Saturday, July 31, 2010

Best Antibotics For Prostate Infection

appetite

good thing about being on vacation are things like this, that, for many turns suddenly, after a while surfing internautical been given one-world situation of culture, the future of literary creation, the sense of literary criticism, the new elitism of social networks, the visual impression of the current thinking, and many other points and areas of huge interest to the epochal understanding, metaphysical, psychological and anthropological modern man does not want, finally, writing a single line about it.

The underlying problem: that the loss of appetite, a sense of cosmic boredom (or otherwise, that every that and much more, the books that are read or not, movies that are unknown, ignored the music, philosophy, theory and history and criticism that is not scrutinized .... end all that matter, simply, a hoot), to stay home beyond August. Then you have to look for a hole in the closet, making room, feed.

And worst, this tickling unmistakable feeling of being right. Right.

Friday, July 23, 2010

What Must I Clean Mystomach With

Internext theory and practice: additional scenes


NOTE. Publish here some paragraphs redacted or additional scenes from the article "Theory and Practice of Internext (by the way Vicente Luis Mora, Cromm Alba), "appeared in the latest issue of The Summum. Whoever comes to this without going out there not understand very well what's going on. Let now a promise to abide by the final paragraph of that article, in which, mocking joke, I postulate that a text (or Internext) theoretically open beyond its conventional boundaries requires, therefore, a criticism also capable of breaking down traditional barriers format, tone, and discursive way, and I prepare it. (Sure you still do not know what is the thing ...)

Internext Theory and Practice: additional scenes.

Alternate title.


Lost in Pangea. Hasty notes on the Internext.


Scenes # 1-2, a start discarded.


Something terrible shakes the conscience when, without notice, and half way to Damascus, suddenly stumbled and, with forgiveness, we fall off the donkey. In my case, the stumbling block is called Vicente Luis Mora, a poet, literary scholar, critic and novelist from various publications 'traditional' now explain the quotes, and a booming blog "daily readings" among other forums, has continued in recent years, a line of thought that, since the precipitation of the newcomer, such is my role, since already-confessed, has overtones of deep and rough scars, because its explicit intention not seem another separated from each side two conceptions of the narrative task, to understand, tildaré of "traditional" on the side of the locals, and "new novel" on the side of there.


With the adoption of such terms (vs. traditional novel new novel), made my own responsibility, it is obvious I am trying to reintegrate the theoretical and practical debate Mora would be the spearhead in a classic pattern of aesthetic confrontation. The move is, for my part, less ironic anxiolytic: seen well, have the consolation to consider the advent of Pangea or Internext as a new episode or even a spin-off , to put it in terms perhaps more relevant-the serial fascinating story that has featured the narrative genre, say, the last hundred years. Last hundred years, as the good Locke (I mean the Lost Locke, of course), from season to season we have seen the novel die again and again to revive soon after in the form of successive avant-garde avatars now , neorealist pray, pray existentialists, now objectivist postmodernists now, now ... and I'm talking bestselleristas memory. I advance to the last paragraph: the vocation of every serial story, Lost included, is to persevere ad infinitum / ad nauseam by exhaustion of all combinatorial (digressions possible: Borges and "The Garden of Forking Paths" González Requena and the "logic carcinogen" soap opera in television discourse ). From this point of view, the spin-off is not just commercial development: it is ontological definition, categorical imperative. Welcome, then, this new season history of the novel.


Scene # 3, free translation of some paragraphs of Vicente Luis Mora.

In my free translation, the Internext is the writing of the digital age, a script which scenario is the computer screen, the logic of multi-tasking, skeleton hypertext (or 3D text, to follow catching up), grammar, writing the html ... which purifies surface image and word, typography and graphics, in short, text and internet.


Scene # 4, an unfortunate pun.


The paper Vicente Luis Mora concludes with a discussion in corpore vili (Eco, limits interpretation) in which the author analyzes his own novel, Alba Cromm from such theoretical assumptions. Beyond the fascinating chill that such a gesture calls for, there is no objection to the fact that incorporate the critical corpus his own body ("the crime?).


Scene # 5, development of short fictional dream-epistemological anxiety.


The hardest part of the reading test Vicente Luis Mora [ new light ] is that you end up questioning if not will suffer from this terrible evil that detects critical, certified and shipped from a severe stroke: the nineteenth-century episteme . Let's look at key dream Dream


I visit Vicente Luis Mora, at the time dressed in white robe, sat behind a white desk, and with a curious stethoscope hanging from his neck. I tend to my manuscript humble gesture: he takes with routine gesture, he leaves on the table, applies the relevant instrumental and after a brief pause, sighs and leans back in his chair. I, unable to contain the panic, ask
- Is it serious, doctor?
He squints. Then proclaims:
"Very. His work suffers from nineteenth-century episteme.
The image of a weeping pustules epistemological piercing the nervous system of my manuscript shakes me like a slap. I almost feel the pain of every page, but at least now, I say, after weeks of unrest, cramps and rattling understand that I noticed in your writing and first and second corrections. So that was it.
"My God, whisper, without realizing this pre-postmodern symptomatic invocation. What I can do? "My look is appealing. I realize that one side of the desk, waiting for a prescription pad, and for a moment I glimpse some hope pharmacologic severe treatment with inhibitors, a comprehensive chemotherapy, a revolutionary against narrative sclerosis.
"Sorry," he replies, with educated critical distance. It's a bad birth. And chronic.
"I understand. I was afraid of: the thing had a bad pint.
"Very bad looking, yes.
I leave the consultation with the neck bent by an invisible existential weight. Anyway, below the grief warn how a warm feeling of gratitude invades my mind. "It's a good doctor," I say. "He's done a good job."


Scene # 6, superficial short story attempt internextual.

Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, I began to fly slowly folders, shortcut icons and some loose documents toward the other side of the desk. He had turned in search of something, almost disappearing from the frame, and therefore did not realize my initiative. A second later I arrived at my destination, just above the start bar: the Recycle Bin.
With a sidelong glance (so to speak, of course), I realized that was distracted, and without wasting any more time I laid on me and I double click icon. The window took a while to unfold, we see that the RAM goes a little sickly lately. And no wonder. When he finally completed the upset operation (it bothers me, yes, become a small circle that turns on itself each time out), I stood before a vast and ruinous landscape: mountains of stacked megs anyway, all files imaginable sizes and extensions, including two or three handcuffed virus I watched with ill-concealed rage. "How do I find what I want?" I asked, overwhelmed. I put a little aside, to get a better perspective of the maze (the labyrinth weir, to be exact), and then found a semblance of order articulated, as the figure of a carpet, the confused waste tissue ... yes, fortunately the old alphabetical order still prevailed in that desolate region of the hard disk.
I dived, then, in the exploration, suspecting that I am running out of time, and soon find a long row of jpgs labeled with the name that many folders had chaired at the time. There she was ... I would have liked much land at any of these files and to see his face. Only then I realized how I missed them. There was no time to lose. Leaving them behind, poking among the infinite Puntodoc unclear. Then I had an idea: drawing a diagonal fast, I reached the top bar and changed the view mode to "detail": perhaps the creation dates of files to guide me, I thought. And so it was in a corner, innocently sandwiched between several business letters, discovered at last the long confession in the drafting of which had spent a large part of the previous night, when he sat before the screen suddenly seemed a little drunk, the truth , and a slap I got to work.
Only he and I knew the contents of that lengthy document then in a fit of pique or cowardice, decided to delete the directory where you had stored. I was and am accustomed to their weaknesses, their mood swings. But this I could not spoil, just had to restore the text, open the email and send. Then she would know what to do, she knew help. Sometimes when you find out what mission he has had in life, can not suppress a smile of gratitude.
In these was when, suddenly, a relentless force pulled me away and dragged me violently towards the blade located in the upper right corner, "oh, no," he said, but things have got worse: half way through the impulse corrected, changed direction and with a strong click, forced me to push that fateful command, "Empty Recycle Bin. "
Everything vanished in a second. The RAM, usually whimsical and ailing, he performed this time with excruciating care. He barely held back a tear at the sight of that vast and ruinous region that had just been swept by a stroke from the face of the hard disk. When
thing I knew, we were looking for porn on Google, and I knew it was over before I could do nothing about it. This is what has to be a simple arrow. Life bitch ...



Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Stories Of 14 Year Old



Valga concocted a last musical (I think so far rejected by Marienbad ) Cards rather late summer. Delayed because, in fact, I'm not at home but in a fully Italian holiday, but good. In brief return home and continue trying to apply, there Paternoster this personal. That

vds. Enjoy it (summer, wants to say, the theme, to taste).