Bacalao

It began as a typical Thursday at the office.

I was having a bad day of a sort for no real reason, other than I couldn't get my emotions under control. Close to lunch, I decided to cheer myself up by visiting bright and colorful Web sites featuring cats doing funny things.

I clicked on a random link, and suddenly, the computer stopped responding to me. Then, a horrible low-pitched whine emanated from the speaker.

"Oh my God, what is that?" Sylvia, my cubicle neighbor said, covering her ears.

"I don't know!" I yelled back, my hands around my ears as well.

The sound infected the normally quiet office. It was impossible to get anything done, and my co-workers soon huddled around my cubicle to see what the noise was. In a matter of seconds, the fluorescent lights flickered out, and a pinkish glow bounced off the walls of the cubicles. Russell from Human Resources gasped. Each and every monitor flashed obscene images.

Mitch, the IT technician, making his best effort to act nonchalant, brusquely disconnected my computer from its power source. Nothing changed, and the drone continued. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.

At our wits' end, and with no logical options left to pursue, we decided to throw my computer and monitor out the window, in hopes that by destroying the source of evil, we would be able to save the rest of our equipment. After all, it had worked in several cheesy horror movies, Chris, a project manager, had pointed out.

All our hopes sailed down five stories and suddenly became small, shiny pieces. But the drone persisted, disembodied, and confined to the general area of my cubicle. Scenes of unspeakable sexual acts, some involving castor oil, the cast of "Cats", and a wallaby, had been burned into our eyes even though they were no longer displayed on any of the monitors, which were now functioning normally. However, we were far from any kind of normalcy. We were mercifully let off work early that day.

My cubicle was vacated on Friday, and I was reassigned to another floor. The noise remained. The visions too. A priest was called in on Monday to exorcize the spot. We all witnessed how in doing so, he spontaneously combusted, leaving behind the smell of roses, and in place of the horrible noise, the pleasant chirping of birds.

His charred remains were flown to the Vatican, and we returned to business as usual.

Avena

"..but I don't want my son to be a faggot,"
"Well, you like to cook. Are you a faggot?"
"No!"he said with a scowl.
"Then our son is getting an easy-bake oven for Christmas," she said.

So on Christmas morning, a five-year old Sean baked little cakes for his family in what he would later describe to Mexican line cooks as "una chingaderita de plastico", or in words used in polite company, "a small plastic toy".

Calamari

Even though the American news networks would have done better to classify it as a freak occurrence, the attacks on small fishing vessels in the Atlantic by a squid were instead covered as a declaration of war by intelligent marine life.

It had been a slow news week.

A few frightened fishermen from the city had spotted a tentacled something arc out of the water, propelled by a stream of water. As it approached their boat, one of the men lost his balance and fell into the water. The cephalopod landed in front of the boat, and the men hurried to help their friend to safety. As they pulled him out, a tentacle shot out of the water and swiftly wrapped itself around the man's neck. The rubbery tentacle bulged, a loud snap, the man went limp, and his body disappeared under the surface. It had all happened in the span of two minutes.

They wanted to retaliate and so enlisted the help of the local fishermen. However, squid were an important part of the seafront economy and a sudden abundance of them would drive calamari prices down- the last thing struggling restauranteurs needed. Destroying them was also out of the question because tourists favored the region for its steady supply of affordable, delicious cephalopods. Since jellyfish were not an integral part of the local economy, nobody really understood them anyway, and once in a while, someone even got stung, they made the perfect target.

The fishermen went national with the story, which was a complete fabrication. Not only had no jellyfish been involved, but their friend had actually been strangled after he claimed he claimed that had had an affair with the wife of the one of group's members. But, when Fox News picked up the piece, millions of jellyfish wound up dead along the shores of the country.

The population of jellyfish recovered when a Republican congressman was revealed to have been Lady Gaga.

Cereal

Sandra and her daughters kept up with Cosmopolitan, Vogue and Hola!. They were so close, they could have been clones of each other. They talked alike, dressed alike and even had the same taste in men. Some of Sandra's daughters boyfriends had even slept with Sandra, and vice versa. Even though no one talked about it in the family, the fact was widely gossiped about in their social circle.

The silver Jaguar pulled up to the house in the late morning. María opened the door of her house to find Sandra and her daughters saying hi and opening the trunk. The cacophony was great and even dogs began yelping once they heard the high pitches that conveyed false enthusiasm emanating from the womens' vocal chords.

A few neighbors hidden from view eyed Sandra enviously from their windows. If their emotions hadn't been so strong, they might have seen the four kilos of cocaine Sandra unloaded from the trunk of her Jaguar. Or perhaps not: they were covered and wrapped inside ornate traditional bowls. As far as they could tell, Sandra was just coming over to show off her new casserole, which she'd learned to cook in a private class with a cute American chef.

Yogúr

A couple walk all a-jangly down the street. They ask us an unimportant question and continue on their merry way, carrying on in a discombobulated way.

"What a fun couple!" Julie said innocently.

Jen informed, "They're on crack."

---

La pareja caminó hacia nosotros con una energía esporádica que les salía por los brazos y las piernas sin control, como si fueran títeres. Se detuvieron, nos hicieron una pregunta irrelevante y continuaron casi a brincos.

--¡Qué pareja tan divertida!-- exclamó Julie.

Nos informó Jennifer --Acabaron de fumar crack--.

Danny Elfman - The Cookie Factory

There's a king and captain high

There's a king and captain high,

And he's coming by and by,

And he'll find me hoeing cotton when he comes,

You can hear his legions charging in the regions of the sky,

And he'll find me hoeing cotton when he comes,

There's a man they thrust aside,

Who was tortured till he died,

And he'll find me hoeing cotton when he comes.

He was hated and rejected
He was scorned and crucified,

And he'll find me hoeing cotton when he comes.

When he comes! when he comes!

He'll be crowned by saints and angels when he comes,

They'll be shouting out Hosanna! to the man that men denied,

And I'll kneel among my cotton when he comes.

- Negro spiritual

Los afroamericanos estadunidenses llevan una tradición cristiana evangélica muy enraizada. Parte de ello incluye canciones espirituales conocidas como Negro spirituals. Esta es una de ellas, cuyo mensaje es el de servir a Dios a través del trabajo.

El juego de palabras

Las palabras están en todas partes.
Las palabras y el locutor son como los clavos y el martillo: hay que acertarle bien a las palabras que ya están ahí.
No hay que darnos machucazos.

Dream about the angel

May 14 - We had all come to the conclusion that we were going to release the child.
Before the angel was whisked away by the sentinels standing guard at thick Machu Pichu doors and by the pull of heaven I saw its face. It was like a child's: simple, exquisite and fearsome in its beauty-delicate, sublime. I was so overcome by its divinity that my last thought before it left (and before I lost consciousness) was extreme remorse for what we humans had done to it: which was to capture it and display it like a circus animal. I could only hope for its and God's forgiveness.
I knew I had received it because even though the angel was behind the thick stone wall I could hear it say to the sentinels, "That was weird."

Penne Alfredo

...esta paz inquietante. Me impacienta. En mis oídos sordos escucho el viento y me dice que donde estoy, donde no ven mis ojos, el tiempo es un río que desemboca en un mar.

¿De dónde viene el agua?

Pues, de una montaña capeada de nieve. Porque al estar quieto el sentir pasar el tiempo da frío, pero son aguas puras, a las que siempre, siempre puedes volver.

~~~

I grow impatient with this disconcerting peace, but the wind speaks into my deaf ears and tells me that where I am, where my eyes can't see, there is a river flowing into an ocean. And that river is time.

I ask, where does the water come from?

I learn it comes from a snow-capped mountain. When you are still and you dip your fingers intothe passage of time, it feels cold. This is pure water that you can always come back to.

Alcachofas y arroz

Son tan egoístas esos morenitos. Se estiran inocentemente pero yo creo que se quieren lucir. Sin embargo, los perdono porque aquellos destellos de belleza no podrían ser consecuencias de un esfuerzo consciente. Mis ojos capitalistas los reprochan por ser flojos, pero simplemente son. Ahorita no hay por qué comer, por qué coger, por qué volar. Me dan envidia. Unos se me acercan osadamente a robarme mi comida que se me ha secado la noche anterior en el refrigerador. Otros caminan alrededor de las mesas de café, la gente ya acostumbrados a ellos. Los miro feo, les hago ¡chtt! y sacudo la mano y se van. Pero siguen.

Una niña tan osada como ellos, vestida de chaquiras con su tutú, botas de vaquero y casco de soldado los mira, sonríe y corre hacia ellos. Los espanta y mis morenos, mis morenitos toman vuelo y se van entre aleteos comunales.

Coffee

The air above the hot concrete outside Ernesto’s studio apartment shimmered in the bright Southern California sun. Twitchy gangstas constantly adjusted their flat-brimmed baseball caps and pulled up their pants. A beefy, mustachioed Latino sold oranges on the corner of Ernesto’s block, staring down the heat. Pigeons cooed in the shade, while on tree-lined streets, flocks of Dorian Grays gallantly proudly displayed their colorful, expensive plumage under the pretense of enjoying a nice summer day in Orange County.

As always, a few surfers complained about the lack of swell in the summertime, and decided to get high instead, as always. A funny smell, followed by a funny cloud wafted into Ernesto’s kitchen, where he was eating cereal and reading the back of the cereal box.

“Whoa,” Ernesto said, channeling Keanu Reeves. The cannabinoids in the air had made a detour to his brain through his lungs and were dancing the merengue with his neuroreceptors. He had a sudden craving for orange juice and was dismayed there wasn’t any in his refrigerator. It became imperative that he go to a convenience store.

Suddenly, the dancing stopped and the lights came on in Ernesto's head, much like when the police invite themselves to your party, and you suddenly realize that you had had too much to drink and danced badly but passionately with a person who definitely looked better in dim lighting. It was time for a reality check. He had already put on some jeans and a Bart Simpson t-shirt and was standing at the door. He felt something stop him from going outside. He turned around and saw what he would come home to: another day in his underwear, surfing the Internet, looking at pictures of LOLcats while drinking orange juice. He sighed and shook his head in disappointment.

"Ay, Ernesto."

It was the ghost of his grandmother. She was shaking her head with him. Her disapproval had always hit him hard.  Many years earlier, he had swept the kitchen in an effort to be helpful in her house, but he was surprised by her slowly shaking her head.

“Ay Ernesto. I don’t think you know how to sweep,” she sighed.

Indeed, Ernesto had been holding the broom the wrong way. He was crushed by her judgment, but only because he knew it was true. Even the family’s ever-present small poodle seemed to know the correct way to sweep. Everyone knew, of course, except for Ernesto, even with psychic powers and all.

And now, here he was, still gazing at the wreckage that he called his studio, his life littered with the consequences of his short-sighted decisions, which the Hollywood fast life had provided in abundance. His dead grandma was in the kitchen making quesadillas for him.

“Here you go, mijito” she said, “you need to eat. Just look at how skinny you are!”

Despite the remark, Ernesto ate the quesadillas. He was his grandma’s favorite grandchild, and she knew how he liked the quesadillas: slightly burned, with the occasional drop of hot Valentina sauce. There was no feasible way he could refuse without offending her because 1) she was his mother's mother, 2) she made him quesadillas just how he liked them out of the goodness of her heart, and 3) she was dead and could literally raise hell by talking to the right dead people.

“What about you, Yaya. Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked out of habit.

“No, mijito. I’ll just have some water.” She withheld a good-natured sarcastic remark about the cleanliness of Ernesto’s kitchen. He was sensitive, right now, contemplating his life, and just needed a little bit of support right now.

“So… what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Yaya,” he said. “I was going to get some orange juice."

Té inglés

Lo miró a través de esos ojos cafés majestuosos pero humildes, ojos llenos de amor y cómplices en travesuras que nunca acabaron en su niñez. Su mirada esperaba pacientemente el momento preciso para darle un consejo sabiendo bien que fácilmente lo podría rechazar. Nunca dejaba de doler el rechazo pero desde hace mucho había entendido que ella cumplía solamente con compartir su sabiduría. Ya el uso que le daban era cuestión de cada quien.

Sushi

Cruzar el desierto sonorense antes era un hecho mortal, pero ahora los avances de la tecnología incluyen un telefonito con GPS que también indica las fuentes de agua más próximas. De todas formas, el teléfono no cruzaba el desierto por alguien, así que el peligro todavía seguía presente en esas arenas, como esos tercos valientes que vienen con todo y familia.

¡Oi! Es de noche y se escuchan crujidos en la tierra. Estamos lejos de los oídos electrónicos de los vecinos gringos envidiosos. Los pasos son distintos: unos son fuertes pero cautelosos, seguidos por otros un poco más ligero y éstos por unos chiquitos que se apresuran a cada rato.

Tacos de huevo

He worries when he sees dark shadows flying overhead. Sometimes the shadows glide slowly, aimlessly.

To anyone who'll listen he says, "You have to keep your eye on them because once they pick up a bit more speed and maneuver, it can just as easily be you, your family or friends that are gone. Sink or swim, that's the way life is around these parts. It can be a bit stressful when you first become aware of that, but eventually one gets used it."

Even so, he seemed to shudder a little. More shadows than usual began crossing the sky.

He thought of a good hiding spot in a rocky crevasse close by, but it would probably be occupied first because everyone was near it. His heart began beating faster. He would have to hurry to make it to the backup shelter.

Suddenly, a darting movement. Everyone around him hid behind what they could. The nearest crevasse filled up quickly.

He hurried.

He was barely in the second crevasse, when he saw the shadow fall, fall and splash into the water. He promised himself he wouldn't look, but he couldn't help but admire how the bubbles rolled off of the shadow's dark waterproof feathers. The shadow wriggled and swam until its beak and a small fish were joined.

It could have been him, the fish thought.

Flor de la palabra

He regresado a mis raices, por decir, con este nuevo/viejo diseño. La mayoría de mis posts serios, es decir, aquellos que sean cuentos los podrás encontrar en www.flordelapalabra.com/blog.

Gracias a Dios tengo trabajo por lo tanto no creo que postearé tanto como antes. Pero ahí cuando encuentre tiempo y cosas padres, las pondré.

En lo mientras, fíjense en los posts anteriores, los del mes de mayo.

Saludos!

Café

As a teen he had had his own television show as a real-life psychic who helped police solve crimes. He sold his services to the public at the end of each episode, so he had the phone numbers and money of many lonely, emotionally fragile women on his cell, He was often seen then with that bluish electronic glow on his face as he texted his latest visions to his poor girlfriends.

But those were his glory days.

Now he shared his story with other fallen stars who had been celebrities as children and lost their grip on reality almost immediately. Now, here he was, in his dirty apartment, hungover, late for work, and slowly rubbing his temples as he wondered why he couldn’t have just slept forever.

He would find out later that day in the cold cereal aisle at Safeway.

Had he not needed to use the bathroom, he would have stayed in bed longer. With much effort he got up and shuffled toward the toilet where he sat a while, thinking foul, useless thoughts. He remembered hearing about a Kansas woman whose skin had grown around a toilet seat she had been sitting on for two years straight. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought. Slowly, very slowly he stood up, making sure that his butt cheeks gently unstuck themselves from the toilet seat.

---

Desde jóven, él había tenido su show de televisión como psíquico forense en donde ayudaba a la policía resolver crímenes. Al final de cada programa anunciaba sus servicios al público y como resultado, poseía los teléfonos y el dinero de mujeres frágiles. En ese entonces, era común verlo irradiado de esa luz azul, electrónica y pálida mientras texteaba sus visiones a sus pobres novias.

Pero aquellos fueron sus días dorados.

Ahora compartía su historia con los demás estrellas caídas, que como niños artistas que tuvieron todo lo que quisieron, perdieron el suelo sólo para volverse a caer sobre la dura realidad. Mientras despertaba su cruda, moral y física, le hizo preguntarse por qué no pudo dormirse para siempre.

Encontraría su respuesta esa tarde en el área de los cereales de la Comercial Mexicana.

Si no fuera por su necesidad de ir al baño, se hubiera quedado más tiempo en su cama. Con mucho esfuerzo se paró y camino lentamente hacia el excusado donde se sentó un tiempo pensando cosas inútiles y desagradables. Lentamente se levantó, procurando que sus nalgas se despegaran suavemente desde el asiento. Un movimiento rápido podría arrancarle la piel, pensó.

Caffeine's Silent roar

I'm galloping silently
My mind is on this
horse and
I'm wondering why
I'm pulsing with it
and feeling like
I'm flying because
I didn't spread my wings
yet I'm not falling

In,
Out

I breathe.
I remember why.
Now I'm pulsing,
not nervous yet
CHARGED.
(and I gallop)

Salmón

Ernesto didn't like to waste time at the supermarket. One of the skills he was proud of was the ability to be able to locate any item in a store.

He knew where the orange juice was.

Not a whole lot of people knew where the orange juice was. Mostly they ambled around, guided by the decades of research by consumer psychologists. But not Ernesto. He knew all the tricks and wouldn't be taken for a sucker, thanks to his wise uncle's advice: "Be very much like a trout."

Super burrito de pollo asado

Ernesto didn't need to read the newspaper or listen to the radio. Real life was like the Internet for him. This is what went through him as he poured himself a bowl of Captain Crunch:
- The grocer who bagged the cereal liked to groom cats and she wanted to do so professionally, but the supermarket didn't let workers unionize and demand a fair wage.
- The milk bowl was made in China. (Ernesto didn't understand Chinese, but he felt a factory worker's enjoyment when she watched a Hong Kong kung fu movie on what appeared to be a date with the kind factory manager.)
- The organic milk was delicious, and the cow who had provided it could not understand why the small humans who came at night in a big spaceship were quietly taking pieces of other cows' lips and ears while they slept.

And on and on the stories went, a never-ending parade of life moments that weren't his and didn't necessarily want to find out about. However, they lost vividness as Ernesto grew used to them. It was hard to get used to his constant migraine headaches. They were annoying. It was hard to deal with the psychological issues of millions of beings he came into direct or indirect contact with, but it was even harder to reconcile the fact that the corner store was all out of orange juice. Some frat boys had bought it all up in their misguided attempt to make the world's largest screwdriver. But of course, Ernesto should have known that.

Off to the supermarket.

Pepitas

These birds are selfish: I break up a pecan -a nut- to feed them, the small, brownish sparrows. They taste a few pieces, but they'd rather not eat.

I watch them snatch food out of their fellow sparrows' beaks rather then indulge in the crumbs freely given to them. Another few stretch out their wings and chirp at a the bigger black birds. Not having seen this type of behavior before, I was even more fascinated to see them gladly place their morsels in the sparrows' open beaks!

What a curious lot.

Now they seem to be watching me.

Cuscús

Curious drab, colored birds dropped in from nowhere and stayed close to me, like the children on the street in Mexico, with the persistent hope that I would give them any morsel, even by accident.

Here, in San Francisco, there are no such children: there is no innocence here.

No, what drops in on you are loud, ugly toothless homeless men who don't go away until you recognize they're human, too- some of them.

But such is the sad music of the street here, where nostalgia is but a gift.

--

Unos pájaros grises y curiosos salieron de la nada y se me acercaron como los niños de la calle en México, con esperanzas persistentes de que les diera algo, lo que fuera, aunque fuera por descuido.

Aquí, en San Francisco, no hay tales niños- aquí no hay inocencia.

No, aquí se te aparecen hombres ruidosos, feos y chimuelos que no se te despegan hasta que se les reconocen como seres humanos- algunos, pues.

Pero tal es la música triste de estas calles, donde la nostalgia es un regalo.

Chorizo Sandwich

I'm sitting, and I sit upon a chair and my feet rest on maybe a foot of concrete. There is a speed bump that transmits the weight of each car through the concrete, shaking it, up through my feet.

It feels unsafe.

At the very least, it's not a comforting feeling: as if the firmament upon which one stands will suddenly break under the weight of distant and transient, but very present, giants.

And still, people carry on as if this were normal, and I'm distracted by the revelatory details of a sago palm planted in a concrete planter here in this San Francisco shopping mall.

Al que Dios le apacienta nada le falta

Hoy mi mamá y o¿yo vimos el partido Paraguay-Japón, Los dos equipos jugaron con garra y pienso que fue el mejor partido hasta ahorita. Los japoneses fueron rápidos y crearon varias oportunidades para anotar pero los paraguayos con su defensa los pararon. Jugaron con mucha pasíon. Lástima que acabaron en penales.

Permaculture Principles

1. Observe
2. Connect
3. Catch and store energy and materials
4. Each element performs multiple functions
5. Each function is supported by multiple elements
6. Make the least change for the greatest effect
7. Use small-scale intensive systems
8. Optimize with age
9. Collaborate with succession
10. Use biological and renewable resources
11. Turn problems into solutions
12. Get a yield
13. The biggest limit to abundance is creativity
14. Mistakes are tools for learning

Litany against fear - Bene Gesserit

I must not fear
Fear is the mind-killer
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration
I will face my fear
I will permit it to pass over me and through me
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing
Only I will remain

Burrito de carne asada

Entré a la farmacia de la familia de la mujer que amo. Era de noche, ya estaban cerrados y todo el interior estaba iluminado por luces fluorescentes, pero todavía habían rincones obscuros, donde no penetraba la luz. Les pedí un aventón a la frontera. Ya era hora.

Pasando los puestos cerrados de comida callejera y de juguetes de plástico barato importados desde China les dije:

-- Es que en estos pueblos fronterizos no respetan la ley, ni del hombre y menos la de Dios y ya me tiene harto.

-- A todos, mijo.

Silencio.

-- La extraño demasiado, suegro.

-- Nosotros también, mijo.

En una posada mugrosa e iluminada por luces de neón, habían aparecido unos cuerpos descuartizados, no se cuantos. En esa posada, donde estaba viviendo, encontraron unos brazos y piernas en el closet. Afuera, en un bote de basura grande, había hallado unas cabezas humanas. Nunca les ví los ojos. No puedo.

Llegamos a un área donde crecían muchos pinos. Los coyotes me advirtieron que me iba costar tres semanas en cruzar el desierto a pie. No me quedó de otra.

Headlines from a sci-fi future

(CNN) An American citizen who pleaded guilty to trying to help The Base is scheduled to be sentenced Wednesday.
(AFP) Ten native Gliesian soldiers were wounded in clashes Wednesday with The Base suspects as they tried to arrest a militant leader over last week's murder of a top officer, tribal and medical sources say.
(CSM) American cobalt bombs in Gliese 581g: The right weapon in fight against The Base?

(Note: Gliese 581g is a recently-discovered planet. The Base is the translation of "al Qaeda")

Voleibol con Fabian el jueves

-- Malena. Qué nombre tan bonito. Me suena europeo. Eres de Armenia, ¿verdad?
-- Si. Sí lo soy.
-- ¿Y de qué parte?
-- ... -- pensó Malena -- de la capital --.

Flor de la palabra

Bueno, creo ya han sido bastantitos posts visuales. Es culpa mía porque me distraigo fácilmente con lo bonito o lo padre. Soy bastante superficial en ese sentido, lamentablemente, pero así soy. Todavía no le encuentro el balance para escribir sin abrumar tanto a mí como al lector. Ya veremos. Haré el esfuerzo para regresar al tema principal del blog, que es lo precolombino, el arte, México, la naturaleza, y ahí unos cuentecitos verdaderos o mentirosos.

The Definition of Writing

Painted Mixtec and Aztec manuscripts, like all writing systems, were permanent and readable, which meant that they were used to establish ideas, document facts, and present accountability.

Europeans recognized the painted records's function to the extent that those drafted for leaders were valid in legal proceedings. However, the Europeans were ambivalent about is as it really didn't conform to the European idea of writing. For example, Acosta ranks Aztec writing and Inca knot records just below Chinese ideograms. The ambivalence continues to this day with the classification of Aztec writing as pictography.

Ignace Gello defines writing as a "system of human intercommunication by means of conventional, visible marks". But pictography is placed as a "forerunner of writing" in the evolution of writing, leading to alphabetized and phonetically representative visual communication systems. It helps to remember that writing is a cultural construct that has been used to distinguish literates from pre-literates, people with history from those without, and civilized people from barbarians or primitives. Now, the working definition of writing is given by Sampson as the communication of relatively specific ideas in a conventional manner by means of permanent, visible marks.

Surreal art by Thomas Barbèy

On Friday, Julie and I visited Healdsburg and we found an art gallery selling pieces by Swiss artist Thomas Barbèy. His influences are Magritte, Escher y Giger. The actual prints are very cool to look at, but we thought they were expensive!

Eyjafjallajökull

Source for emissions information

NIN - Burn

Dedicated to the Eyjafjallajökull volcano in Iceland.

Cuauhnahuac

Esta representación indica la conquista precolombina de Cuauhnáhuac, ahora Cuernavaca, por parte de los aztecas. Cuauhnáhuac era antes habitada por los tlahuicas.

Posters by Iranian artist Mehdi Saeedi

More posters can be found on Mehdi Saeedi's Web page.

I will always love you

Increíble performance. Me gustó también el corte de pelo.

Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon

(Jon enters kitchen. Julie and Ashley are writing what looks like a mind map on a napkin. )

Jon: Hey, what're you guys up to?

Julie: We're playing six degrees of kevin bacon. Wanna play?

Jon: Sure... but I don't really know any movies Kevin Bacon has been in.

Julie: The only movies we could come up with are Footloose and Flatliners.

Ashley: This is a waste of my time.

(Ashley leaves kitchen and finds something better to do)

Nueva luna / New moon

Como se puede ver, le he dado un nuevo diseño al blog. Los colores originales, chocolate y piel, me gustaban mucho porque significaban mexicanidad y humanidad, pero para mí necesitaba un poco más de vida y de estilo. Traté redondear el header y darle una sombra, muy al estilo Web 2.0. Experimenté también con @font-face, pero las fuentes no rendían bien en todos los browsers sin hacer más juegos malabares. Finalmente, tomé un riesgo y le quité al blog sus colores originales. Opté por usar el rojo sangre como color principal para significar la sangre que fluye por nuestras venas como seres humanos. Pero más que eso, el logo refleja humanidad y mexicanidad al semejarse a la manuscrita de los códices mexicanos.

As you can see, I've redesigned the blog. I liked the original colors, chocolate and tan, because they symbolized humanity and Mexican-ness, but I felt the blog in general was a bit dull in terms of design. I rounded the header and gave it a shadow, and later experimented with @font-face, but I had trouble porting my fonts across different browsers. Finally, I decided to scrap the original colors and the header. The result? A new logo. It's blood red to signify the blood that flows through all our collective bodies, and it is handwritten scrawl, similar to those found in the ancient Mexican codices. The logo successfully reunites humanity and Mexican-ness and breathes new life into the blog.

w00t!

Is this the face of Jesus Christ?

A team of computer artists digitally fleshed out Jesus's face based on the Shroud of Turin. This is the result. It's nice to have an accurate reconstruction of the Man. I think he looks like my friend Fernando.

Link to story on Good Morning America

SolarBeat

Pythagoras imagined the planets making music as they traveled across the heavens. I wonder if this is what he had in mind.

Yo no quiero ir a donde esos hombres vayan

Hatuey fue condenado a la hoguera, castigo reservado a los más viles criminales. Pero cuando estaba a punto de ser quemado, al ser preguntado si quería convertirse en cristiano para subir al cielo preguntó: "¿y esos hombres blancos también van al cielo?" y al recibir una afirmación dijo "entonces yo no quiero ir a donde esos hombres vayan".

-de la Brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias. Fray Bartolomé de las Casas

Me cae bien Hatuey, el cacique que fue expulsado de su isla (ahora la República Dominicana y Haití) y que les avisó lo siguiente a los habitantes indígenas de Cuba:

Este es el Dios de los españoles adoran. Por estos pelean y matan; por estos es que nos persiguen y es por ello que tenemos que tirarlos al mar... Nos dicen, estos tiranos, que adoran a un Dios de paz e igualdad, pero usurpan nuestras tierras y nos hacen sus esclavos. Ellos nos hablan de un alma inmortal y de sus recompensas y castigos eternos, pero roban nuestras pertenencias, seducen a nuestras mujeres, violan a nuestras hijas. Incapaces de igualarnos en valor, estos cobardes se cubren con hierro que nuestras armas no pueden romper.

Where is my mind - Pixies (interpretado por Maxence Cyrin)

via The Cookie Jar

Second Bill of Rights

... We have come to a clear realization of the fact that true individual freedom cannot exist without economic security and independence. “Necessitous men are not free men.” People who are hungry and out of a job are the stuff of which dictatorships are made.

In our day these economic truths have become accepted as self-evident. We have accepted, so to speak, a second Bill of Rights under which a new basis of security and prosperity can be established for all—regardless of station, race, or creed.

Among these are:

• The right to a useful and remunerative job in the industries or shops or farms or mines of the nation;
• The right to earn enough to provide adequate food and clothing and recreation;
• The right of every farmer to raise and sell his products at a return which will give him and his family a decent living;
• The right of every businessman, large and small, to trade in an atmosphere of freedom from unfair competition and domination by monopolies at home or abroad;
• The right of every family to a decent home;
• The right to adequate medical care and the opportunity to achieve and enjoy good health;
• The right to adequate protection from the economic fears of old age, sickness, accident, and unemployment;
• The right to a good education.

All of these rights spell security. And after this war is won we must be prepared to move forward, in the implementation of these rights, to new goals of human happiness and well-being.

For unless there is security here at home there cannot be lasting peace in the world.

- Franklin D. Roosevelt
State of the Union, January 11, 1944

Plutonomy

Acabo de ver la película de Michael Moore Capitalism: A Love Story. Me pareció simpática pero me sorprendio ver el descaro de los elites al robar tanto y tanto. Desconozco el por qué de mi reacción, he vivido en México lo suficiente para observar la corrupción e impunidad de los gobernantes. Quizás se debe a que aquí en el gabacho la mayoría de la gente tiene la costumbre de creer en el estado y su economía, y por ende, yo. Pues bueno...

De acuerdo a este reporte interno de Citigroup, los grandes mueven la economía mundial y de sus paises y consideran que la población, específicamente los trabajadores, actuando en sus propios intereses, es su mayor amenaza. Qué bueno. Que nos tengan miedo. ¡A ejercer el voto y la huelga!

Russian-Mayan playing cards

These Russian playing cards depict art inspired by the Maya culture. The connection goes back to the Cold War, when linguist Yuri Knorozov cracked the code of the Maya glyphs.

Nature by Numbers

This post comes as I'm reading Zero, which is about the history of the number/concept Zero. Pythagoras and his crew were so into rationality and proportionality, but ironically, the golden mean he championed is irrational. The Greeks never really adopted zero because they couldn't really get their heads around it ("How can nothing be something?" they asked themselves.). Anyway, I think we find such an aesthetic appeal in the Golden Mean and other natural proportions because we ourselves are part of nature. It's so wonderful to find such order in chaos.

Insight from the Bible

Ever notice the inconsistencies in the Bible?

Here's a few examples:

GE 1:3-5 On the first day, God created light, then separated light and darkness.
GE 1:14-19 The sun (which separates night and day) wasn't created until the fourth day.

PR 8:13, 16:6 It is the fear of God that keeps men from evil.
1JN 4:18 There is no fear in love. Perfect love drives out fear.
1JN 5:2, 2JN 1:6 Those who love God keep his commandments.

And so on. Here's more if you're interested. 

Anyway, maybe the whole point of the bible is that all the conflicting teachings come together in one book to teach us a message. The details aren't THAT important. You'll drive yourself crazy if you interpret it literally. It's the general idea that matters most.
It's like a metaphor for the world. People believe all sorts of different things, but if they are good people and they do good in the world, then the differences are negligible.

How games can make the world a better place - Jane McGonigal

Berkeley grad (Go Bears!) Jane McGonical mentions four characteristics of gamers that she believes make a case for designing games that will save the world. These are: 

• urgent optimism - You act on an obstacle you believe has a reasonable chance of success of completion.
• tight social fabric - We like people better after we play with them because we can trust them to follow the rules and know that we have the same goals. 
• blissful productivity - people prefer to work over relaxing and hanging out when they're doing something that they like.
• epic meaning - Gamers love saving the galaxy from the dragon or what have you.

McGonigal mentions how, during a famine, the ancient Lydians decided to play a game one day and eat another day. She said they did this for 18 years until the king decided to play one final game, split the kingdom in half and send the loser of this game somewhere else so the rest could eat. The losers eventually became the Romans.

I share McGonigal's goal of wanting to save the world, but I don't like that the four characteristics she mentions are limited to the game world, probably because I'm not a gamer like she is. So what about we non-gamers? We want to save the world too! I think we should harness those four characteristics (urgent optimism, tight social fabric, blissful productivity, and epic meaning) in other social environments like education and local politics. Serious problems don't have to be serious. Breaking down the problems we have and putting the pieces together in a larger context by asking "Does this work for everybody, not just for us?" can be fun. We just have to find out how.

'The Soldiers Call It War Porn' - Interview with Defense Expert P.W. Singer

Singer: To say that is far too simplistic. We're seeing a change in the very experience of war. The act of going to war used to entail you taking upon great risks. You might not come home one day. You might not see your family again. Now it's different. I heard a drone pilot explain it this way: You're going to war for one hour, and then you get in the car and drive home, and within two minutes you're sitting at the dinner table talking about your kids' homework. This is a very different experience of war.

i have mixed reactions. On one hand, I'm saddened by the alienation of the drone pilots. I still think that war should be fought hand-to-hand like it used to be. The weapons that exist today as a result of technology's relentless march are truly frightening. On the other hand, I'm glad the alienated drone pilots still suffer PSTD. This means they are still human, unlike the Nazis who were "just following orders".

Link to full article

Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you. - Luke 17:21

La realidad - Reality

Es interesante que la luz es una intersección de partículas y ondas. En algunas situaciones la luz se comporta como el agua y en otras situaciones, como frijolitos. Esto significa que el mundo que observamos no es estático como un dibujo o siquiera como una película, sino más bien como el juego de dos niños.

It's interesting that light like an intersection between particles and waves. Sometimes light behaves like water and other times like little beans. This means that the world we see isn't flat like a drawing or even a movie, but more like a game that two children play together.

Link: Buddhism and Quantum Physics

Portishead - Roads

Ohh, can't anybody see
We've got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say

How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong

Storm.. in the morning light
I feel
No more can I say
Frozen to myself

I got nobody on my side
And surely that ain't right
And surely that ain't right

Ohh, can't anybody see
We've got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say

How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong

[INSTRUMENTAL]

How can it feel, this wrong
This moment
How can it feel, this wrong

Ohh, can't anybody see
We've got a war to fight
Never found our way
Regardless of what they say

How can it feel, this wrong
From this moment
How can it feel, this wrong

Black Sabbath - War Pigs

Generals gathered in their masses
Just like witches at black masses
Evil minds that plot destruction
Sorcerers of death's construction
In the fields the bodies burning
As the war machine keeps turning
Death and hatred to mankind
Poisoning their brainwashed minds
Oh lord yeah!

Politicians hide themselves away
They only started the war
Why should they go out to fight?
They leave that role to the poor

Time will tell on their power minds
Making war just for fun
Treating people just like pawns in chess
Wait 'til their judgement day comes
Yeah!

Now in darkness world stops turning
Ashes where the bodies burning
No more war pigs have the power
Hand of God has struck the hour
Day of judgement, God is calling
On their knees the war pig's crawling
Begging mercy for their sins
Satan laughing spreads his wings
Oh lord yeah!

Past = Present

Right now, somewhere in the cosmos, aliens are watching human history unfold through a telescope. They see the indigenous people of America carrying on their daily business, and, after a little fine-tuning of the telescope, the man known as Jesus gets hungry and looks for something to eat. More tuning and a stressed Hitler stubs his toe and trips and hopes that nobody noticed.

The human drama is also seen by the spirits of the dead. Peace is with the indigenous who lived in harmony with themselves and with nature. Jesus is grateful that John invited him over for lunch that day, and Hitler eternally bears the humiliation of watching himself stub his toe over and over again, as the light that originated on Earth travels outward in space for ever and ever.

Link: Chromoscope


The aliens adjust the telescope and fine tune the receiver.

Cristales de nieve

Se me hace increíble que haya tanta variedad en los cristales de nieve. Según un físico de Caltech, Kenneth G. Libbrecht, las diferentes variedades se deben a diferentes temperaturas y grados de humedad. A continuación se muestran algunas.

SnowCrystals.com - A Guide to Snowflakes

Taylor Mali - What Teachers Make

 

What Teachers Make, or
Objection Overruled, or
If things don't work out, you can always go to law school

He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about
teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.
I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.
Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.
"I mean, you're a teacher, Taylor," he says.
"Be honest. What do you make?"
And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.
I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.
I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.
Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.
I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write, write, write.
And then I make them read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely
beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this (brains)
then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this (the finger).
Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?

Educators, represent!

Steven Pinker on Language and Thought

Qué cosa el lenguaje. 

Las metáforas de tiempo y espacio nos sirven para navegar en el mundo de las ideas. También, la ambigüedad del lenguaje tiene la función de negociar las relaciones interpersonales a la vez de comunicar algo. Bueno, ésto en inglés.

Sesame Street

Sunny day
Sweepin' the clouds away
On my way to where the air is sweet

Can you tell me how to get,
How to get to Sesame Street

Come and play
Everything's A-OK
Friendly neighbors there
That's where we meet

Can you tell me how to get
How to get to Sesame Street