La Corbata de la Represión

Al volver hoy del colegio el alboroto de mi casa me forzó a la reclusión en mi cuarto. No era un alboroto sorprendedor, ya que yo ya había sido avisado de la llegada de la mudanza en días cercanos, pero si era, para ponerlo de alguna manera, abrumador. Abrumador porque, entre caja y caja y cinta de embalar y tijeras, casi que ni se podía transitar por los pasillos.

Abrumador porque, entre cajas cerradas, encontre una caja abierta. Y al abrirla encontré mi bufanda verde manzana y mis converse antiguas, que si me las pusiera ahora me estrujarian los pies hasta dejarlos hechos un lindo puré. Ahora, lo que más me impactó ( y lo que menos hubiese pensado que me impactaría) fue el descubrimiento de mi vieja corbata de uniforme del BDS.

He decidido guardar esta corbata en el fondo de mi ropero como recuerdo, porque por más que en un punto ella hubiese representado represión y la imposición de una forma de vestir en un colegio de pasillos grises, hoy solo constituye de un lindo recuerdo de lo que fue mi vida en el Río de la Plata y mi estadia en el colegio conocido como el Belgrano Day School o el BDS.

Esa corbata fue espectador de tantas escenas, muchas de las cuales mi cerebro ni juzgó dignas de recordar, pero de las que la corbata, en cada una de sus hebras de fibra plastica, si guardó memoria. Y por mas que no recuerde, hoy en dia, daría todo por revivir un breve minisegundo de hasta la más insignificante, y me arrepiento de la decisión inconsciente que tomé al eliminarlas.

HA HA

y felicidades a los que tienen el año escolar recien empezado! :P

Una Hora en la Cocina del Piso "3"

Pericos encima de la nevera;
Frutas rebosan en las cestas al lado de la puerta.
Trozos de basura que no acertaron el tacho exactamente.

La discordia sembrada en la cocina del piso 3, cuya ubicación en realidad es de una cuarta planta, refleja la personalidad de la familia que la frecuenta. Mi madre saca la pava de una hornalla, gorro de ducha sobre su pelo oscuro, moviéndola de sitio para ubicar un primitivo tostador, en realidad una mini-parrilla donde se preparan cada día nuestros desayunos. Las sillas , todas encima de la mesa, menos la que uso yo para sentarme mientras escribo.

Pasa media hora desde la descripción anterior. Ahora más sillas acompañan a la que yo puse en el suelo, y la tostadora ahora fue sustituida por una cacerola, probablemente cocinándonos la cena que está por venir. En frente de el horno y sus respectivas hornallas, Gladys, nuestra nueva mucama, organiza pilas de ropa planchada y que se está por planchar. Un ruido infernal atraviesa mis tímpanos, pregunto y mi mamá me contesta que es el sonido del vapor de la olla. Sigo sin conocer mucho sobre estas cosas.

Mi mamá me reta sobre que no le escucho. Pero la verdad es que sí. Ni me doy cuenta de que me reta. Pero la ducha me llama. Saludos a todos!

Guess who bought what.

Hint: See article below.


I can die in peace.

Polaroid.

Ever since I was a child I've wanted a polaroid camera.
Since on Scooby-Doo (the classic episodes of course) Shaggy employed the use of one and I, with my small six-year-old eyes and small-yet-larger-than-average six-year-old brain, was flabbergasted at how a photo could develop right in front of your teeny (six-year-old) eyes. I actually asked my mother if those thingamajigs existed, because seeing as Scooby Doo was a cartoon -and anything can happen in cartoons- I found it highly likely that Hannah-Barbara were capable conjure this contraption from their deepest, darkest thoughts; a mere figment of the imaginations of two animation geniuses.
I believe the polaroid also had something to do with solving the mystery.

Or Shaggy ate it.
Or something.

(It can happen!)
(Remember, anything is possible in cartoons.)

Anyways, it seems likely that my childhood dream of posessing a polaroid will never come true. Polaroid has decided that it will no longer be producing their classic polaroid cameras and film, but will now dedicate itself exclusively to digital models.
I do not know why this is, well, scratch that, its most likely because of the money.
But what about the fabrication of cameras for the sake of the fabrication of cameras itself? Camera fabrication is an art, and the classic polaroid a contemporary legend that is soon to be extinguished. It has marked the iniciation into the world of photography for many children before me, and probably brings back memories to more than a few. It has marked the lives of more than one generation.
I can hardly believe that the 6-year-old inside me - a six year old who later grew to become a 10-year-old who was slightly dissappointed when at his first communion he got a very good camera instead of a polaroid- may never be able to grasp one in his now-not-so-tiny hands, to just get the honour of taking one picture, admiring at how, from a slit in the camera, a piece of paper comes out, and slowly, as I blow upon the recently ejected material, from the darkness of the film a whole story is revealed, a memory conserved... forever.

My inner child is crushed.

.gif

primitive attempt for .gif

soon youll all see
ill do it better than anyonee

i dont have anything to writeee

rise and shine, sleepy heads!

good morning (afternoon) people
heres to the start of a brand-new weekend, and a mini-vacation

my dad woke me up at around one (fairly early for saturday)
so im eating breakfast while my family's buying me a quarter pounder at mcdonalds.

on the road to obesity :D




when I was little I was scared that the Ronald Mcdonald statues would rape me.

hahahahah
imagine youre a little kid, frolicking in the park with butterflies and sparrows and bambis,
unaware of the dangers lurking around, dangers with sheet-white faces and red wigs.
and you see this black car pull in, the window rolls down, a white-gloved hand calls you in.
You take a peek inside, and you see suspiciously big shoes.

"Would you like a hamburger, little boy?"

my mother told me never to talk to clowns.

the academy award...

by the way, people, the oscars are back on. the writer's fight in this almost tv/movie-stopping strike is nearly over due to some negotiations.

well, to bed, I say!

Muahaha.

Perez, you never cease to entertain me.

P.S. On a similar note, the similarity between the material mom and Lourdes (her daughter, no duh) is equally or even more impressive.

Status.

Felipe.

status:
age: 16 years, 5 months, 18 days.
sex: male.
occupation: blog.
music: none.
head: no, not getting any yet. i mean, hurting.
other activities: headphone in ear. but not turned on. peculiar.
existence: satisfactory.

daily anecdote :D

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
okay una chabona me agrega a msn

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
me empieza a hablar de su dia

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
yea i have to do two concert in one day

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
and you know what is worse than two concert? i have bad sex after concert..

Pervi [ *Ergo Proxy* ] ♥dice:
O_O

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
yaaay contame mas chabona

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
y sabes que es peor que eso?

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
no sex after concert.

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
jajajajajaj

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
nah la bloquee

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
i am no fun.

Pervi [ *Ergo Proxy* ] ♥dice:
lol

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
y despues me dice noo it just virgin guy who cant hold it for more than two minutes

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
yo me quedo o__o

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
SHH QUE MIS PAPIS TODAVIA NO ME ENSEÑARON NADA DE ESTO

how many times... can you watch him crumble?-felipe- dice:
ajaajjaja

atención

aviso importante: essay finished, done in school. shall publish when i send it to my email from the school, where it was done thus where it is saved.

calculate in 10 days.

ta ta.

PD fieles lectores, hasta entonces continuaran los posts como siempre.

The Curious Conclusions of a reader of "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time".

Allow me to express the mental anguish caused to me by this book.

(For those who don't know, "The Curious Incident of the Dog in Night-time" deals with the death murder of a dog, and the investigation of the crime by part of an autistic teen, who along the way unravels many things before unknown to him about his life, all this viewed through the eyes of an autistic individual.)

As enthralling as this book may be, it sends a reader's, or at least this reader's head plunging into inner turmoil, bombarding it with a series of uncomfortable thoughts, such as:

a) Fact number one: the intolerance towards the severely, minimally, physically, or neurologically handicapped is disturbingly common.

b) Fact number two: the instinctive feeling of pity we feel towards these individuals is equally as disturbing. I shall expand on this later.

c) Doubt number one: is the inability to have feelings and the tendency to evade the real world (a) a gift or (b) a curse?

d) Doubt number two: if the answer to (c) is (a) in many cases, why do the people who love Christopher insist on pulling him out of his safe world?

e) my analysis on the interpretation of the book by part of its readers.

f)Are the autistic incapable of feeling?

---

Though Christopher himself finds it hard to interpret human emotion, he is completely capable of provoking it. For example, when I read this book I find myself prone to headaches and overthinking. This in turn is caused not by the fact that his neurological capability is hard to comprehend, but by how he views the world, how his world is viewed by others, his lack of consciousness of how his world is viewed by others, how others do not understand how he views his world, and so on and so forth. All these thoughts spiral in your head and develop into more and more complex thoughts that make way for new thoughts which in turn provoke more thoughts.

And all i want to do is cover my ears, tune the radio to some loud white noise, drop on the floor and groan, like Christopher.

The first thought that crosses my mind (see (a)) which also links indirectly to (d), I see constantly in the book and in real life. Having a brother with down's syndrome, I can relate with the blank stares you get from people whilst walking down the street, or (having lived in even more closed-minded places such as Syria) the fact that behind my back my friends would talk about my brother "looking retarded." I applaud your observational skills, friends, and I also wonder at your idioticy.
In the book, When the special needs children are walking down the street and are passed by a schoolbus in the book, they are not even called "spazzes" or "tards", but even the phrase 'special needs' is used as an insult. I am amazed by the primitivity of the civilized peoples.
This thought can also be connected to (e), which I shall do later on.

Here too I have the feeling of myself in agony, on the floor.

This leads me to point (c), or the questionability of the negativity of the quality of being incomprehensive of human feelings and the ability and tendency to shut yourself off in your little world. Let me set this up rationally, like they would: the world is messy and cruel. Humans in general are ignorant and intolerant. They hurt, so we avoid. I have taken this policy myself many times.
Now why would it be a curse? (option (b), point (c)) Some may state that though the kids feel safe, and won't feel negative feelings, they also won't enjoy life. But if calculating their every step and avoiding unusual patterns make them happy, then aren't they therefore enjoying life?
Of course, with down's syndrome it's different. Children and adults with down's syndrome tend to

dando señales de vida...

Hey people i would just like to announce la reapertura de mi blog, porque extraño la libertad de expresion que tenia antiguamente en este lugar.

proximamente se espera una entrada supongo que bastante profunda, o sino trivial. La cosa es que sera una entrada mas o menos elaborada.

con todo el tiempo que me he tomado para meditar ultimamente, quiero decir que you'll be hearing a lot from me lately. my head is swarming with ideas.

gracias a todos mis fieles lectores (?), os saluda cordialmente


P.D. Desearia anunciar la reapertura de mi flog, myspace, y otros sitios internetologicos (??) ademas de la posible apertura de un livejournal y un nuevo vf. muchas gracias.