you can’t grasp anything of what is going on around you, mesmerized in music and thoughts, unaware of the world, you think of your old getaway town again, you think of your own places, you think of yourself. you realize there is nothing outside that is not inside, nothing inside that does not depend on the outside, thought being no more than outbursts of void ripping through your mind, leaving you in different emotional plateaux which expand and flow into each other. you look for difference inside you to create a palpable narrative of your life, to find the meaning of meaning of meaning. you write, the only thing you can do without hurting yourself (or so you think) or others (that’s what you’d expect) and feel the anxiety crawling up your bones. spend money on food, on drinks, on gifts for your friends, the world is always pale, difference lies on the inside.
In the middle of it all, ask, what changes? don’t ask for what has changed, ask for the changes in change, for the change of change and it’s inmutability; polemos morphosis. ask for what will remains of change in static things, ask for what you can change yourself, ask for changes, if any.
sonida: you’re just a baby, belle & sebastian.
Dimensiones
El presente sólo puede concebirse si es al mismo tiempo presente y pasado, ya que de otro modo no se explicaría que un presente pueda devenir pasado al ser suplantado por otro. El paso del presente sólo es pensable en función de una coexistencia paradójica del pasado y del presente. El campo que se invoca no es el de un pasado relativo al presente: en él coexisten todas las dimensiones capaces de actualizarse, y no sólo las que fueron en otro tiempo actuales. No es un receptáculo en el que vendrían a acumularse todos los antiguos presentes, sino que condiciona, por el contrario, la diferencia y sustitución de los presentes: él es el campo mismo de la diferencia de naturaleza. Es un pasado virtual.
Deleuze, una filosofía del acontecimiento-F. Zourabichvilli.
deseo de ser
pienso en ser otro y en dejar de ser. Pienso en rendirme a mi mismo. No hay que confundir yo y mí mismo, dice Artaud, y la diferencia está en la carne. La diferencia, en mí, está en el vacío interior. Ser otro, dejar de ser y ser yo, es un movimiento sobre el eje de mí mismo, una especie de acontecimiento vacuo que me supera y no me deja opción. Frente a eso, tomar decisiones es una ilusión: es obvio que todas las decisiones las toman por mi. Pero, así como decimos yo, o decimos sale el sol, yo digo yo decido, yo quiero, yo escojo o yo pienso. Debería decir nosotros y olvidar toda pretensión. Pero de todas maneras quiero ser yo. ¿Nostalgia del yo? esquizofrenia pura. No, no quiero ser yo por nostalgia, quiero ser algún soporte de mis responsabilidades, quiero dejar de tropezar para fluir, para hacer algo. Voy dejando rastros de mis errores y proyecciones de mi incapacidad, voy abandonando mi presente. Me pierdo y me olvido, y ese olvido nunca es de nada concreto, es de mi pasado no retenido convertido en memoria lejana. Acumulación de tiempo, ocupar sin pensar. En medio de todo, otro yo me mira y escribe.
sonida: dizzy street, Silje Nes.