"El que lee mucho y anda mucho, ve mucho y sabe mucho."

viernes, 30 de septiembre de 2011

jueves, 29 de septiembre de 2011

miércoles, 28 de septiembre de 2011

lunes, 26 de septiembre de 2011

domingo, 25 de septiembre de 2011

Sprawl II (mountains beyond mountains) [Arcade Fire]



They heard me singing and they told me to stop
Quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock
These days my life, I feel it has no purpose
But late at night the feelings swim to the surface

'Cause on the surface the city lights shine
They're calling at me, come and find your kind
Sometimes I wonder if the world's so small
That we can never get away from the sprawl

Living in the sprawl
Dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains
And there's no end in sight
I need the darkness, someone please cut the lights

We rode our bikes to the nearest park
Sat under the swings and kissed in the dark
We shield our eyes from the police lights
We run away, but we don't know why

And like a mirror, the city lights shine
They're screaming at us, "We don't need your kind"
Sometimes I wonder if the world's so small
That we can never get away from the sprawl

Living in the sprawl
Dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains
And there's no end in sight
I need the darkness, someone please cut the lights

They heard me singing and they told me to stop
Quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock
Sometimes I wonder if the world's so small
Can we ever get away from the sprawl?

Living in the sprawl
Dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains
And there's no end in sight
I need the darkness, someone please cut the lights

I need the darkness, someone please cut the lights

Les demoiselles d'Avignon [Pablo Picasso]

Felino


miércoles, 21 de septiembre de 2011

sábado, 17 de septiembre de 2011

Buda Castle


The Raven [Edgar Allan Poe]

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Cadillac of the sky

Lips and hair


Balloons


jueves, 15 de septiembre de 2011

martes, 13 de septiembre de 2011

domingo, 11 de septiembre de 2011


The secret of life is not to do what one likes, but to try to like what one has to do.

Mood Board

Pablo Neruda Sofia Coppola Françoise Hardy Edie Sedgwick José Lezama Lima Julio Cortázar Audrey Hepburn Bob Dylan Brigitte Bardot Francisco de Goya Roberto Bolaño William Blake Ernest Hemingway Joan Baez Terunobu Fujimori Allen Ginsberg Françoise Truffaut Gonzalo Rojas James Abbott McNeill Whistler Luis Barragán Marianne Moore Nicanor Parra Pablo Picasso Anna Karina Arthur Rimbaud Balzac Bernardo Bertolucci Billy Wilder Catherine Deneuve Edgar Allan Poe Eric Rohmer Ernesto Cardenal Franz Kafka Gary Cooper George Borrow J.M.W. Turner Jean Fragonard Jean Luc Godard Jean Seberg Jorge Guillén Kate Moss Lord Byron Mario Benedetti Patrick Vale Patti Smith Pieter Bruegel Sam Haskins Stanley Kubrick Susan Sontag Terrence Malick Van Gogh Walt Whitman Wim Wenders Woody Allen Albert Camus Alberto Durero Alfonso Camín Anaïs Nin Andy Warhol Anne Bradstreet Annie Leibovitz Anthony Minghella Anton Corbijn Astrid Kirchherr Beethoven Benjamin Franklin Bigas Luna Carmen Laforet Cary Fukunaga Caspar David Friederich Charles Baudelaire Charles Bukowski Charlotte Rampling Che Guevara Claes Oldenburg Claude Monet Clémance Poésy Coco Chanel D. H. Lawrence Darren Aronofsky Edward Hopper Elia Kazan Enrique Rojas Ezra Pound F.S. Flint Federico Fellini Florence + The Machine Foo Fighters Francisco de Quevedo Frank Gehry Friederich Schiller Garry Winogrand Giovanni Battista Piranesi Helmut Newton Hunter S Thompson Inez vam Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin Jack Kerouac James Blake Jane Austen Jane Birkin Jean Baudrillard Jean Paul Belmondo Jean Paul Sartre Jeremy Kapone Jimmy Hendrix Jonathan Dayton Jorge Luis Borges Joseph Szabo Juan Marsé Katherine Ross Keith Richards Kurt Cobain Langston Hughes Lauren Bacall Leopoldo María Panero Luís Buñuel Marc Webb Marcello Mastroianni Mario Monicelli Mario Testino Mat Kazman Mia Wasikowska Michael Jackson Michelangelo Antonioni Mick Jagger Nicole Krauss Nietzsche Onetti Oscar Niemeyer Peter Eisenmann Philippe Starck Pink Floyd Quentin Tarantino Rem Koolhaas Roald Dahl Robert Delaunay Roger Vadim Roman Polanski Rubén Darío Salvador Dalí Simone de Bouvoir Terje Rypdal Terry Rodgers Victor Hugo Víctor Erice William Wyler

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