Free counter and web stats

23.4.08

sant jordi 2008....alias refrit power08....

....este año toca refrito....pero es que me gustó tanto el post que hice el año pasado desde berlin....


....Feliç Sant Jordi....

Feliç dia de Sant Jordi!! Espero que totes i tots rebeu moltes roses i llibres i q després no els deixeu oblidats al prestatge com qualsevol cosa inanimada... Espero q passeu un bon dia i q els que esteu a la fresca ja us pugueu posar sandàlies. [....encara que només sigui una....]


Rayuela
Capítulo 7

Toco tu boca, con un dedo toco el borde de tu boca, voy dibujándola como si saliera de mi mano, como si por primera vez tu boca se entreabriera, y me basta cerrar los ojos para deshacerlo todo y recomenzar, hago nacer cada vez la boca que deseo, la boca que mi mano elige y te dibuja en la cara, una boca elegida entre todas, con soberana libertad elegida por mí para dibujarla con mi mano en tu cara, y que por un azar que no busco comprender coincide exactamente con tu boca que sonríe por debajo de la que mi mano te dibuja.

Me miras, de cerca me miras, cada vez más de cerca y entonces jugamos al cíclope, nos miramos cada vez más de cerca y nuestros ojos se agrandan, se acercan entre sí, se superponen y los cíclopes se miran, respirando confundidos, las bocas se encuentran y luchan tibiamente, mordiéndose con los labios, apoyando apenas la lengua en los dientes, jugando en sus recintos donde un aire pesado va y viene con un perfume viejo y un silencio. Entonces mis manos buscan hundirse en tu pelo, acariciar lentamente la profundidad de tu pelo mientras nos besamos como si tuviéramos la boca llena de flores o de peces, de movimientos vivos, de fragancia oscura. Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo del aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una sola saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar contra mi como una luna en el agua.

Julio Cortázar

Chapter 7
Rayuela
I touch your mouth, I touch the edge of your mouth with my finger, I am drawing it as if it were something my hand was sketching, as if for the first time your mouth opened a little, and all I have to do is close my eyes to erase it and start all over again, every time I can make the mouth I want appear, the mouth which my hand chooses and sketches on your face, and which by some chance that I do not seek to understand coincides exactly with your mouth which smiles beneath the one my hand is sketching on you.
You look at me, from close up you look at me, closer and closer and then we play cyclops, we look closer and closer at one another and our eyes get larger, they come closer, they merge into one and the two cyclopses look at each other, blending as they breathe, our mouths touch and struggle in gentle warmth, biting each other with their lips, barely holding their tongues on their teeth, playing in corners where a heavy air comes and goes with an old perfume and a silence. Then my hands go to sink into your hair, to cherish slowly the depth of your hair while we kiss as if our mouths were filled with flowers or with fish, with lively movements and dark fragrance. And if we bite each other the pain is sweet, and if we smother each other in a brief and terrible sucking in together of our breaths, that momentary death is beautiful. And there is but one saliva and one flavor of ripe fruit, and I feel you tremble against me like a moon on the water.




El principito se fue a ver nuevamente las rosas: No sois en absoluto parecidas a mi rosa. No sois nada aún. Nadie os ha domesticado y no habéis domesticado a nadie. Sois bellas, pero estáis vacías. No se puede morir por vosotras. Pero ella sola es más importante que todas vosotras, puesto que es ella la rosa a quién he regado.


The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.
You are not at all like my rose. As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are beautiful, but you are empty. One could not die for you. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered... Because she is my rose.




14.4.08

....Bird in the shit....


A little bird was flying south for the winter. It got so cold it froze up and fell to the ground in a large field.

While it was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on it. As it lay there in the pile of cow dung, it began to realize how warm it was. The dung was actually thawing him out! He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy.

A passing cat heard the little bird singing, and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and then ate him.

The morals of the story are:

1. Not everyone who drops shit on you is your enemy.

2. Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.

3. When you're in deep shit, keep your mouth shut!



7.4.08

....mandamientos de mainz....die vier gebote aus mainz....

falls jemand von euch mal nach mainz fahren sollte, so sei ihm empfohlen unbedingt die vier mainzer gebote einzuhalten!
welche das sind? lest sie selbst, die heiligen inschriften: