Scabies After Treatment Bumps

Pieces sinking island

Leo died everywhere Raul Alfonsin, I guess the cold would have to react as unfortunate news to hundreds every day that passed before our eyes but we give the lower ball. At the end of the day I'm Uruguayan, I never had sympathies for the UCR (in fact I always had an almost morbid interest, especially because the Uruguayan-to PJ), and virtually all the political career since the carapintadas they twisted his arm in the Easter of 1987 seemed insignificant, or almost fault.

But there are things that have to do with one, not with history but with the small chunk of it that surrounds us from time to time and becomes part of us. I was very young when Alfonsin became president of Argentina, but of fate had made me a fan teenager (or pre-teen) of the journal Humor, who became chair of my early political education, and acquainted me not only with the early work of famous comic characters and the humor in Argentina, but also to the infinite horror of the Southern Cone dictatorships, and the horror of torture, disappearances, censorship and repression infinite. I dare to say that humor left me, which I still have doubts to be really, but I approached their claims negotiable, knowledge of the brutality uncontrollable state terrorism and contempt as laughter and muffled forms of resistance. And Alfonsin, who was hero and clown of the magazine during those years confused and effervescent the end of dictatorship.

That's not what comes to mind when I read that Alfonsin died, not his courageous role as a lawyer in the dictatorship, there is the hope that he deposited over the enormous dignity to the start of his rule-of freedom unrestricted, the military trials and attempts to audit the foreign debt, but actually the beginning of his fall, his spiral toward infamy medium or inevitable relativism of merit, ie the terrible and magnificently for me Easter 1987.

On one of those chances, to be exact by a side effect of hyperinflation that made Buenos Aires had ridiculously low prices for Uruguay for several months, I was in Buenos Aires during the Easter uprising of the loathsome carapintadas Aldo Rico. In fact I was staying with two friends who like me were too young to travel alone but somehow we had made, in the Liberty Hotel Corrientes and Florida, the same where they were Zelmar Michelini and Héctor Gutiérrez Ruiz when they were abducted and killed. It was the first time traveling in circumstances similar and it was an enormous adventure.

One of these days we walked by Lavalle and a very eloquent porteño convinced us to enter a nightclub to watch a striptease show. Within minutes a highly trained turra managed to us to ask a series of foolish-price drinks at that age one is convinced of anything when you fondle the Poronga over trousers, and emptied our wallets to the speed which a jet of water passing through the fingers. Another day saw The Court, the first band of graceless Calamaro, Suipacha a bowling had been a church. That day we took about ten taxis, because each of us out as much as a gum in Montevideo; hear the Helen of Troy of John Cale in bowling and we sat around Charly García. They were tremendous holiday for people who had not yet reached 18.

But what I remember, as hard and intense that holiday was the lifting of the carapintadas and the circumstances in which we live, with my friend J. we met a couple of Buenos Aires in Atlantis, which had been called when we arrived. We did and we were invited to a beer near their homes in an area of \u200b\u200bBelgrano which is now cheta and elegant, but back then it was not. The day we landed there makeup Rico and fascists rioted in Infantry School Campo de Mayo, and all our plans are disrupted. One of the two girls was a member of the leftist timid Oscar Alende -the PI - but came from a family of left wing PJ pure luck that he had disappeared near the other was one of the rare members of the Communist Youth Argentina. Both had serious reasons to be nervous before a coup d'état, and both were much more beautiful and charming than any of the girls eventually went out in Montevideo.

And they were very nervous, and dissolved excuses for not being able to have fun out there, but in retrospect the reasons were clear and completely understandable. But also they were alone, the families of both had taken the Easter holiday in the north, or in Uruguay I do not remember, "and the two were left of housewives while the weak world of Argentina's precarious democratic civilization seemed to be coming down and things looked bad for two young militants. But the news about what was happening in Campo de Mayo were scarce and inconclusive, and at some moment a mutual friend-who had presented to us, with anesthetic spray composition was based on ether. The guy had discovered that by pulling some of that spray on a tissue and inhaling of course, is getting a brief and powerful effect, exactly like the Brazilian perfume launch. The effect of ether extraction takes only a few seconds but after that you are doing for a while, this effect is prolonged (sometimes too, because a drug is very difficult to control, and can produce strong and dangerous hallucinations) and then to be screwing around with the spray for a while, we were all a respectable place. I remember seeing a conversation in words materialize on my companions.

Then we went back to television but there was no news of the uprising, so we changed the channel, connecting to a kind of proto-illegal cable in which a video store apple transmitting films in exchange for a ridiculous fee. And they were going to Gallipoli Peter Weir , a film about the fateful landing of the Allies in the Dardanelles during the First World War (which are also facts narrated in the bleak 'And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda' of the Pogues) and saw-emptying bottles of wine from the parents of the hostess, "being very impressed by the final. It may be that we were all very sensitive, drugged, drunk or just excited, but when Mel Gibson despite his effort fails to prevent Mark Lee and his company charge against Turkish machine guns, the massacre, we are not talking a good time. How sad, what a failure despite all that effort.

more than 20 years ago that, all of which were cultural and social actors of this historical period radically changed or died. Looking back I have the impression that in those days began the collapse of the great wave of hope that the advent of democracy had brought to the Rio de la Plata, the commitments made by Raul Alfonsin, especially with the awful carapintadas Obedience Law Due, and the rampant economic crisis began to rear its ugly head ended with what seemed a brief golden age of the genocide trials, audit plans of external debt, uncover social and cultural, artistic experimentation, revelations of the past recent mass mobilizations. Alfonsin

reminds me Hugo Batalla, another man of conviction and unobjectionable behavior during the most complicated of dictatorships or dictatorship, because today is pretty silly considering the cluster of rogue military and economic groups represented as different from both sides of the Platform, which collapsed in political speculation at the end of his career. It reminds me of Wilson Ferreira Aldunate , ie semi-conservative politicians but high ethical authority in the key moments in their personal and collective histories were defeated in a noisy, being forever tainted by this defeat. The defeat of Alfonsin said, something that would confirm the victory of the vote in Uruguay yellow a couple of years later, the limits of democracy triumphant at the time it seemed an irreversible and unstoppable historical tsunami. Alfonsin's defeat made clear the undeniable weight of the praxis of arms and money to the idealism of the street marches. It is difficult to speculate whether, when Alfonsin did flags lowered liability in the event of a greater evil, for political speculation or simple cowardice in relation to both the weakness of popular forces and their energy, but when he did he began a time of ugly, shameless hijadeputez , corruption and cynicism. The time of Carlos Menem of readers Fukuyama, of idiots idiots baptizing all who were not on his knees, labor flexibility and advertising as a paradigm of whores. It is difficult for someone to rise above defeat and to leave a country in flames in the hands of horrible people, and it is hard to forgive that kind of defeat. But we will all be defeated in the end, if only the way it was today Alfonsin, and that is not what comes to mind. Leo

Critical a column of Osvaldo Bazán in listing the 80 names and could put the firm without any problems, the guy with the goatee, a contemporary of mine-not much larger same thing happens to me. Lee died Raul Alfonsin "and you start firing words, names and times on which the death falls like a stone Alfonsín final. Bukowski mentioned, the Round , the video-clubs, Camila Perisée to The Lost Republic, which were due to harvest coffee in Nicaragua, Grondona White to Prix D'Ami, a The endless story ... a lot of things in a collage that each of those who lived through those times could do the same with different variables, and ends "are watching in the '80s. Officially, our youth is dead."

never paid much attention to Bazán, but reading this column I can only respect him as well to define what I feel, that cold in memory, this invitation to get into the box everything that comes with the stiff, that blow against the background of rock, which exposes us to ourselves as we are now indisputable that we do not like something, and we stopped being something else.

But that's not what I think now as the news listed names of animals are saying about Alfonsin and democracy, but brighter things, I think Jorge Corona saying "what a disaster that Alfonsin! Why not go to Mar del Plata, to drown as your sister? ". I hate the absence of the strip The Rep Alfonsin, who thought about the president with a familiarity and even affection, unthinkable today to a politician. And I think in the Plaza de Mayo full and deafening, for that "some kids just wander, with ready-made bags to the port and return to Montevideo. We were at a crucial point in the history of the last half century and we walked hand in hand with two girls so beautiful that if you accompany us back to Uruguay, all of high school heartthrobs would be astonished to see us hit them at a considerable distance (but not so far that did not see us) of our favorite bar.

And then (today, 20 years ago today when I read about the death of Alfonsin) I'm in love, not just a 16 year old girl with a blonde and a red tuft, but an entire city, a sense of humor of an accent, some houses that open to a generosity that I know, the texts of Brecht you like so much to this member of the PI, the word "psicobolche" I just did mine with the aim of exporting to Pocitos and apply it to all my parents left friends, the joke irritating to many of defining as "the Argentine"-something that I'm still as stubborn, unpatriotic and inevitably, the City Council paved street and Penguin came in that she looks just drinkable but for me is the best I've ever tasted.

I'm happy and I do not even realize, because the noise is increasing and is now talking Alfonsin, and do not mean a damn what you say, but every time I applaud so it must be good. And I have the bag Give 'Em Enough Rope , the only record of The Clash I needed, and not hear "The house is in order, Merry Christmas", but I think she did, because it has the eyes filled with tears and put my arms around his chest. And I'm never going to be just as excited and feeling like being in the face of history, in his sounding board, thinking to catch, to listen to punk rock and thwart coups only very young.

And that happens to me by the heart within days of another Holy Week, nearly a quarter century later, as Alfonsin still dead on TV, and I selfishly grateful for the drag die as Proustian madeleine that whole kaleidoscope of images from some of the best days of my life, things that I have a miserable picture and yet fundamental part of the foundation of everything I am and all I can say. It may be that some of these things are as dead as political whiskers that time seems to stand on the side of good, or good. Or maybe not. I like to think not, because I do not like to lose the things of the heart. And I appreciate any encouragement at least I find the place where they were, and silhouettes that left people on the blankets huddled there. At the end of the 80 when I was a fool and not know it was all good.

Automated Refresh Business Object

El traductor - Ο μεταφραστής

or metafrastís. In the name of the Father, Son and Ioannis Ikonomu. Amen. Greek East

44, Ιωάννης Οικονόμου , translator of the European Commission has 14 working languages \u200b\u200b(English, French, German, English, Dutch, Portuguese, Swedish, Italian, Danish, Polish, Hungarian, Turkish, Czech and Slovak) and feel comfortable in another 17, other than Greek. Check the thread ...

barouche Repeat with me: as almost absolute rule and, when someone claims to speak 6 foreign languages, speaking only 2, and not very well. When can say that someone speaks a language? Polyglossia because if left untreated, the trend is the guilty pleasure of exaggeration, to add language to someone regardless of the level achieved, although it only knows how to say good morning and mispronounced.

However, in the case of Ioannis seems to be some truth. For years, he served as an interpreter for the Commission, working with 7 languages, and then guess who had to pass 14 tests for the Commission to be a translator, that is, translate into your native language 14 specialized texts in two foreign languages using paper dictionaries. Surely he glorified him appear on the test day, with a cohort of servants carried him dictionaries. How, otherwise, could carry all that weight?

---

Ioanis Some pearls:

• As a child, Crete, spying on the tourists and was fascinated by the sounds emitted, at 5 years wanted to learn English . At 7, he began to German, Italian and French .
• time he reached high school, say the chronicles speak broken Russian and, by that of the leftism of their youth, as well as Turkish , to better understand the enemy, "he hard time finding a school in Athens and Arabic. The fact is that now only has the Turk as a working language. "Morbid exaggeration? I flake a lot, too, when someone claims to know Arabic. What Arab? Standard "dialect? What dialect? Can you really read Arabic, for example? Is this man had that level when he arrived at school? I'll put in doubt, friends, but let us ...
• For Chinese , language is not one of their working languages, he moved to Beijing time, he locked himself to study and practically did not leave floor. He claims that Chinese is very different, but very easy, and that the most difficult language to learn is the Hungarian . Says Ioanis good that, right there in Beijing, she taught in Basque , but was a disaster and can only remember two or three words.
• The Catalan loves it, but could not learn. Apparently, when he tried to use it in Barcelona, \u200b\u200bthe Catalans were trying to help him talking directly into Castilian.
• claims that to learn any language, engaging with its history, its gastronomy and its culture, no matter how tacky or corny as it may seem.

---

Anecdotes that recalls the great Ioanis:

• "At a summit, Felipe González meant French Today I stand before you, but what I said was bamboo Today , Because it gave the vee in devant vous je suis . Interpreters understand it and did well the translation, because for something we are professionals. "
• " In an informal meeting Zapatero came to Blair to tell you over time that what was good, but what was released The time is good. Blair stared at him, because I knew what it was a good time. " Still, she says never criticize Ioanis Zapatero, for allowing gay marriage," unthinkable in Greece or Poland, "where is your boyfriend. Ioannis

Word. Is it also good translator?

How Long Does It Take Get Of Urethritis

Brief

must recognize that English is a language that has had the good sense to reduce one syllable only things that matter, even the word import ( care), while the Castilian fight with "r" in "dog" (dog ), the diphthong of "death" (death ) or the time spent in the two-syllable structure of "live" (live ) or "do" ( do ) or unnecessary length of the word love (love ), all these concepts in English are reduced to a sigh or a grunt clear and unmistakable. A good example is the verb / noun hurt, a brief word and that in itself sounds like a moan of pain, but not a passenger but something that is here to stay. While we run between the decision of whether to opt for "hurt" "hurt" or "sad", the English hurt sums up and acquire a quality almost ontological. Hurt is not a state in which we find but rather something that we are, something we do not know if it is beyond repair.

few days ago was at the door of a pub in a strange mood, just back from a tribute to someone I knew and who is now dead, Eduardo Darnauchans , and, perhaps because of nerves, perhaps stirred things that tribute was in a hypersensitive state, with a kind of melancholy that was almost forgotten. Weird. Suddenly I heard that from the audio equipment of the pub that was next-and that is part of where I was, but indie-out the unmistakable voice of Johnny Cash over a hypnotic melody and a curious arrangement of piano. He knew the subject, so I asked what it was and told me it was a cover of 'Hurt ' by Nine Inch Nails .

Then I found out that the version is well known, that his monumental video-clip won many prizes can win, and that the issue eventually became not only the last but one of the biggest hits of Cash's entire career, one of those topics that are familiar even to those who have no idea who he was the man in black. But I had not heard in full, the American IV that includes it, and the time when its video clip was in intensive rotation had no cable and, as now, knew what was going on MTV . And above all, I hated Nine Inch Nails . But this is not a song by Nine Inch Nails .

I hurt myself today To see if
I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hold
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here

What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And You Could Have it all My empire of dirt

I will let you down
I will make you hurt

If I could start again A million miles away

I keep myself
Would I Would Find A Way

many years ago, when I first began to experiment with songs downloaded from the web- times Audiogalaxy - I decided to get off a theme (at the time the topics are descended from one) of Bonnie Prince Billy ( Will Oldham) had heard of that very well. The first version I found was that of Johnny Cash, and finished just off I decided to listen to see what he deserved both enthusiasm and praise. The effect was, quite literally, physically, after listening to the rare chord progesiones ' I See a Darkness', and understand from beginning to end your letter in the crystalline diction Cash-I was stunned by the computer a good time. Upon reaching the thirties had come to consider that one could admire and appreciate excited structurally-limited basis or in its interpretation, any song, but that the relationship you had with them weakened on the evidence of what they are: songs, not truths revealed, no messages of enlightenment. However

'I See a Darkness' move, as does a massage session or weights when you have not we exercise, parts of me that I had forgotten they were there. And there were bad parts were things that perhaps made it difficult to live longer than they helped, but were much closer to what we consider as the true self that the person who sent them to work every day. 'I See a Darkness "-song is now considered by most people as a milestone of 90 - showed less than five minutes the modern inheritor of rock music was not exclusively a privilege of touching minors 30, and had a dignified way of expressing the uncertainties late, which did not even know they were going to be there when you arrive.

But this was a terrible song, beyond the interpretation of Cash, is holding its own as a matter of unexpected importance, full of questions and structured with a master key. I had my doubts about these discs late Cash, the black man had never been, despite what I was charismatic presence, an idol to me how they had been Bob Dylan, Neil Young or Richard Thompson . He considered a great player, similar to our own man in black, Zitarrosa Alfredo, but without the crucial nature of this item. I remember bringing foreigners enjoy myself they noticed the similarity between Zitarrosa and Cash both insular and dark figures in the landscape of the folklore of these countries, ensuring that the author of 'Black Guitar ' was vastly superior to that of 'Ring of Fire . " In many ways I still believe so, but always Zitarrosa proposed in his songs as a romantic, a moral man, even a new man, maybe sad. Cash chose instead to embrace a slightly more image triumphalistic and indifferent, but also someone who takes charge of his own inhumanity. " I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die " is possibly one of the most powerful lines in the history of popular music contemporary, but should not be interpreted in the light of the criminal-and often boast imaginary-of gangsta rap or under the pain of irresponsible consciousness. No, Cash has an unjustifiable act and defines the superfluity of their motives. No apology but the accuracy of the description and the absence of excuses show a kind of negative evaluation-assessment "of its action.

The narrator of "Folsom Prison Blues " killed a guy just because, like Meursault , but no disrespect to the dead trying to find elements to explain or make intelligible action. Do not insult him if his repentance could make the action lighter. Something really rare to find a song. But ' Hurt', however, is a song of repentance, and is a song sung by a man close to death but singing for the living. Undoubtedly

American Recordings series was a tremendous idea Rick Rubin, as you know the producer was called to modernize and boost the career of Johnny Cash and old, in poor health and the radar of the press cool, and the system chosen by Rubin was perfect: first minimized the orchestration around the waterfall, but still touchingly expressive, Cash's voice, until the sonic result was similar to indie singer-songwriters that flourished outside the mainstream media, and managed the minimalism arranger with exquisite taste. Also approached a good number of young musicians and well known, ecstatic at the prospect of singing a duet with Cash, and he chose a number of recent songs, many bands and styles from very distant from the world of country, which functioned as hook to draw the attention of many who were close to these recordings almost morbid curiosity to see how the old dark unfolded with a theme of Soundgarden or U2.

Although the results of these versions were often brilliant, the fact is that so many good ideas were only in conceptual terms, and versions of songs like 'Rowboat ' of Beck or ' Personal Jesus' by Depeche Mode proved inadecuadísimas language and as far as the musician's own versions of Charly García made by Mercedes Sosa . Other times, though the song seems to come to him like a glove, Cash's interpretation was not up to par, as in the case of 'All My Life ' of the Beatles or 'Bridge Over Troubled Waters ' of Paul Simon to that despite the excellent arrangements, the voice does not come to give life one would imagine a priori.

But are the others, who holed themselves and in many cases became final versions. ' One' by U2 ' Hung My Head' by Sting , the aforementioned 'I See a Darkness ' by Will Oldham , 'I'm a Drifter ' of Dolly Parton , the traditional ' Sam Hall ", all reaching emotional peaks higher than their original versions and in many cases, particularly those with religious themes or violent-new meaning with authority. No and bright but as these versions, we must recognize that they were all great songs ('One' is one of those issues that even the critics of Bono & Co. reluctantly acknowledge that it is a great song) and that merit is shared between authors and interpreter. But for the best of all versions contained in the numerous recordings American - 'Hurt'-the case is very different. Because, excuse me NIN fans -if any-reading this, the original is crap and not even a well-composed song.

Nine Inch Nails or Trent Reznor should be the band or project that best sums up the worst of industrial rock and the approach to the dark side of humanity that seems to be the great attraction of the genre. Without even mentioning the first great generation and industrial (Throbbing Gristle , SPK, Skinny Puppy ), people who actually worked with dangerous and novel expressive material, which Reznor is really bad even compared to semi-industrial Ministry domesticated and or Marylin Manson. In such cases, for the moment, there are still traces of black humor, violence and grandeur sound real, but the contribution of these bands -amigo/enemigo Reznor, was to introduce self-pity and adolescent depressive indie world to a genre that may be claimed by their own arrogance and inhumanity. Reznor certainly is a great manipulator of rings and a good database programmer, but as a singer and composer is a crybaby as pompous cliché handling can be tolerated by the romantic imagery of emotional pain. Provocative

moderate and professional damn, Reznor has released a series of albums sometimes surprised by their sonic fireworks, but anyone over 16 can be taken seriously. 'Hurt', the song in question, he closed his second album - The Downward Spiral - and was greeted at the time as a sign of maturity composition and mood for those who wanted to see at all costs Reznor transformation worm fashion composer laureate. Unfortunately the issue can only be considered as good or sensible in the context of other songs from NIN. Built on a child rather arpeggio Am-CD, on which Reznor whispers / whines the first verse, chorus goes into a rather square in which Reznor up their cry and eighth in his second round introduces a bass drum in black rather crude (but interesting ring) that gives a little emphasis. After two verses, the theme culminates in a grand and hiperdistorsionada synth guitar that ruins the little subtleties that I could stay on the track.

The letter, which I reproduced above, is not much better, not so much for being badly written but also because of the accumulation of commonplaces of self-injurious eye. Start with a classic reference junkie and then overwhelmed with a flogging bombastic, full of empires, crowns and thrones to God knows who gave Reznor. And last but not least is a temporary design that makes it a totally awesome song coming from a late twenties. Not that the passage of time can not be a topic for someone who was thirty, it's actually a very common concern in the lyrics of rock and has borne fruit as perfect as "My Back Pages 'by Bob Dylan ' 1969 'By The Stooges ,' Heart of Gold 'by Neil Young ' Thunder Road 'by Bruce Springsteen or' Sixteen 'by The Buzzcocks . But in these songs, all most skillful pen than Reznor's admittedly a sense of nostalgia or early old age is expressed in relative terms, in relation to the loss of the immediate past or future consciousness speed time. Reznor speaks rather like a fucking vampire who escaped from a book by Anne Rice , as if she had lived 100 years and had all the boxes filled with existential. Fuck him and the horse I rode on .

Who knows, could that is a very early and so, but it strikes me that if so write and compose better than the poor imitation digitized offered Kurt Cobain. But what really makes it unsuitable for a young singer is its fatalism, as unalterable as described, the big lie depression. The definitive.

So how does a work as poor as I have described may become the song that has shocked me in years? Would actually be a thesis topic interesting to speculate from the language on the connotations added by the sender or the theory of art in relation to the aura conveyed by it, but considering that this is a song probably best to start with music. Obviously the version of 'Hurt ' included in the American IV: The Man Comes Around (2002) is the brainchild of Rick Rubin , there is no way that one can imagine Johnny Cash himself choosing a disk NIN and listening from beginning to end without hitting a shot into the stereo.

And I would think that directly made to listen to the old arrangement that recorded for the album without having to confront the original version. An arrangement as simple as great, Rubin eliminated stupid final distorted guitar and the guitar remained low from the start, only harmonized by a pair of sustained tones, mixed-far behind what appears to be an electric guitar but can be anything, but to get to the chorus not only electrified but which replaced the hype for a piano ostinato supporting chord changes on the black and producing a sensation of increasing intensity without either the volume or the instrumentation really grow. The arrangement of piano in the last four lines is doubled by an acoustic guitar, is so intense that listening without much attention can be confused with orchestral entry. By eliminating the abrupt changes of timbre -And the rise of the voice that Cash, of course, does-the poor wired structure of the original theme is softened and unified, and it becomes an issue not only much more subtle but more fluid dynamics and even elegant. Becomes the original version, which it will not be paradoxical to anyone who has read the Borges of precursors or Kafka Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote , which says with disdain about the first version , who mysteriously becomes the second.

Because what does Johnny Cash in this song and can not say Trent Reznor but has written the words? He says wild things, and things sadly beautiful. yaw junkie of the first poems becomes a unique reference to the physical pain and not because Cash is a stranger to the world of drugs required, and a pain for its own materiality, as you know the guys that go out emos cigarettes in the wrists, then forget or distract from the spiritual pain. When Cash verse ends with a resigned Everything But I remember (but I remember everything) becomes, once again, a creature Borges, but this time is Funes the memory, or their own Borges laments late on aging and the deep desire for oblivion. Not that evokes happy memories, and the phrase has the bittersweet taste of nostalgia but simply the burden of regret. We do not know why, "Reznor did not write and Cash not said in words, but there is a profound regret that runs through the song and it is not, as the man shot in Reno, concrete action that has left a scar, but always open wound of the non-lived, not given, the non die.

As in 'I See a Darkness ' Cash goes here someone she called friend , but unlike Oldham song, it seems that this time-perhaps by adjective sweetest (the sweetest) - this is a friendly female, possibly a lover. I always thought that a man touching address your lover as a friend. The women may not consider it, there is something that compels them to think that this rating is lower than that show directly the status of "beloved", "lover", "bride" or "wife" and that it connotes a certain category of second the "keep it as friends and not go beyond." However

is one more terminological conflict tend to make men and women crashing into fits of misunderstanding: the recognition by a man-of course if you are talking the language of the heart, "the quality" friend "in a lover, is to recognize a deep and intimate relationship than simply taken for passion. At the end of the love, or love that survives after mating, it is more than just sex and friendship. And it's nothing less: the headstone Remedios de Escalada, the second wife of the Liberator San Martín -girl-wife described as "wife and friend" in the same plane of importance. I like to think it was St. Martin himself who wrote well. But recognizing a lover and friend is not only acknowledged in romantic or emotional terms, it is also to distinguish man as a partner. And this particular interlocutor, Cash asked "my sweet friend I became what?. "What a question, bitch that bore him.

Johnny Cash was a king, and as such monarchical metaphors of the track will come as a real ring finger (especially the middle finger of your famous photo of the Grammys), although re-signified, as everything in the song, the empire of dirt Reznor is possibly an "empire of dirt", but Cash has to be more of an "empire of dust" or "earth." There is another metaphor monarchy in the song that was specifically changed in the version of Cash. The second stanza begins with a I wear this crown of thorns (I wear this crown thorns), in the original version said I wear this crown of shit (I wear this crown of shit), I read some reviews mocking the attack of modesty that led him to change the letter in the same way that Frank Sinatra changed the scandalous "Jesus" of "Mrs. Robinson 'by Paul Simon by an incomprehensible but harmless" Jilly ", but for once I completely agree with the change beyond that it was an attack of prudishness or commercial speculation: the crown of Reznor can be shit, but Cash is of thorns, and that is written in every line of his old man's face was really the story goes. And that gives the impression that despite his empire considered as being made of earth and dust, that it is only in comparison of what you want to change what is not deserved and almost certainly later betray .

Borges, who I'm appointing a third time in this text on a song or Borges Borges process of interpretation, made a similar offer in Two Poems Inglés, these poems shy they deny any accusations of coldness foisted upon the old Georgie by those who believe that a wound is deeper if you find it dripping blood on the sheets of which were written while he cries like a baby. At the end of the second of these texts discouraged muted and romantic, Borges offers everything your interlocutor has his own empire dusty, ending with something that can only offer a loner who knows not only the value but also the price of solitude:

I Can Give You my loneliness, my darkness, the
hunger of my heart, I am Trying to bribe you with
Uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.

The person who sings 'Hurt' may not even have that, just the promise of future disappointment. There are things that are admitted or sing with frivolity.

( Lower 18 and 117 in Rio Branco and put ' Hurt 'On the mp3 while walking toward the Plaza Independencia. In the short block between Andes and the square a boy about 14 years, with the thin and nervous smokers pasta, calls me a coin. I say no and ten steps later another boy just like doing the same, I say no and just finished to do a third, this is not greater than 11 - makes me the same question. I just reject the request for the other two in front of him but he does not see, not reason, will not enter information, is completely numb. This does not even answer, because the insensitivity is a two-way street. I cross the square at that instead of circling pigeons eastern tourist groups who do not know where to go, guys street and an employee of the Old City late that crosses between the indifferent and tired mangueos. While low by Citadel, the song let me filter and detect their own artwork, their own maps, on brownfield sites in my heart. And I think a sick friend, which was not seen or called. I think the gift that I bought for my nephew. I think in the collection of mails and sms messages unanswered drifting around a laziness that causes me a tremendous effort. I think the least attention in the factual recognition that sometimes people refuse to auto I want to change anything. I think a girl who thought it was just a dust more and yet not a day where you do not return to him. I think an invitation to the pool and the reunion that always eluded me and my friends again patiently extending mineral. I think a book that should be completed and not yet really started to be. I think of the coastline of Punta del Este when just starting the construction boom in the stillness of coarse sand and fishing families that already lost under the necessity. I think the big head of my dog \u200b\u200bwaiting at the top of the stairs, and how strange. I think of the children that I know of people who know I'm leaving. I think someone is going to die before this year ends. I think when it was almost a child and vi The Wall , and I think I would never have imagined feeling. I think my generation of immigrants lost in the map and the guilty roam the city. I do not hate them enough. I think solar woman possibly be in love and I do not even know that I like. I think that not everyone looks like that. I think the years are too much for nothing. I think the time lost in time distracted, lazy time in cold weather. I think in the comfort of insensitivity and gross price. I think of the terrible failure that implies success look like the image that we choose when we had different needs ).

The English language difference between the terms solitude and loneliness , roughly the English unifies the word "solitude". The solitude is a state of isolation that can be accidental, but that is usually sought. There is a term often used dramatic poetry more than anything to indicate that voluntary withdrawal and alienation by the bards and the characters tend to be affected island. Loneliness is another thing and is actually more of a subjective state, you may feel even when surrounded by people. This state may be appointed but not celebrated by poets, it is a lack, a hunger spiritual. Sometimes called the hunger hunger and the hungry hearts of experience, to know how many lives you can try to live in one, end up making the solitude in loneliness. Turning to the desire to curse. And the people who understand that our doors are closed five or ninety-nine times, may not realize they are closed a hundred times, and not to touch. This is what I hear the voice of Cash 'Hurt', Reznor suggested that if the reason for their alienation could be the addiction to heroin, Cash is something that suggests that what has separated the addiction solitude and fear to stop being self to the ego subsumergirse another person. At the end of the day by singing something, and the voice is about to break in that verse, "You are someone else / I am still right here ." And here's to his credit, Reznor a real success, the first verse refers to a quality staff, existential, and the second, which should mirror to explain the condition of the narrator, is just a definition TENANT: you're someone else / I'm still here. Although it is clear that we are not talking about places, at least not physically.

I hate when someone defines a song as depressing, but obviously there are songs that are. 'Hurt' in the original version could be described as such, because it is full of such blindness to the self-worth and beauty of life is not obvious, which is one of the clearest symptoms of depression. But 'Hurt' on Cash's version is not depressed, sad, because the objective facts are against the singer. He is talking about the irreparable from a more definitive, but nevertheless continues to deliver things, still qualified lovingly at her target and dreaming of other worlds where second chances are endless, or at least more numerous than in this. 'Hurt' is even a song of warning to those who love solitude , the arrogant fellow themselves.

At the same time that this song was orbiting dusty furniture was removed, I was also listening to one that operates almost as an antidote. He also speaks of the solitude from its title, "Adventures in Solitude 'and belongs to that band that operates as a collective emotional Canadians New Pornographers . And on that topic, the most delicate of his most intimate album, Challengers , AC Newman confesses in the chorus: We tought we lost you / we tought we lost you / Welcome back .

We thought we'd lost you, welcome back. It sounds very followed such deals. In a better world is what we would like you to answer the melancholy singer of 'Hurt'.

Genital Tattoo Wanted

La ola - Wave


al-mawŷ. Friends, without eating or drinking, this morning I come to a place where, first of all, I have kept you waiting, then I have played in saving the party is, then I have applied radiation and, finally, I have warned sternly. Damn. Here are the piece of paper that I have given the leave that den of pain and insanity:

BACKGROUND AND ALLERGIES:
No drug allergies.

---

HISTORY SUMMARY: Very
Male 28 years referred pain in the posterior lumbar region to trauma during sport - surfing.

I say that here have swung a little, because, frankly, what I was doing can not be held surfing, and up doubt that in some cultures, it has the sport .

---

PHYSICAL EXAMINATION: Limitation
trunk flexion and extension. PPRB (-). Kept exploring hips and painless.

At least the bilateral renal puñopercusión has been negative. Hurray!

---

INVESTIGATIONS: Rx
C. Lumbar: no acute bony injury.


Acute not, but I see something displaced apophysis of L3 on the board. I think it's the beginning of the end, folks. "This will mean the end of crapuleo, the decline of the escapades, the end of spring life? We'll see.

---

diagnostic impression:
lumbar muscle contracture.

---

TREATMENT:
ennatyum 50 mg im.

Lo means im intramuscular amounts to what, in plain, has always said ass.

---

WE SUGGEST:
Relative rest. Avoid strenuous activity. Local heat in the area. Acabel
RAPID 1 tab every 12 hours.
ZALDI 1 tablet every 6 hours. Request
consultation of Traumatology if not improving control and monitoring.

Here, Dr. I think it has been driven by insulting my youth and my manhood no less enviable, because when I read about the rest, the stress and heat, could not avoid apostille three times as follows: that I know you're not going to do. is what we surfers, that we are rebels took and back, and we see it coming a mile away.

PS Indeed, it seems that the computer does not have accents emergency, and that I have had to put me.

Realmagnoria.servegame.pl

El concurso - Contest

al-musābaqa. Enough. It is time for someone to stand up and say loudly: When in Spain was one of Barcelona, \u200b\u200bwhich took 50 million Want To Be A Millionaire? , the questions asked were really easy. Hale, as I said. I remember I was watching with my mother and put my head crazy, insisting that something happened that day with that competitor, which had dropped so much the bar of difficulty of the questions and the thing smelled fishy. And look, just that contestant won the jackpot. The last question was What fruit is extracted from copra? of tripe, do not you fuck, Sober?


Finally, I want to thank Slumdog Millionaire for having reminded me that I had to get me this personal thorn, and his wonderful, magnificent, raw and exciting start time with the children of players. Good Film. No I take my head the image of the girl painted blue, dressed in little more Rama ... But I want to thank, really, because I've been pretty cool with the rest of the film. Someone who has been tortured with electric shocks and faces will his tormentor? Well look, I do not think so. That sense of disbelief has accompanied me to the end. And this development of the personality of veleteo brother for no reason? And the progressive trivialization of history, having begun as epic? And the award flagrant vulgarity of the last scene before the credits gymnastics? "Oscar for Best Song!? Come, please. But what I do want to thank the movie is that it has reminded me that there is a beautiful country in the world. India is not, no, off, off. Slumdog Millionaire reminded me Iceland, and how nice it sounds Icelandic.


Blame group Sigur Rós , which makes simple and profound music, pouring in Icelandic (or esperandés ) lyrics as simple and profound. In the trailer for Slumdog Millionaire I heard this song, and I can not show your video, it's great. When you see him, think of stepping puddles going barefoot, drenched, soaked to the bone while jumping, in spinning until the world is blurred or you smile while blood drips from the nose, because of all this talking point:

Jumping - Sigur Rós


Smiling
Spinning in circles
Holding hands

whole world a blur But you are standing.


Soaked Completely drenched
drenched
Running inside
us Want to erupt from a shell.

wind
and outdoor smell of your hair
I breathe as hard as I can
with my nose.

Jumping
With no boots.
completely drenched (Soaked)
With no boots.

And I get nosebleed
In alltaf STEND ég upp.
(esperandés)

fae blóðnasir
Og ég ég STEND In alltaf upp.
(more esperandés)

PD: Lest we are bored as an oyster, another video of Sigur Rós that horrifies in etymological sense.

PPD: Yes, I realize that the title of the song ends in cock.