Friday, July 28, 2006

With hope, comes strength.


There he stood int he doorway, as the time to bid farewell had come. He hold her and kissed her, and seeing her walk away he could hear his own heart stoping. He looked down and felt alone in the darkness. He felt the abyss underneath his feet calling, mercyless. Then he rose up his sight and saw her one more time. He saw her shining, inspiring and silent like the sunshine. He got his face up, strength renewed. Only then he understood, after the darkest night comes the sunrise, after the harshest winter returns the spring. He too, will endure.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Empire umpire

During the colonial times, there was an immense demand for an intelectual justification of imperialistic policies. An ideological reason was needed. Of course, christianity played a major rol, so did the capitalist and racist ideas. For the western countries, heavily militarized, there was a lot of money to be made in colonialism; but they needed a moral justification for invading, enslaving and exploding people in a way they would never do in their own territories.

One of this ideas was that the white european men had an evolutive and cultural advantage over everybody else, and therefore a moral obligation to bring ‘true civilization’ to what they called primitive societies, whether they wanted it or not. This twisted idealism was based on the notion that it was acceptable to destroy the native’s culture; as adopting the western ways would make them happier. In some cases, the native ways were not even considered a culture, they were seen as savage or animalistic behaviors, and a “shame to the rest of mankind”.

For the evangelist, it was somewhat similar. The destruction of local’s culture and religion was a noble thing to do, as pagans are not allowed in heaven. Oppresion was then seen as a mean to achive eternal salvation of the soul. Whether they trully belived this, or they just pretended to to escape their guilt, we’ll never know. Most early studies by europeans in central Africa are full of cultural subjetivism and prejudice.

In the middle of this mess, there was Rubyard Kipling, who we all recall only as the author of The Jungle Book. Born in British colonial India, he knew the ways of an empire. It was in 1899 when he published what is perhaps one of the most polemic poems ever, The white’s man burden. What is the white man’s burden? In the poem, it is refered to as the moral obligation of the white man to impose his ideas on others. Kipling (I think) was being sarcastic; for there is a lot of hipocrecy in the neverending quest for power. The poem is divided in seven verses, and the first one reads:

Take up the White Man's burden —
Send forth the best ye breed —
Go, bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait, in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild —
Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.

After the challenge to take up the burden, the motherland makes the sacrifice of sending the young to a faraway land, to serve an endevour that may take their whole lives. The colonicer is victimiced and redeemed, as he is ‘serving his captive’s need’ by enlightning them with the western culture. The colony is descrived as a exotic, thrilling scenario where everything is possible, and great power is to be obtained. The natives are ‘half devil and half child’ as, even if they are not truly evil, they act in evil by differing from the european standard because of the childish and immature nature of their ways.

Many of the ideas of the colonial period are long out of fashion, and yet some remain. Now, theres an interesting view of all the historical wrongs the white man is responsible for. Being of white european ethnicity in a once colonial country is a good example of a delicate situation. Quite a big proportion of the habitants of the American Continent have some amount of european heritage, and yet I have never met anyone proud or nostalgic for the colonial era.

The opposite is true, even the people of Iberic ethnicity here regard the Spanish Colony as a time of great cruelty, genocide and disrespect for others point of view of others. To some extent, this leads to an over idealization of the invaded, but that is partially due to a guilt reflex. And in the specific case of México, we know very little of the pre-colonial America, since the Spanish were both quick and effective at destroying native culture. But something happened, Spanish culture was also lost in a way, as they got mixed over time, giving birth to a completely new ideosincrasy.

It is true that the imperialistic ‘ideal’ failed, though, as post-colonial territories face a hard and uncertain future. And also, it was proven to be hoax, for if there was a true desire to end poverty and ignorance (which today is, for the most part, a concecuence of colonialism) the developed countries would still be trying to find a way to make things equal for all peoples.

So what must be the role of the first world countries today?

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Good ol’ Gopher

I was eleven. An innocent kid, no beard, no driver’s licence, not a worry in the world. The most important thing in the world back then was to watch Thundercats and Dragon Ball, burn stuff, fight with my brothers, burn more stuff, devouring candy and Julio Verne’s novels. In september, picking up pears and apples, sell them and buy candy. And fireworks and ammo for the air rifle. Its funny we never got badly hurt, being such intense and destructive kids.

Except for the time Manuel climbed that old roof and fell on the goat’s corral. And that time Chava broke a finger. And the first two times I broke my nose. And when Manuel shot me in the belly (we were trying to prove whether the Geography volume of the TIME encyclopedia was thick enough to be considered bulletproof). And that time we burned the grass with gasoline, in a (now I see) stupid and dangerous attempt to avoid the work it was to cut it.

Then we got Gopher. There was quite a debate over how we would name him: Baxter, Pixel, Winchester, Remington, Hunter, Max, and all sort of crazy and inapropiate names. Then Manuel said we should name him after one of the first servers ever. And also the word gofer (with f instead of ph) is an old way to say errand-runner. We thought that was pretty cool. So it was settled.

This morning I noticed Gopher was having a hard time getting on his feet. His left-rear leg was... woobbly. I gave him a hand to get up. He was happy (as usual) and gave no signs of any pain. But I know him better. So, I took him to vet. The moment we steped out of the hause, he was walking just fine. But whenever he sat, he found it difficult to get up, like his leg was weak. So anyway, the vet checked him up.

Like the last time, the vet said he is in a great shape. He checked his leg, and found nothing wrong. He checked him again, took his temperature, listened to his heart and move his leg around. We now know. He had a hard time getting on his feet because he is 72 years old. Well, he is eleven but you know dogs age faster. He got a shot of medicine, and he’ll get another in two weeks. He is allright now.

Its funny, Gopher is starting to have old-age-related issues. I have spent half my life with that dog. He has seen me grow. He was there the first time I introduced a girlfriend to my parents. He was there all that christmasses, and new year parties. He got drunk with my friends and me. He has always been there for me, willing to play and be cheerful when I was sad. He is still, after all this years.

He is a better person than most people.

Also, today I found a little bird in the street. I picked him up and took him (or her, who knows) home. He is right next to me now, in a converse shoe box, eating a cornpop. In a couple days I’ll release him in the park, and hopefully he will fly away, eat worms, shit in the cars and all the other exiting things birds do.

Tomorrow I'll discuss a polemic poem by Kipling, first published in 1899.

Friday, July 14, 2006

GI-tract!


Muy bien. Basta de tonterías, quizá en mi lengua materna pueda escribir algo más o menos decente. Han sido días difíciles. Alguien a quien amo está lejos, y eso duele. Pero sé que no sirve de nada lamentarse o entregarse a la desesperanza. Un espíritu más débil, se abandonaría y sería cargado irremediablemente por la chingada. Afortunadamente, mi espíritu está lejos de ser débil. Cuento con una de esas inusuales certezas, una de esas cosas de las que uno simplemente está seguro más allá de cualquier duda y ni siquiera puede explicar por qué. Estoy completamente seguro de algo, y ella lo sabe. Así que pase lo que pase, mi rostro se mantiene en alto.

Así que voy a hablar de los diseñadores de interiores. Más particularmente de los diseñadores de muebles. En primer lugar, me parece una tontería pagar una fortuna por un sillón que sea más bonito que cómodo. Ahora, si es ergonómico y hermoso, pues todo mundo gana. Quizá sea producto de un pragmatismo patológico, pero estoy seguro de que hay un límite en el significado que se puede imbuir y luego atribuir a un mueble.

Quizá un diseñador de muebles que vende un sillón minimalista en 30mil euros sea un genio genuino y su sillón como un haiku a los ojos de un conocedor, mientras que para mí (simple mortal) es un sillón cuadrado y duro. Tal vez se deba a esa cualidad quasimágica que le damos a las celebridades, si tal diseñador dice que uno es mas bruto que un australopiteco si no derrama una lágrima contemplando semejante proeza mueblo-espacial, ¿quién soy yo para llevarle la contra?

O quizá no tenga que ir tan lejos. Bástale reconocer cuan comprensible le resulta que un hombre común, un gentil, un plebeyo del saber, no pueda apreciar la sublime poesía del anguloso engendro (de vinil, blanco, por supuesto) que se le presenta y le hace pensar en los homínidos oníricos de Odisea 2001 frente al monolito. Desde luego, el diseñador plantó intencionalmente esa referencia en su obra, solo para hacer sentir mal al hombre promedio.

Iré mas lejos; ¡un hermeneuta palidece y se laxa ante el texto sillonoso! Mientras que nosotros, los desdichados, los ciegos, a los que no nos tocó ni un ápice de la sensibilidad indispensable para saborear con el neocortex y el cerebelo algo de tan inusitado parangón, miramos desde lejos mientras nos aventamos piedras/caca los unos a los otros.

Pero si tú eres un hombre extraordinario, o una mujer sensata; al instante te inunda la urgencia de expresar toda la gloria intelectual que contienes, todo el abanico cromático emocional del abrigo de José el soñador, toda pompa, la fábula, la ironía, el idealismo y todos los más nobles sentimientos a los que aspira el ser. Y solo ESE sillón lo dice todo.

Claro, si pagas los 30mil euros.
Desde luego, la imágen no tiene absolutamente nada que ver con el texto. A menos que se lea más de lo necesario.

Mañana: Top 10!

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Rapid eye movement!

I really don’t like complaining. I try not to. But right now, I feel pretty fuckin miserable. Been working all day finishing a shitty translation. But then again, I DO need the money so I might as well just shut the fuck up and stop being a whining-fuck-o. Now, I know I’m just saying things because I’m sad and because I’m angry and shit. They say love hurts. It doesen’t. Missing hurts. Disapointment hurts. Being left behind hurts. Love is a-ok. God damn it. I hate emo kids and right now I’m talking just like one. Holy shit. Just what I need to feel better, being disgusted.

But hey I’m not supposed to get sad. I’m a SOLID-STEEL-WARMACHINE. Right? Damn right!

Right...

So. Anyway. This past few days have been bored as hell. I’ve been wandering the streets. Really, wandering like a hobo. Today I went delivering the translation I made and collected my money. Then I went to the bank, and got the money in my card. And then I wandered. I haven’t seen my friends (for some reason). Today I took a shower after like three days. I was getting gross to be me. So now I’m clean (yet unshaved). I think I won’t shave for the next days/weeks/whatever. Maybe my friends were avoiding me because I spent three days without showering. Fancy bastards!

Tomorrow I might go to the airport. My oldest bro is leaving for Cuba with his lovely lady! Lucky devil uh? The thing is he doesn’t want to leave his car in the airport for such a long time (motherfuckers charge like €6 per hour!) so I think I will meet him in the airport and take his car, and when he comes back (if he ever does) I’ll go pick him up. Sounds like a plan. Its funny that the city where he lives has no international airport. I mean, its quite a big city.

By the way, this post came out horrible. Today I wanted to write somethig:
a)Smart and
b)in Spanish
And it would seem like I failed miserably at both. But I have a plan! I’ll post this and shortly afterwards will start writing something better. Hopefully, no-one will notice. I’m a criminal mastermind! MUA HA HA HA HAH!