Empezando

Blog creado en un momento de ocio y locura, he de admitirlo, dentro de poco iré subiendo nuevas cosas así que, lo escaso que hay, espero que lo disfruten.

Se aceptan críticas, tomatazos, lechugazos, y demás verduras, así como objetos cortopunzantes, siempre y cuando no atenten seriamente contra la vida de la autora.

¿La principal razón de esto? Ní si quiera yo soy capaz de decirlo, sin duda alguna, algo saldra de esto...
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A blog created in a moment of leisure and craziness, I must admit it, soon I'll be uploading new stuffs here, so I hope that you enjoy the little I have here... for the moment.

I accept critics, flying vegetables, as so sharps objects, as long they do not seriously attempt against the author's life.

What is the principal reason of this? Even I can't give a precise answer to that, but somehow, something will come from this... or so I hope.

martes, 8 de noviembre de 2011

A Walk Among Snaps


A walk among snaps

An essay bout some Angilee Wilkerson´s photos

       The walking among Angilee Wilkerson’s photographs, The Pencil of Nature, had many interesting pictures; nevertheless, some of them made me stop for a little to appreciate them better. Those were Cat Tails, and Into the Flood Plains.
        The first time I saw Cat Tails, I couldn’t stop thinking that the cat tails, viewed from that angle, seemed to go forever; it was a feeling of continuity, a feeling that there is something eternal and that they know how to get to it. The photography even in its simplicity (yet the angle which it was taken, reflect a group of cat tails growing and reaching up to the blue sky, surrounded by the lawn that only seems to captive them), gave me a feeling of comfort and kindliness. The picture, combined with the square frame, redirects the eye where there is a little clearing showing a little concave-like shape in the lawn, where you can see the light-blue sky slowly merging with the dark-blue one and becoming even much darker as it grows in altitude. The photo invites us to see the bottom of it to later start elevating our eyes and try to see if we can see the end of the cat tails, which in my opinion seemed impossible to human eye. The message it conveys to me is that there is, indeed, something infinite and they can by reaching the sky obtain it, or that only they can afford it to.
        The second picture, Into the Flood Plains, tells the opposite story. The light covering the trees gives me the impression that I’m walking into another, lonely world. The effects that Angilee used give the photo uniqueness, and transform what might have been a simple photo of woods into a magic, dark world. The picture seems almost lifeless, just like if a flood had just appeared and now was gone leaving desolation behind; a place hoping for new life to begin all over again
      The effects, plus the shape of the frame induces us to see at the center of the photo, like I did in the first mentioned photo. The leaves covering the ground give the impression that there is not soil at all but instead that there it might be a swamp. We can see some trees standing straight, and others a little inclined towards the left. The almost imperceptible circle-shape at the center of the page, helps us to focus only in that point as we start to see how what was digitally blurred by the artists is starting to distort a little more; everything else is disappearing except for the subtle suggestion of a circle-shaped clarity in the woods
     The almost lavender sky behind the trees gives you a feeling of kindness. Probably that whatever might have caused this sad environment was finally leaving, but no without leaving a sad view. Is not like a tragedy, it seems to be more like a suspense-angst story waiting to be told but instead was recorded in a photograph.

The unity in both of them is quite different from one to another, yet they appear to have some similarities. For instance, when light changes appreciated in both of them. In Cat Tails, we start at the bottom with brown then a little of pale yellow, to later suddenly change to sky blue, and finally at the upper part with a darker blue, almost black. You can clearly see the imaginary lines created by the artist in her photo. If you happen to trace a vertical line at the center of the picture, you will note that it roughly looks like a mirror effect.
In Into the Flood Plains, we have the same line effect to, though a little more subtle than the first mentioned. In this case, the artist used the blur to help her a little more; at the bottom of the photo, we hardly can clearly see the branches, she also used some shadowing in the corners too. Latter, as we move deeper, the image recovers its clarity. I cannot recall the effect of a magnifier over what I’m seeing. The trees are not fuzzy anymore, instead, I can openly see them, and the much deeper we go the image recovers its fuzziness, and a new darker line appears. This line is formed by the trunks of the trees and their branches; but then, there is this new other line, one that is totally different from the others. This is lavender and is the sky.

The first picture went up to the sky; the second went deep into the forest. The sky reflected something infinity, the deepness of the woods the unknown, a mystery. Probably both of them wanted to tell a story that was recorded not in words but in a picture.

Lastly, both of the pictures helped me to understand a world seen by other’s eyes. That there are different versions of the same place; before this, I would have never thought about the cat tails in this way, or that the clearing in a wood could seem so depressing to me. It is amazing what a little blur can do to your vision and the conceptions you have regarding some matters. We don’t see this, or at least we don’t know how to appreciate it yet, but because photos like these I still can feel there is still beauty in a world we cannot reach nor we can perceive. We can only encounter a different vision of the same world through other’s eyes.
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I did this for my Art class a couple of weeks ago; somehow, in the way I decided to publish the essay here, I never did another proofreading, so if there are any mistakes, which is more likely to be, I would be appreciated if you are so kindly to tell me. I took some photos when I was trying to do my work, there was an exhibiton at my College so the teacher decided to, well, give us an assignment.
I have others as well; probably I will publish some of them later, and if I want I will be translating them, but I have some many things going on that it'll take a time to accomplish that.

viernes, 27 de mayo de 2011

Carta una de un vergo: Inseguridad

Carta 1
Inseguridad

¿Sabes que tan dificil es aparanter un rostro cúando la verdad es que quieres gritarle al mundo tu verdadero yo? ¿Sabes cómo es vivir con un rostro y personalidad frente a unos, cuando en tu interior eres todo lo contrario? Vivo en un mundo pretendiendo tener y ser algo que es una mentira... una completa mentira. Mí boca rara vez dice palabras elevadas de todo, pero cuando nadie estaba viendo, cuando nadie estaba cerca mís deseos de gritar cuanta obsenidad pasara por mí precaria mente crecía a desmedida.
Mís emociones están ocultas tras un rostro de indiferencia, nula emotívidad y aparante estoicismo, gesticulando movimientos previamente aprendidos para dar expresiones faciales para dar una apariencia de un Adolescente normal... Mis verdaderas expresiones faciales son tan variadas con las expresiones de una roca...

Mí amor por el resto del mundo puede ser fácilmente comparada con el amor de Hitler por los judíos... Quizas eso sea demasiado exagerado para usar de comparación... Pero no encuentro una forma de describir el practicamente poco aprecío que poseo para los demas congéneres de mi especie... Incluso el amor hacía mi persona es algo pequeño. Pero es no quiera decir que voy a andar maldiciendo e irrespetando a todo aquel que se cruze en mi camino. O que no me respete a mí misma. Tampoco soy tan pendeja como para ir a matarme yo misma. Pero de allí a ir amando por el globo a cada persona como si fuera uno de mis tesoros más preciados es otro cuento; solo pocos entran en la lista de: "A quienes respeto y a quienes considero buenos amigos o buenos conocidos", a pesar de haberlos visto unas escasas veces o en su defecto no haberlos visto nunca.

Para mí, los humanos son la peste de la tierra -yo incluyendome-; una plaga fuera de control que destruye todo a su paso. ¿Cúal era el nombre que se le daba a las personas que tienen un repudio hacía los mismo humanos? No lo recuerdo, pero estoy comenzando a pensar que debo de estar entre esa lista...

Sí, soy una hipócrita, digo y hago muchas cosas que en realidad no quiero ní deseo. Fingo tener un amor que no tengo.

En alguna parte de mi vida, algo se rompío en mí -y el conflicto Padre-Madre no tiene nada que ver-, cambié, me corrompí, mi mente comenzó a cambiar y mi antigüo yo murió, y yo vine a reemplazar su cuerpo.
Vivo atrapada en dos mundos: La realidad y Mi imaginación. La imaginación es lo que me da el placer de sentirme plena y feliz; la imaginación impoide que me muera de aburrimiento y me permite crear en mi mente las situaciones mas incoherentes posibles... y la realidad evita que entre en la locura...

Mi mayor temor no es la muerte; es el que alguien me quite mí habilidad de imaginación y crear con mís manos. Curioso es que yo puedo imaginar porque soy capaz de ver el mundo a través de mís ojos, encuentro muy díficil de pensar que tipo de cosas imaginan los que son ciegos de nacimiento.

Soy insegura, tanto que a veces me pregunto sí todo lo que hago esta bien, si el hecho de que respire esta bien; si el hecho de que haya nacido este bien. Si el hecho de que esto o lo otro esten bien... Pero tambien hay momentos en los que no me importa ni mierda, todo lo que quiero hacer es vivir, ver y conocer nuevas cosas, ahogar mí mente en una pila de libros y no despejar mis ojos de ellos, hacer lo que más me gusta sin ningun tipo de prejuicios... Los prejuicios humanos... pero que cosa mas estúpida, no hacen mas que causar problemas, como si para eso hayan nacido ¿Algunas vez se han puesto a pensar como sería el mundo sin ellos? Yo a veces me lo pregunto y las conclusiones no siempre son bonitas. Je, siempre debo de verle un lado negativo a la vida...

Sí, málditas inseguridades, siempre te detienen de hacer lo que más deseas en tu vida, siempre te estan deteniendo, siempre estan allí como una peste... una muy fea peste.
Por inseguridades se han creado guerras sin sentido... por inseguridades se han cometido las peores atrocidades en nombre de la justicia... o en el caso de la religión, de la iglesia o dios; aún me pregunto como una Guerra puede ser Santa...

sábado, 26 de marzo de 2011

D-Day, Normandy

Just to make things clear, I DO NOT have English as mother language (as you can prove it in my other blog.) So, I really will appreciate if you don't blame me for messing with this language. I'm not perfect, and I still consider my self as a English-learner, so if you have anything to say, please please!!! do it in a polite way, 'cuz I won't tolerate any disrespect to my person.
Needless to say, history is my worst subject, but I really liked this assignment, but guess what? It was written in English, so if you are a poor soul that came to this blog by my other blog (?), I'm really sorry. After this, I will write a little summarize in Spanish. 
Now let's begin!! 

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D-Day 
Normandy Landings
"It was matter of seconds when I realized that if there was any place like Hell, it might be the beaches of Normandy on June 6 of 1944.  We hadn't sink when the enemy started shooting to our boats, as soon they had a chance, they killed many of our soldiers.
I went underwater to try to protect from the bullets-and bombs-, it wasn't a surprise that I wasn't the only one who thought the same action... neither it was when I saw it was quite useless.
But we had to keep moving.
I swam through the several death bodies, I approached  the nearest boat I saw, I needed to breath and hide at the same time. Some of my mates were already there; planning how to get nearest the coast. I joined them as well.
With effort, we made our way to the beach, other soldiers were shooting with the hope that some bullets fell in the enemy's field and killed someone.
The noise was horrible, the soldiers' faces were traumatic sights. The rain of bullets seemed endless. I could see everything crumbling in front of my eyes. The pain on my body was unmanageable, but I had to fight, I couldn't let myself  die without doing nothing.
With high determination -and luck-, I approached the nearest General I could see for instructions. He looked hesitating, many were asking him, what to do; somehow, he looked distant. It hadn't pass too much when he gave the instructions we were waiting for.

After a long fight-and many deaths, we managed to go inside the enemy's base; we destroyed, we killed... We  did not show mercy. But at the very end, only few of us survived, the sea was colored by red... a red that came from our comrades' bodies.
The sound, the smoke, the taste of blood in the air, the sight of uncountable corpses, the sickening feeling of the war... That was the only word I found to describe that hellish place... Even now I think that Hell could be prettiest than the beaches of Normandy on June 6 of 1944...
The several broken bones, the incalculable wounds, and my now missing hand, are trifles compared to the suffering of the fallens' family."
Dairy of war; weekly newspaper. Story from a survivor of the beaches of Normandy on June 6, 1944.
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 Just to let you know, this story (if you want to call it), it was based on a movie that we (the class) had to see in order to create this... thing... 
It  was not a pretty war, and it is a fact that many people died fighting, between 4,000 to 9,000 casualties. The movie (whose name I cannot be able to remember...), showed it in a pretty crude way. 
If I remember the name, I'll write it down, otherwise, it'll stay like this.

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Español:  El ataque en las playas de Normandia, no fué un hecho que sea recordado precisamente por ser de colores pasteles. Fue sangriento... y mucho, se dice que cerca de 4,000 a 9,000 personas murieron ese día en ese preciso lugar en cuestión de unas cuantas horas. Esta cosa (llámese; intento de historia), fué basada en una película sobre esa batalla. El nombre no lo recuerdo, pero al estar basada en esa película, yo describí los hechos tal cuál los ví(mas o menos) y tal cuál mi maestra os lo pidió narrarlos.  Lo qué publiqué cuenta como sucedieron las cosas desde el punto de vista de un sobreviviente de la guerra, que fue publicado en un períodico local (ficticio, obviamente). Y no, no fue tan fácil que se diga. Para hacerlo, tuve que hacer muuuuchos borradores desde diferentes puntos de vista, al final ví que me salia mejor uno narrado desde primera persona. Espero haber cumplido con mí propósito original: Crear un ¿cuento? historico, basado en un hecho real (y dicho sea de paso: convincente),  sobre algo que paso en cierto punto en el tiempo. De no ser así, supongo que necesito más practica.

Espero no haber os aburrido...