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Reflections Again Milanesa II

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Reflections: Marc Augé

A read that the world ends!

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new chapter in Argentina

French anthropologist gave a lecture on Tuesday 31 August at the Alliance Francaise. Here we bring new emepetreseril furnace outlet for those who were and want to hear or for those who could not go or be left out because the quota was limited.

Augé's conference, including the introduction in which he participated Mabel Grimberg and Cecilia Hidalgo and final questions from the audience, "lasted about 80 minutes.

only have to press "Play" on the next bar. If you have headphones, the better!

(To stop what it sounds like by default, have to press "Stop" on the other ad hoc bar in the left column.)

According to Wikipedia *, Marc Auge is a French anthropologist born in Poitiers in 1935, specializing in the discipline of ethnology.

As a teacher he taught anthropology and ethnology at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales in Paris, where he served as director between 1985 and 1995.

was also responsible for various research director at the Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS).

His work highlights an approach to the concept of "overmodernity" constructed from a reflection on the individual's identity in terms of its relationship with ordinary places and the presence of technology, and coining the term "non-place" to refer to places of transience that are not important enough to be considered as "places." Examples of a non-place would be a highway, a hotel room, an airport or a supermarket.



* The Licensed we are not responsible for this mini biography augeriana we put on filler.

Marching Drum House Song

Before now ... yeah ... Milan

A scene I witnessed a few years ago and was recorded in a document from my PC

Miserere station. A violinist played music in the hysterical ride from the crowd with a similar melody. Combination with line C. Constitution Plaza. People looking for a little. Train to South Zone. Dialogue between an old man and a kid who listens and does not understand. Just like me that watch.
brown corduroy jacket, gray shirt, white hair, pointing to the window:
- That, that
And then to himself:
- I, I
After an itinerary with your index finger from the tip of the head to the stomach, while saying:
- is true. Before now ... yeah ...
- Vos, how many? Asks the boy
- 20
- My son and daughter equally. Before I do ... now ... I ... All that, I ...
Every now and then pulls out a pocket watch and murmured a "Thus" to watch hour.
The old man stretched the collar, as if to show something. I stretched sideways, toward the other, while his hands made a motion of contempt by a "Bah!"
- I, I ... it ... all ... I ...
- Before now ... yeah ...

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Inspired Tomasso, one of the five cats of my mother, who once appeared in my room with a cast of soy Milan in the head, and from there became known as the cat Milange, better known as Milan cat.

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Cat A molecule is said to do! Somebody lost

because "you just have to be related to what one loves" a reflection Deleuzian to not lose sight among the many French author *:

There
substantial sensitivities, there are those who have a sensitivity substantially. I dream to do something about the philosophical sensibility.

Thus, the authors find that everyone will love. I'm not saying they are Spinoza, because I do not care. What we do not give a damn is that you can find what they need, that each of you find the authors who have missing, ie the authors who have something to say.

What haunts me in my philosophy is that choice. It's like when talking about an artistic sensibility, for example a musical sensibility.

musical sensitivity is not undifferentiated, is not merely to say: I love music. It also means that oddly on things that I do not understand, I have something to do especially with this:

"Ah, to me is Mozart. Mozart tells me something. "

Funny that. In philosophy is the same.

There is a philosophical sensibility. There is also a matter of molecules, if we apply what we just said a moment ago. We found that molecules will be attracted to someone, will ya, in a sense, Cartesian.

are Cartesians. Well, I understand, a Cartesian is someone who misread Descartes and writes books on Descartes. But that's not very interesting. At least there Cartesian to a better level.

believe that Descartes says they heard something, something essential to life, including modern life. Well, to me, take my example, Descartes really tells me nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing ... I get out of hand, I embolism.

However, I will not say it's a poor guy, obviously has genius. Well, okay, you have genius, but I, for myself, I have nothing to do with it. I never said anything. Well, what Hegel ?...¿ explains how these issues of sensitivity, which is So what these relationships mean molecular? I advocate

molecular relationships with the authors they read. Find what you like, do not ever spend one second criticizing something or someone. Never, never, never criticize. And if you criticize them say, "Okay" and continue, there is nothing to do. Find your molecules. If not found, can not even read. Read

is that, is find your own molecules.

are on the books. Your brain molecules are in the books. I believe that nothing is more sad in the beginning gifted young age without having found the books that have truly loved.

And generally do not find the books you love, or love finally none gives a temper ... and suddenly one becomes the wise on all books. It is a rare thing.

We become bitter.

You know the kind of bitterness that comes from intellectual authors for not having been able to find those who loved ... the air of superiority which has by dint of being silly. All this is very annoying.

is necessary that ultimately, only relate to what they love.



* Gilles Deleuze, "In the midst of Spinoza", Chapter V, The status of the modes and the problem of evil

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or calling is called "Queen Mother" and left a comment a little confused about something like that shed licensed violence by leaving anonymous comments and blogs are daddy's girls because we moderate comments.

Comment moderation has always been so dear Queen. Since the beginning of this blog, surely you do not know.

With respect to their insults, we will not repeat, we believe that you lost some of his candy jar or you blunder in the typing of this blog where you wanted to download, especially given its reference to comment moderation, at least here there was always, and alleged comments here have not been made.

We hope you recover soon sanity. Of course we invite you to visit and read the poem is below.

Sincerely,
Licensed in everything.

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mad gardener's song * Based on a story

thought he saw an elephant, an elephant
played the flute;
looking better
saw that it was a letter from his wife.
"Finally he said, 'I know
that life is bitter!"

thought he saw a buffalo
installed in the chimney;
looking better
saw was the niece of his brother:
"Get out," he said, otherwise
call the police! "


thought he saw a snake that had questions on Greek looking
Best, saw it was
on Thursday of next week.
"I just feel," he said
that I can talk! "

thought he saw a bank clerk
descended from a bus;
looking better
saw that it was a huge hippo.
"If you stay for lunch," he said,
what happened when my wife! "


thought he saw a kangaroo spinning mill;
looking better, he saw it was a pill
plant.
"To swallow this," he said
must feel really bad! "

thought he saw a coach and six
arrested not far from his bed
better looking, saw that it was
a bear decapitated.
"Poor brute," he said, poor dumb animal!
is waiting for your dinner! "


thought he saw an albatross hovering around a candle;
looking better
saw that it was a two-cent stamp.
"You should come," he said,
nights are very damp! "


thought he saw a gate that was opened by a key;
looking better
saw that it was made a rule of thumb.
"His mysteries," he said to me
are as clear as day! "


thought he saw an argument that proved he was the Pope;
looking better
saw that it was a piece of soap.
"Great God," he said, such an event
leaves no hope! "


* poems from Sylvia and Bruno, Lewis Carroll novel

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defoliation flowers without petals
She prepares the bed for another souvenir
He seeks to identify with the princess of the stories
She lost a shoe in
pudding
He exorcised demons in naps
She blows shit listening to Knives Out
He is the executioner of sodium chloride
She
Celusal executor
He disbanded
She blurs androgynous apple crates stacked intuitions He invents reasons
complexion
her in the castration of alliteration
sosez
He toyed with the compliments of the artificial
She sensed
He lost his shoe in appearance
She tied tears no apostrophe.

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unreal Ohne Punkt (Part 6-Final)

He moistened the minutes a knot with his eyebrows Slice neurons of the mind is weaned Intangible He laughed at his wet diving and also yours and you count the tiles on the sidewalk to arm puzzle in which pictures are leaking and faint parts Something I could cross the vibrate humus split and tear dismembered injected overdose of loneliness that the worst killer hugs The world did not have suffocated conjugation The backyard of love was no longer claims
Ohne Punkt No point

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Aparecida

Aparecida when
disappear and disappeared forever in the instant.
reappears, gushed.
I materialize you
to disappear.
Then you go.
to re-clean.
Let there be no smell of shit.
to not notice your waiting
absent on an empty stage of Vladimir and Estragon.
Predictable, props you right away.
Now that the cat is not.
To see it appearing.
as it appears.
You can get you your faithful dog suit.
Ponete the
you like and have fun for a while.
Now that
you play hide and seek and hopscotch stone does not touch the edges. Become the Lamplighter
And if you want.


But beware, do not stumble
.

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Ohne Punkt (Part 5)

idiot momentum measure by seeking affection in the other a jealous reaction like when you talk about your friends and I know very well that crossed your bed or when I speak of my friends and you know very While they knew to be in my sheets share some altered state product of our sessions iatrogenic and stuttering that mirrors that after the cry before And we retuercedislocadisgregaatornillarehúyerepelerefriega interstitial hole this window where we become infamous body patadapárpado frenéticofrasco deformable edges desire to exercise their right of citizenship in an ethic buried pettiness knows no unbutton a button without using teeth and spells conjugates contrapuntal We intensified contractions smuggled conjunctive intuitive moments for the most minimal manifestation of the absurd to deposit our nerves there with enthusiasm and optimism bicycle reincarnated

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Ohne Punkt (Part 4)

When I opened the door I quickly realized I knew her look was depersonalized dissociated but I told He stood me say a word against the window with his arm outstretched and open hand I thought maybe I had stayed in that position since I left If so would not surprise me Your control mechanisms work overtime and the result is stressful periods depression and fear I said suddenly, turning around with his hand still open and through the window opening Ultimately're a combination of extreme vulnerability and you have an attitude at once defensive and brittle chilling effect which makes you somebody who is helpless to enjoy life If I was not insensible pity you give me I asked him if it was me who was speaking His was not pleonastic (5) and slid underneath the tabs to cut the air Do not worry though he continued as he closed his fist, bringing his arm towards you Although we are in tune different frequencies and different channels (6) in the background is something we share our voices were decapitated and and said that the silence gargled a few seconds or minutes were not enough to remember know the passage of the Hesse book I had read at 18 and said "She was the bright and tiny window opening in my gloomy cavern of anguish Redemption was the path of liberation she had to teach me how to live or die teach her with his hand was pretty safe that touch my heart numb to the touch of life to flourish or burst into ash Where she drew these forces where the magic came to him for mysterious reasons why I had purchased for this deep significance about this I could not give further thought Like I did not have the slightest interest in knowing I do not mind at all know anything think any of it was already supersaturated were just for me torment and sharper and mortifying shame that I realized that my own state exactly was so fully aware of it before I saw this guy in this animal Steppenwolf like a fly in the nets and I noticed how but what pushed her to the decision how tangled and dangling helplessly how the spider web was ready to chop how it came to the same distance would have been the helping hand that the most prudent and sensible things about relationships and causes of my suffering my sick soul of my mechanical sorcery and neurosis was clear to me But what I needed so desperately longed to know and understand it was not but sway and impulse life decision "(7)

(5) pleonasm orgasmic

(6) These metaphors he was more than soccer. So, instead of thinking something like "I'm in 'orsay'" or "I hit the crossbar, his mental grid F1 spoke tightening in case of problems.

(7) Hesse, H.: "Steppenwolf", Madrid, Alianza Editorial, 1970 p. 0.0001

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Onhe Punkt (Part 3 )

but it was one of those many people who once thought of ending her life with the method chosen and all but without ever step I come Good (3) and was now staring at the whiplash trail now on the edge of the tile where an ant fighting a crumb of bread now at the very moment you saw walking barefoot and told the kid that was below what the fuck you feel like I have! Who was he? No could see your face And what did she there? He turned and grabbed her mouth with his right hand His tongue began to play with it felt like I was mojadísima and that he was at bat and was looking out the window without understanding what was happening stretched his left arm and fist shut those two that ate his mouth as if it were the last time every day that was on the other side of the mirror that he had never seen and that the warming as no one wanted to rip the clothes on his lips Breathing said he would love to suck ran stiffness of her nipples with his fingertips She stroked under his pants It was so hard that I began to excel inside me I whispered in her ear while he turned his back and stood against the wall sighing containment offering devoid looking for that orgasm delayed and urgent but her face was projected on the wall " You?! They could not be opened Puzzled not withstand the fist one was not time to hit Del eyes but I'm staying I Time for dreams stampings The ant had the bread I'm (4)


( 3) An expression used to indicate approval or compliance

(4) As you can see the seasoned readers, Aaaaaaagggggghhhh, MMMMMMMMM, describe a sex scene the same way and with the same effect with that "write" some asshole on the web to feed his ego or heat devalued who knows what turkey is more than simple addition of an idiot

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Ohne Punkt (Part 2)

not miss time blocking my MSN does not interest me tell you that writing would have liked to spit every time you connect to the instant messaging service but I also knew it was useless to even more than the crack that crossed the walkway and Senillosa Rivadavia Avenue and plunged into the white lines sucked through the steps of the pedestrians and the wheels of the vehicle and was now watching from the window (2) This slit your fucking bedroom would serve some to swallow the shadow of all those who think they are the center of the world such as the navel Cultists who think everything is by and for them would be seen as the architects of all Mediocre This is what poor people are also unhappy if their ideas sliced \u200b\u200bhim nervous system The rain had stopped rising of the shutter in half a few drops fell on his neck But many did not care about nothing Layered still looking the street and had a desire to jump!


(2) from the Latin word ventus (wind), had said Mariano Grondona.

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corrincho: Read Cycle unpublished or unfinished novels

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Ohne Punkt (Part 1) Catharsis

One day I thought it was Hilda Lizarazu Another Juana Molina "It depended on what had dinner last night? (1) because the self is another fault What if copper has become one day wakes up on cornet? Rimbaud would sometimes had as a record of all the scanneador Rep Funes and others just see spots on their face the subway tunnels with wire staff did not follow a fucking note and ran into the pair of insecurity does not lead anywhere That Predictable as she thought it was ... all ... most ... The conversation flowed in a cluttered room the blind was down and out There was a lot of rain clouds and their forms were increasingly idiot with the noise being made by the turkey not listening No matter Enthusiast two-way thought the limit was the fear of weakness handling and preventing what is known as read once in the preface of a book that had a title and all But I do not remember what was and as one who does not like things If you know John Doe says soon we'll talk hl cm nd? td bn? Q-so says to start talking x's thinking without using the keyboard Fulano said That would be great and dangerous people imagine q we can read minds Mengano Horrible says would be the end of the world as we know it may say that John Doe said Richard Roe disappearance lies the hypocrisy of John Doe said Richard Roe So also said there would always be Fulano said barrier methods disappear But the surprise surprise ...




(1) In general the intake of grilled identified with the daughter of Chunchuna Villafañe while the pasta with the co-founder of the group whose name honors Emmanuel Rudzitsky.

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And as we were wanting a little more romantic (yes, yes, a bit more!) To exorcise the truncated love, the Platonic, the unrequited, which we staked the heart, here are these passages of "fires" of the Belgian writer Marguerite Yourcenar:

-“El alcohol desembriaga, después de beber unos sorbitos de coñac, ya no pienso más en ti”.

-“No darse es seguir dándose. Es dar nuestro sacrificio”.

-“Aún me queda una sucia esperanza. Cuento, a pesar mío, con una solución de continuidad del instinto: lo equivalente, en la vida del corazón, al acto del distraído que se equivoca de nombres y de puertas. Te deseo con horror una traición de Camilo, un fracaso junto a Claudio y un escándalo que te aleje de Hipólito. No me importa cuál sea el paso en falso que te haga caer sobre mi cuerpo”.

-“(…) me niego to make you an object, even the beloved object. "

- "What would in your hand? A bird, a seed, a knife, a key to open the heart tin can? "

-" A heart is probably something dirty. Belongs to the tables of anatomy and the butcher's counter. I prefer your body. "

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... But the lawyers are some gals romantic (sigh) and so we reproduce part of a text that is in Roland Barthes' A Lover's Discourse Fragments ", after the brief comment of its author.

"The discourse of love is now a solitude. These are words spoken may by thousands of people, but nobody says, is completely abandoned by the surrounding languages. Or ignored or dismissed, or ridiculed by them. When a speech is so driven by their own strength in the drift of the out of date, it remains only to be the place, meager as it is, in a statement. "


Waiting (text by Donald W. Winnicott, a pediatrician, a psychiatrist and psychoanalyst English *)

Waiting is an enchantment: I was ordered not to move. The wait for a phone call for bans is woven so tiny, the infinite, to the unspeakable: deprive me out Part of the bathroom, talking on the phone even (not to occupy the unit), I suffer if I phone (for the same reason), I crazy to think that such time will be necessary for me to close out, thus risking losing the so-called benefactor. All these entertainment

I would ask them to wait for lost time, impurities of anxiety. Since the anxiety of waiting, in its purity, he wants me to stay seated on a chair to reach the phone, doing nothing.

Am I in love?

"Yes, because I hope.

The other, he does not expect ever.

Sometimes I do not expect to play and I try to take care of other things, to arrive late;

but I always lose this game.



* Suck the tangerine!

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"Believe" in the stars *

I've seen in the tide of this inland sea
fact months
daily on the moon in your eyes,
solar heat in your arms
tracing the wound on the skin
constellations that feeds your shoulders
full of melanin,
rest of my hands ...

I've seen in the slope of thy womb,
in the liquid crystal
of short tears, in the fiery
Palor of eternal thighs like snow ...

The stars just ordered the rhythm of things,
have memory and signs of what was and is.
Let the fanfare of their orbits,
leaves your skin with its mandate.


* Original untitled Hector Murena, Argentina (1923-1975)

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Yesterday, as I needed for the Big Zipper cloth a little stained, I set to work.
I arm myself with a pot of black tea bags and boiling water and let the fabric resting a couple of hours. After that time, as I thought it was little stained, I boiled the water again and left resting another hour.
Result: (I think it is different before and after!)

And now to embroider the Big Zipper, but alternating with the school exams!