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Mr. Jones

After long time I stumbled upon this great subject, a bit old now (1993, year of graduation from high school, brimming with all the expectations and uncertainty about life delicious), the fabulous Counting Crows ... I must say that many memories and feelings suddenly crowded in my ears, but without the glare of those years I thoroughly analyze the song.

is simply exquisite richness of tones that contains the letter, which combines the yearning to be somebody [famous], and achieve all that constitutes much of dreams and expectations of an ordinary person, great the way described the atmosphere of the bar, the game of words and glances with the girls in the bar ...
is better than Alan Duritz speak (and sing) for me:

I Was down at the New Amsterdam staring at this yellow-haired girl Mr. Jones strikes
up a conversation with this black-haired flamenco dancer She
His dances while father plays guitar She's Suddenly

We all want beautiful Something Beautiful
I wish I was beautiful So come dance this
down-through the morning silence
Cut up Maria!
Show me some of them to be
English dances Pass me a bottle, Mr. Jones Believe in me

Help me believe in anything
I want to be someone who believes Mr. Jones and me tell each other fairy tales
Stare at the beautiful women
"She's looking at you. Ah, no, no, she's looking at me."
Smiling in the bright lights
Coming through in stereo
When everybody loves you, you can never be lonely

I will paint my picture
Paint myself in blue and red and black and gray
All of the beautiful colors are very very meaningful
Gray is my favorite color
I felt so symbolic yesterday
If I knew Picasso
I would buy myself a gray guitar and play

Mr. Jones and me look into the future
Stare at the beautiful women
"She's looking at you.
Uh, I don't think so. She's looking at me."
Standing in the spotlight
I bought myself a gray guitar
When everybody loves me, I will never be lonely

I want to be a lion
Everybody wants to pass as cats
We all want to be big big stars, but we got different reasons for that
Believe in me because I don't believe in anything
and I want to be someone to believe

Mr. Jones and me stumbling through the barrio
Yeah we stare at the beautiful women
"She's perfect for you, Man, there's got to be somebody for me."
I want to be Bob Dylan
Mr. Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky
When everybody loves you, son, that's just about as funky as You Can Be

Mr. Jones and me staring at the video When I look at
the television, I want to see me staring right back at me We all want to
Be big stars, But we do not know why and we But do not know how
When everybody loves me, I'm just about going to Be as Happy As Can Be
Mr. Jones and me, we're gonna be big stars ...

Link to video of the song

Sleeping Head Scissors

Thank God for this day ... and

Today was a happy day for me ... Perhaps the reason is not a big deal for many people, even to many of them will be something you do not want in the least. But for me it was wonderful news: my girlfriend has agreed to marry me!

I do not know, I do not think there are words to describe the emotion I feel, images raced through my head, but it is something indescribable, like the moment she uttered the words and I heard how in the middle of a dream. .. the truth is that I feel is something indescribable, but I want just the tip of an iceberg warm and molded into the stuff that dreams are made and happiness.

Whether or not they are against such a sacrament, which I wish all who read these lines, the product of emotion, to be happy, and having the good fortune to love and be loved, as is happening to me me.

Thank God for this day, and thanks to you, Anny, to exist and be by my side. I love you.

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A woman you do not believe in myths

should not mourn because the plants grow on your balcony, there
be sad if the blonde once again the clouds race
reiterates you immobile, so that remain in flight. For the cloud will be there, constant in its inconstancy
when you, when I-but why nominate dust and ash.
Yes, we were wrong to believe that the crossing of the day was ephemeral, water running down the leaves to sink into the ground.
lasts only ephemeral, that stupid plant that ignores the tortoise, the tortoise soft groping in eternity with hollow eyes and the sound without music, without singing word, intercourse without a cry of agony, the towers of corn, the blind hills. We
, handcuffed to a consciousness that is the time, we do not act of terror and delight, and his executioners eyelids gently tear us to let us see how they grow relentlessly
balcony plants, how are the clouds the future.
What does this mean? Nada, a cup of tea. There is drama in the murmur, and you are the outline of paper scissors are spared the report: O vanity of believing that one is born or dies, when the only thing real is the gap that remains on paper, the golem we still sobbing in her sleep and forgotten.

Julio Cortázar, the teacher

How Long Does Artificial Knee Last

The guy finishes his work, save your changes and close the application, remove the disc from her purse with the file, a finger in the hole, the other on the edge, some erotic reminiscence, perhaps ... no, rather an unfulfilled desire, with that face is difficult, so timid attitude, impossible. The evening closes gently behind the window, the hum of the LG 52x lustful accepts what you have entered.

I get distracted from three lines of code, why the hell not count the failed attempts? The clips make fun of me from the stage, behind the panel action, doing what they please. It is a myth, or rather silly to think that the codes have their own life, and that one does is summarize some of that vital essence, locking in a few lines, which sometimes escape and rebel, not care a damn your effort ...

do not believe in myths - I say, and act. The if is relocated, the advances for the limits imposed, the action is run cleanly. I remember a phrase in class with computer firsts parturition last semester: "The computer does not do anything that you or someone else, do not tell me to do ... so stop saying 'this is what I had and cleared." "It is inevitable a slight smile.

scarlet window is activated in the first computer line, the name of an arsonist historical highlights in it, that's all right, a point that jury had asked some boys who sustained a pseudocode interpreter as thesis, the reason for the name PilatoX . The washing of hands of the exhibitors was Olympic memorable. Unintentionally forged a legend jury university ... The files come reluctantly to the window, select the type 52x, maximum speed, click Burn .

I do not think there has ever been such a coordinated reaction in the office: the outbreak arrives at each ear at the same time, the floor is covered with silvery bodies and some shrapnel fall on us. I can see the fear in the face of a comrade, lying within walking distance of my ...

The second is long, at least for me, before you get up, shake off our clothes and stupidity (well, in this country that reaction is forgivable) and see what happened. The guy is tan from the neck down, his face is yellow, the eyes seem to have no eyes, no iris, no conscience. In addition, the LG 52x smokes, totally raped, is it that machines reflect their creators? The PC is not the work of a woman, I remember. Laughter, more pale in the face (it seems incredible but it is true, almost bordering on the truth), threats to chance, the thing, fortunately, does not go beyond a unit without lens, without life. It has been proved a myth is a pity that Panasonic is still unused, in the cabinet office implements.

I have a piece of the disc in my hands, it is not bigger than a USB, but it reaches to read the word Rekord (kas damned are destroyed our language and our machines) ...

do not believe in myths, memories. But ...

Test Night Before Period

cream cakes with strawberries

About the award given by the writers attending the Hay Festival Cartagena (Who by work commitments, and to coincide with the reminder that year after year makes me the Great Conspirator its inexorable work, I could not attend) with his colleague Roberto Fontanarrosa , I have to learn a task little more of his work, which only references I have a character of my childhood: the Oily Boogie.

So far the search of his writings online and in bookstores in the city has proved unsuccessful, but instead I returned to find several pearls that look straight thug has dropped to the satisfaction of his readers, behold one of them:







Comic
via the web's Fontanarrosa

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Verlaine There is a line that I will not remember.
There is a street that is closed next to my steps,
a mirror to me last seen, there is a door
have closed until the end of the world.
Among the books in my library (I'm seeing)
there is one that will never open. This summer will perform
fifty years
Death wears me out, relentless.

Jorge Luis Borges, the seer.

memory

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Limits Where are the dreams? or strategy of the great conspirator

This week has been ripping slowly releasing bits of its cash and invulnerable poison ...

By chance I found a few days ago a photo house in which lived my childhood in the Cali-eighties, full of chat and culture ... a remote whiff of nostalgia, those few years with my father, the steep gravel road, and the atmosphere that marked my personality to always hit that morning came and stood next to my desk since then.

Today, a coworker reminded me a little longing for my times Student: Creating a software development company ... The striking (in my opinion) brand name and logo seen me for a moment from oblivion, from that corner which borders the illusions of reality with overwhelming blow.

This continual struggle, totally useless, because we already know who will win the grand conspirator- uses all its arguments. And boy are strong ... again I creep across the canvas, searching for the second wind of the strings and envying the immutability of these walls that enclose me everyday.