Is Natasha Pappin A Good Lawyer

SEPTEMBER: PAUL MONTH OF AUGUST Rokha


(Published in "Time 21")

must repeat: no Chilean poetry is reduced to the son of rail (reduced to a museum full of beautiful things "), a woman entered in the notes (idea of \u200b\u200bthe military government) or the nonogenario antipoet. There are many heroes, unfortunately known almost in pure academics and writers guilds (topic for later.) Of all, I'll Rokha Paul (1894-1968), died the September 10, a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

born in October 1894 in Licantén (seventh region), with the name of Carlos Ignacio Díaz Loyola. The son of a farm manager, talquinas studied in high school, then a seminary where his classmates nicknamed him "the friend Stone" (hence the nickname) and he was expelled by an atheist, and then visit Engineering and Law at the University de Chile. The 20 re-Talca and, after receiving a book of poems dedicated to a beautiful woman decides to marry her. It Luisa Anabalón Sanderson, his immortal Winette, who starts flee after more prolonged and intense romance of Chilean literature ("You are about my life and hot iron stone, / and eternity over the dead / I remember you came and has always existed, / woman, my wife mine, all women / human race ... all regrets in your bones ") . She admires the beauty of feminine and intelligent, her sweetness and as a mother ("'Nenito, peladito, chucurrutito' / and tells the bus-months and he says, 'to ... gu ... u. .. u ' / And they both know has seventy thousand years at least. ")

De Rokha Life is a runaway bull. He wrote 33 books of poetry, three test and many reviews and articles, had its own magazine, "Crowd" and was communist to the bone, even after being expelled from the Party for a mess absurd. The terrible and mutual enmity had with Neruda (near the end the critic Sánchez Latorre tried to "Well, but opposed the Nobel Prize) and his polemics with critics Vicente Huidobro and fools (Alone called" The groans "pathological literature), they give a feature film. Live in poverty, selling paintings, agricultural tools and self-published his own books, for which travels half Chile. In this journey was born his "Epic of meals and beverages in Chile", a culinary experience and anthropological surprising, whose lines, in this month's homeland, should be distributed in taverns, ramadas and streets, buses and trains, schools, regiments , brothels, churches, hospitals and in prison ... ("If possible, sirvámonos hot pie, well CALDUE, or spicy, under the grape arbor, sitting on huge stones, remembering and missing him and denigrating copretérito relatives chunk to chunk of cabernet talquinas; and raining sopaipilla with poncho, completely wet, between orange and purple, accompanied by the parish priest and drunk. ")

Rivers In 1944 the President appointed him a cultural ambassador and knows 21 countries with his wife. It is the glory, but to get to Chile in 1949, Winette ill with cancer and died later. The 61 published "Song of the elderly male, his most harrowing (" I understand and admire the leaders, but I'm the coordinator of the anguish of the universe, the destination suicide bet the deck of the expressional and won, losing the right to lose "). In 1965 he received the National Award, but in 1968-the same year in which suicide his son Charles (poet notable) and his friend Edwards Bello, "this surreal huaso tried to reconcile their ideas of social redemption, decides to leave the third dimension. In this 18, I propose a toast frenzy his illustrious memory.

EVERY MAN SHOULD BE ABLE TO ALL THE IDEAS, AND UNDERSTAND THAT YOU WILL BE IN THE ARISING

Where Will The Lump Be If A Ferret Has Blockage

PASS: REQUIEM FOR MAURITIUS


My childhood friend and neighbor Mauricio Ulloa could not pass in August. He died at 37 springs, a few days before, according to conventional wisdom, the elderly may feel safer to live another year. Now I see from an uncertain place and I am not resigned to black leprosy tarnish his memory error ... "Passed away the poor fool, idiot might say. Those that can hear me, understand that the value of a man is not given by external factors such as fame, money and power, and this looks like a fucking sentence shall be initialed in the future.

I met the summer of 80, when I arrived in Temuco from Lotina land, and it was my first friend or co-raids in the then fledgling Villa flavorings. His unbridled imagination, it did not incur great quirks completely cruelty free, hid in the background and child a loving heart. It was, I have to hide it, a male version of Cinderella. I remember no more than ten years and see him busy in a pan with clothes, or prevented from leaving to play for having to wax the house. Younger brother of a sailor father's Protestant family, was in fact unrecognized stem one of the daughters of the matriarch, her brothers were really his uncle, and this anomaly (family prejudices have given way to other horrors in Chile) had always treated him differently.

In 1991 I moved and stopped him, but about seven years ago I met again with him. His family had been exiled by a scandal with a niece (very grown-up) of that - why not! - I blame him alone (Luke 6: 41-42) . Had separated some time ago and had to live on charity of others, coping with hard jobs then, if you study for a degree offered his negligence happy and libertarian did something irresponsible disposal. That was his darkest time, as usual, the highest sensitivity to art: Mauricio think he knew the terrible secret of the beauty and the dangers of crossing over, was a mystic without a compass and an artist a wasteland, a subject fun and immensely creative, pregnant with a language without reading that had shattered the notions depleted sense of humor.

Last year I found him after several years and shared it with some of their own. He worked in a sandwich for her husband's only sister was always unconditional, and lived with a young woman who adored him, who had a three year old son was talking about child devotedly. Had corrected the past and looked calm. But early Saturday the gods wove 22 otherwise his fate: he was hit by a woman who ran away and threw his body over 16 feet from where he was (that they will win the lawsuit, I'm sure) . Now, far from the third dimension, wanders through places of which little is known and continues to investigate. I'll see you again Ulloa crazy!, Attack will play with plastic soldiers, and read libations Quiroga lonely ... where the light is more than just a spark.

EVERY MAN SHOULD BE ABLE TO ALL THE IDEAS, AND UNDERSTAND THAT YOU WILL BE IN THE ARISING

Dragon Ball Z Invites

Hi, this body is called ... Anito

finger tip in I get a rare thing, a hard, dry crust.

"It's a fungus," he said, "I used this cream.

I echo the cream with a methodical trial and within days the fungus disappears. I have time to reflect on the situation. Obviously, the fungus was screwed. I feel sorry for him. Fungi I like them. At first when I did not know what they were, and like any ignorant connected them with vegetables, seemed the most boring thing of this world, and did not understand what was the fascination of, say, the Smurfs with such things as umbrella ( maybe mushrooms which were hollowed out to convert them at home, perhaps for that reason always seemed so happy.) But when I learned that fungi were plants, which were closer to animals than anything else, began to fascinate these heterotrophs immobile souls of Buddha.

But the magic that brought about my not reach the point of allowing them to be fed now with my body. At the time of reflection, my mind jumps up and start thinking about what I say. In my body. Not I, but my body. How can you make such a difference?

Our quiet life in the ordinary world is based on several axioms that we have learned one way or another and define our experiences. I think one of these axioms is the difference between our self and our body. I do not speak of the dichotomy philosophical mind / body (and his third term, the conceptual bridge between the two: the pain). But something else maybe more deep.

We are so used to distinguish between individual conscience and our bodies, it is very easy to escape mounted in a cloud of semantic ambiguity every time something like a fungus invades us. It is hard to understand that this fungus eats away at us us. Not our body, but to us. We have been taught to separate ourselves from our body when it is damaged when it is cut, bleeding. We are prepared to avoid the fact that this body is a vehicle of flesh which supports life, but in fact vehicles are nothing but meat, no brakes, which are directed towards a solid wall.

Animals, virus and disease gnaw at us from within. That sore on your foot is yours, the bacteria in it you chew, you're the sore. Your conscience is but the accumulated sum of multiple pustules.

If we thought thoroughly daily in these reflections, so obvious in itself, our life would be full of terror and darkness. Now terrified me until I find a mosquito bebiéndome, and I wonder, what other dark entities waiting to empty my existence?

I eat, I burn, I drink and smashing my being under the asphalt. Dam I myself, for my only aim is to possess, own flesh I am, I inflated my belly, pain in my intestines, the medicine consumption and depression penis I check every morning to bathe. All that I am. I am. Here I am in my blood, my wounds, I rot. I've won the game against the fungus, but not the mosquito, not the anonymous bacteria that comes to my hand after greeting another person, and that led to my mouth without wanting minutes later. This bacterium is now me, and I have intentions to destroy. My personal Cracoucas.

Just as things are imbued with terror, recognizing the evidence that I am my body and other experiences also acquire a new nuance: food , drinking water, whereby sex penetrate, bite, lick and squeeze it to other existing ...

order

PS: By the way, that of the Smurfs and hallucinogenic habits was not serious. Know-poet smurf, Smurf-carpenter-tontine Smurf, Nanny and Papa-Smurf-Smurf, Smurf-up philosopher, but I never knew of the existence of Smurf-Smurf-paranoid schizophrenia.

really do not think they consumed poisonous mushrooms.

Sympathy Saying For Loss Of Father In Law

or Death (Excerpt)

Anito: Hi Socrates, I see you walk too presumptuous in the wee plan to show the boys that hover in front of the gym.

Socrates: Anito know me well, I try to do the best for the youth of Athens proud.

Anito: Your what say, Socrates, and I did not put in doubt. Your ugly and your interest in the welfare of others are as well known as disproportionate. I come looking for you anyway, I went to a party and invite you insurance if you can answer a question.

Socrates: As you know, citizen, that I do not answer any question. I try to just take care of shit back to those who do, or who dare to answer them in my presence. But very happy to answer yours, if amp warrant that the festival will be the beautiful bride Alcibiades.

Anito: Of course, Socrates, will be there as well respected philosopher who drink to get drunk and leave him with comments pseudocómicos language, nonsense and laughter decadent full of social and enchanting charisma fresh saliva. So, after a few hours of sweet and aromatic grape , fingering her nipples you everything you want.

Socrates: not know how excited I Anito what you say, to stick my nose under the smell of that boy toga treacherous ... ... Immediately answer any of your questions.

Anito: So tell me, Socrates, what is death ... What ass is ?.....

Socrates Death is identical with itself. We speak not of death, but "The Dead." Ie muerteidad. Because several deaths are identical to it and therefore participate in it. So when we die is when we remember what it is, what There is ... err .... Well, kind of more or less. Bumblebee is that pen-pusher of the verb "to be " the divinity that I explode ...

(two hours)

Anito: Can not you answer a question such as simple in an appropriate manner?. I ask you please, Socrates, to answer me clearly and concisely for a good time.

Sócrates: Pues…….. si así lo deseas te digo que la muerte es una burrita bien cuidada.

Anito: Pero por los dioses Sócrates que sandeces dices, ¿acaso deseas tomarme del pelo?. Pienso que tu eres demasiado propenso a tratar a las gentes como imbéciles y, si sigues mi consejo, te recomendaría que seas cuidadoso. Quizás no hay ciudad en la cual resulte más fácil joder a los hombres antes que hacerles bien que la ciudad de Atenas, y tu you know. After the give you no martyr, your megalomaniac useless.

Socrates: Well I wanted to say a little dialectically speaking, you know what i mean is that I have not the slightest fucking idea on the subject (What is death?) ... I will drink up the cup touching ... ..

... Fin ..

Poor Socrates test of a great truth:

" Man, but it seems the opposite (and just to know of death), is the only animal who can not die "

... to the wise few words will suffice. ..

Note to dear reader: I am not short of ideas but time and want to write ... So as not to leave the blog I neglected cortico start writing, because those tomes too long I got used to are not very practical to say ....