Thursday, May 12, 2011

How Can I Buy A Piece Of Corian



H and decided that I will start a book on Dante. ***




Q erhaps all these texts deserve to other air captives, another way to get caught. Sometimes choking me the idea that the texts have been incomplete, crudely executed, sadly discharges. And that's just our fault, the scribe, I mean, not the text that had sprung sprang or better in other hands. But there is no artistic creation in tandem and, rather, so the combined composition is always ahead with suspicion, because everyone who believes he knows in advance that loneliness is the indispensable condition, the site of the apparitions Talent or what possesses a unique feel when typing. Texts
captives, at the end of the day, White rescued unsatisfactorily. Is that guilt and punishment of the writer, which is not certain what would become of that idea in another person or what would have happened if his ideas had been transferred to other, better equipped, more intelligent and gifted, "we would be better why?


***

E 're days when we get a packet of books on an island, because they always come from an island in the books at a house, buy a different tone. Upon reaching the door, were there hoping volumes The open hand. After taking the appropriate wine glass after the meal, start to open. On the one hand, a book of poems called final version at last, at least to date, An approach to uncertainty, JSM Furthermore, Memories of a bullfighter, Andrés Luque Gago, silk Dura of Juan Peña, Lauda, \u200b\u200bPaul Moreno and To hand deliver, by José Luis García Martín. The method is well known. The books of poems read in the open, especially the first two or three poems that I started. Then glean here and there and if I have not converted any of the poems or verses ever back to read them, unless that appears by chance or by necessity or other reason other than literary. It is for this reason that when I read a book of poems I do it in calm and tranquility, because the verdict is eternal.
something different with the prose. A prose must give another reading time, as its substance so requires. To deliver to hand, JGM, presented diplomas to each of the texts and that surprised me in a journal. I find it difficult to understand this mania for what degree can one put on a day the one and diverse, our host and precipitate? ***



H o could be called the "Text captives" and perhaps would meet with less, but doing more writing. Captivity Cervantes wrote it centuries ago and perhaps Borges left to clear that poetry must dream too much knowledge and Virgil and Dante were persecuted for their work to disappear into the fantasy of being created.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

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ablaba with R. H this morning on the social custom of going to a group dinner or lunch, if desired, simply by going out somewhere. No further claim in such acts that want to belong to the customs or habits frequently. It seems this strengthens the weak personality or the vacuum of glad that they have nothing else to do. Now that the fair is held in the city I live, I am very heartened by the failure to attend and share these activities not noisy, obnoxious and vulgar.
Something similar to what the summer brings. Some people notice the slightest ray of sunshine as an excuse to launch their meat at a beach and to notify the other, who take to go, at work or at a meeting of the fair, yes, indeed, go to the beach as if it was any big or significant achievement. So R. stayed with me that an introvert is not strange or if necessary, on the contrary, maintains his credentials alive and fervent, continuous builds of their habits, because they know they are not exhaustible as it is not contemplating a Velazquez or read a passage from Pessoa. I always listen to R. as an attentive pupil, since the affinity is evident in the way of understanding the world.

Is that a virtue indispensable, that he who knows and vehemently overcrowding should never stop, because the vulgar and meekness so wish. Machado disdained the tenor aria from the holes and I think that I despise the deeds of those who want to be noticed without more, of those who believe that their habits should be displayed in public without pudicia or shame. Reading, studying, painting, listening music are among the few activities that rise to the dignity of life, because artistic creation teaches that life can remain beyond ourselves.
is for this reason that one highly values \u200b\u200ba dinner in which dialogue has been meeting the cathedral, which has a rather wanted to be quiet, silent, invisible and have not ruled it useless, because he knows that words must be restrained and thoughtful, and build and build. Anything but the babble of mass gatherings, noise and addled verbal reflection on how this roll a beer or the color of the olives. So I left work with some enthusiasm and thanking R., "although not have told him, "his words, since the talks in the morning, sporadic visits and vicissitudes of everyday, routine face inert and absurd that one daily ambushes that have inadvertently wear. ***




E
light was a sta tomorrow morning. Every morning the world. His reflection was happening with the cadence of a viola da gamba. Smooth their contours, without any lapse in their projection. Static widowhood. ***




A laps Philology. I finished writing, I calibrate the complexity of these sentences, perhaps in haste, I made the newspaper. Because philology seeks to study and offer clear the history of culture, but understood as literacy. I pause to reflect on the complexity of this sentence, the culture as literacy.
first thing I do is to recall a passage from Plato's Phaedo , in Socrates memorable stay in jail. It mainly discusses immortality, but in a recess that is to say that the use of the body is the spirit. That does not matter what substance or the same origin of the body. Well as the supreme principle that explains the action, the action of all that reason tries to understand herself included.
So, no matter the origin of writing and the answer to why someone decides to start writing and keep writing life, what really matters in this is the idea and the determination with which the writer operates his word because in that action or the writer will be trying to get close to it fixing the world and that good or idea source resides.

When that happens, when vision begins to sprout the genius that is the virtue of that silent when it has participated and already holds within itself without any more as every morning the world.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

What Does Heat Packs Do For Swelling With Wisdoms



L eo absorbed devotes pages to George Santayana in Three poets Dante philosophers, Lucretius, Dante, Goethe . With an incisive introduction, Santayana's prose, translated by Ferrater-Mora, "is presented with conviction that reading was the philosopher of Dante's work. These are pages of admiration, but measured and written almost no literary ambition. I find this exercise healthy, clean and sincerely written. Perhaps as the express wishes of its author in the annex attached to the editing and idleness claiming properly understood as a legitimate instrument of creation.
is precisely what substance idleness a newspaper. Because the paper did not repairs in the method and the systematic implementation of this or that slogan. Is anarchic or so should be and grow, as does the idle, which only serves at the whim of one man. The difference, however, between the merely banal and passenger and a newspaper, for example, is in words. Therefore, the majority prefer to rest with manual labor, with distractions that only involve physical exertion if possible. Because physically recovers and goes. But not the words that leave an annotated are marked, incisive, percucientes. At the time, when one becomes about them, read them carefully or uneasiness, felt that there was an awareness that if only you belonged for few minutes, if only a result of the ineffable. However, these words recorded and from idleness, will be after us and say something about who we were and will set out the behaviors and preferences insinuábamos and resignations, life, after all. Is that the difference between a newspaper that just wants to rise up from the idle and one who knows that he is just an idle state of being. There can be no concessions to the word, because we will not restore it anymore when we only remember between the lines.


***


L as evenings are taking the offensive aspect summer. Desperate light on the walls. Air numb. Stifling breath. However, wheat is unrepentant in his body and gold plated pin. What remains serene in the morning when I look at it, pilgrim, fleshing out the light. Wheat, fruit settles on the silent hills edges. There, despite the heat and although it covered his eyes, his being renewed each spring and will once again saying the psalms and will air. Only I will abandon the land only. And it will be soon, before the wheat ceases to be forever in adverbs.





***

O incurs few occasions, but sometimes I am surprised by the finding of words that nourish unexpectedly late. These lines that I bring the newspaper I have read in a book titled God Library and obviously I bought the title, because that idea made me tremble Borges for a few minutes and led me to believe in a god who has a library. A library is a choice and a classification. What would these two patterns for God? In this book, he said, there is a prologue that has its references to the work of philology, so come down in these days when linguists are content to go into some scuffle of little substance or be as autologous or protoprosistas.
volume offers a definition of Funaioli Gino Italian, written in 1950, recently put in writing exactly what that meant idle this afternoon, "Philology is a discipline that wants to return historically spiritual unity of a people through manifestations of his being. "To conduct this work so complex, the scholar has taken off both of being and the spirit and the demonstrations, which left him only what the epidermal surface and gives the word.

Monday, May 9, 2011

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Ka-band advanced development for Simon Bolivar

Venezuela and Belarus will develop joint projects for areas of mathematical modeling and satellite use in the frequency called Ka Banda
experiences binational exchanges established between National Centre for Development and Research in Telecommunications (Cendit), as agency of the MCTI, and Belarusian State University of Radio Electronics and Informatics, based in the city of Minsk, capital of the nation euro-East, ended the first of four phases programmed according to report Freddy Brito, president of Cendit.

explained Brito, who recently returned to Venezuela, a total of eight researchers, after a period of complementary education, who are already using knowledge related to the improvement of industrial prototypes related to the optimization of satellite and model development mathematicians to simulate the propagation of electromagnetic waves in the atmosphere in Venezuela.

This project funded through the Fund MCTI Research and Development Conference (Fidetel) reached an initial complement of approximately 436 technical academic hours, which were distributed over four months in the Belarusian University of Radio Electronics and Informatics, as part of a series of actions which will continue, in order to achieve the technological expertise to further assist in improving the management of telecommunications to social utility, said the researcher.

With the launch of the new phase of cooperation agreement, is expected to complement the knowledge to build the Transmission (Tx) and Receive (Rx) antennas at Ka-band frequency and their mechanical prototypes. To do this, Brown argues that planned to be sent back to three Venezuelan investigators to that university, in order to continue strengthening and enhancing the application of knowledge later estimated by the MCTI and entities involved in the deployment of satellite technology.

Importantly, the progress of investment performance to the successful conclusion of the Belarusian nation on specific projects related to the characteristics of the prototypes for Ka Banda and mathematical modeling, which as a system will be fully compatible with the deployment of satellite Simón Bolívar, in this sense, the Bolivarian Agency for Space Activities (ABAE) actively participate in counseling for a subsequent operation.

should be noted, the Ka band is one that corresponds to the highest operating frequency of Venesat-1, which is possible variety of information management in telecommunications, property that is also known as broadband, and whose property is useful for displaying services of great social impact, such as those associated with telemedicine and tele-education, among others.

These bilateral agreements framed multipolar policy, Venezuela is committed to the possibility of exploring all the benefits and knowledge related to the high frequency of operation, also said Brito.

Thus, the second phase of the agreement will be referred to the documentation and construction of the first prototype in frequency Banda Ka; third is directed towards the development of software (program) for the mathematical modeling of the Venezuelan atmosphere, and the fourth stage will be linked to the development of decoders for receiving devices, including scope.

This strategic move of the agreement, is evidence of the policies implemented by the Bolivarian Government, in order to reduce levels of exclusion of telecommunications services in the nation. Similarly, under the responsibility of our researchers, in order to promote the construction of full sovereignty in telecommunications, with inclusive vision and endogenous development.

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A yer JSM was in Cordoba, but never was. Surrounded by poets, reckless situation. The road looked like a garland, and finally we just hoped the velvet night. Poets always want to spread the word to the end, Desiderio squeegee stone bridges. I was in Cordoba, in the memory of water in an elongated ridge muezzin. Everything went like that time, just below the rock, next to the source of cork.
Yesterday I was on the floor and friendship, because the word being built. And with just name, just to test the handle of a phoneme, can you feel sharp. With one word is enough, with a real word. ***


H ay too intrusive in writing and I doubt sometimes that I am not one of them. Too many outsiders who have forgotten that the word is located at the boundary. The limit is the natural territory of poetry and music. They embrace the qualities of being that are adjacent. For some, words are like loads ineffable never understand, like those constellations that hold the universe and to calibrate the eye at night. We, night night, but a reflection, we hope to put together a harmony that - despite being illegitimate, because it belongs to us, "at least stirs our ephemeral condition.
In Zweig's prose, for instance, there are real natural wonders. His speech seems a fluent route and streams that led to drunk. I read a few pages dedicated to Montaigne. In one of the most fascinating passages, I see that its attachment to the character lies in the separation of society to find itself as universal. That idea seems accurate. The more accurate to what's real in creation. Zweig writes
shocked about the comings and goings of Montaigne in his tower and worship which is his books. The books are not always the readers to be read, but because their presence ensures a dialogue and wait "has not been installed in the tower to be a scholar or a scholar." This statement leads the reader to an interpretation substantial: the books provide the necessary silence, dialogue only when the reader chooses only speak out when we are empty. This relationship is brewing in the need to respond to the readings, begins the entry in the margin reading and writing.
Montaigne spent an intrinsic knowledge of self-figuration, the writer. To be a writer had to set an aesthetic image in its pages, that is, the substance of his books, as noted at the outset. I wanted to show the properties of your being. ***


R eleyendo excerpts from Don Quixote , just one roll in those passages that go unnoticed and silent for the first reading. In those years, philological ecstatic, as he read a beam, only strictly adhered to certain narrative or linguistic characteristics. Truck that custom is to live, because I attend these days more with the statement that it expresante, worth the neologism, although he never said it best concept in better shape. So, to reread the story of Marcela and Chrysostom, I realize that Chrysostom decided it was just buried under the rock where the source of cork in which he saw for the first time, Marcela. The deceased had left other jobs for the abbots and Ambrose, his friend. This passage, lost in memory, rescued by rereading, retrieves the smile of old, that solemn sadness of the lyrics Cervantes, as anyone left in English letters.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

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Q ue few pages of prose are buzzing in the memory as music is the best thing that can happen to a novel, and that is what happens to the reader of the works of Javier Marias. There is a hypnotic music that reaches the ability to keep the reader guessing at all intersections and disclaimers. Whatever the theme or topic that addresses the novelist, is a mark on his writing that assimilates the best and new from every known language. And this is no accident in the works of Mary, nor are these lines in English or French truffles and crushes from Balzac and Shakespeare. Is this one reason why this work I found it excellent, because the author has chosen three presences to cause effects on each page, that show with winks and reminiscences, with pages that identify universal echoes. This novel also is the work of an intelligent writer who has refused to make concessions after writing the monumental Your Face Tomorrow, on the contrary, crushes The line continues the trilogy happy to add some aspects novel in its narrative, a fact that extends its qualities into other courses not previously explored, but saved here solvency and teaching. There are memorable paragraphs, of which recalls the best of Heart So White, Tomorrow in the Battle Think on Me or Dark Back of Time and Your Face Tomorrow and, above all, pages that are dedicated for Finally, an insight that connects metaliterary not what we wrote years ago, but with a classical tradition and exemplary, that of Cervantes, or Shakespeare Blazac. I would say even more than metaliterary is metalinguistic, since what you put in is not just solfa capacity and limits of fiction, but of language itself as a vertebra of fiction or time or memory or oblivion

much music in their chapters always begin in the manner of Bernhard, inviting the reader to a feast of the syntax and thus the narrative. The continuous reflections, concessive that are added without agglomeration, the dilemmas and subjunctive times handled as a magician and weaves threaded patches than reality itself can not make clear in a speech clearly. Here is an admired novelist, a writer admired.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

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lways S he creído que lo que uno hace al comienzo del día determina el resto del tiempo y que, por ese motivo, hay que tener muy claro que no se puede conceder los inicios a cualquier actividad a no ser que esta sea frugal. Al despertar, nos mostramos, casi instintivamente, abiertos, todavía habitando entre los sueños y la rendición a los sentidos. En ese trance, en la duermevela, no pocas veces puede uno llegar a pensar cosas insospechadas o a escribir algunas líneas que luego necesitan el arreglo de la sintaxis, pero que presentan una sustancia fastuosa y venida del límite. Del límite de la noche y el despertar.

Así las cosas, todas las mañanas del sábado, sea cual sea la tarea que tenga uno encomendada, I can only get out of bed, grab a book and write some lines like these, little or nothing to say over the years, but these strategies require a notice to mariners.

a mop should be a time, use these bands of the day we deliver to other tasks and should be productive. That is the struggle with life, the tireless struggle with that every morning I start from deep an exasperated cry, soundproof, which belies a day and sentence despite their claws on each and weigh on me. Only the mind can overcome this blockade of the vacuum, because all the mechanical and ends in smoke addled in global reminiscent of something not even want. just have to listen to who is retiring or who has been able to stop doing the daily task of work. No longing, desire, nostalgia, rather will drop, although activity has been the lifetime.

On the contrary, the dedication to other disciplines such as art, they offer the back of that interpretation. She is slowly supplanting life to confuse and make it bigger. What seemed to have entered a loop, it is incomprehensible, an abyss just in ourselves. And old age, the highest state of consciousness is, however, the moment you can mourn for the few hours it is to continue rising on Saturday morning and challenge to date and challenge to society and feel vengeful because of the misery of the unrest.

Friday, May 6, 2011

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C s in the music, writers of melody and orchestration writers. The melody, like Mozart, develop a continuous chanting tenuous, but powerful attraction. His verses, for example, are labile units, but sustained by a sublime melodic cadence. For example, Fray Luis. On the other side are those who build a total composition of deep harmonies and contradictory, as Beethoven. They are poets who in all his work reveal an aspiration complete, more eternal, absolutely established by the abyss. Behold JRR or Rilke.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Cathederal Setting Good



H has appeared almost without warning, like the dawn. His amarilláceo body identifies it in the fog. It looks like a solemn and silent tears. But the wheat, this morning pure spring wheat, he said, has come to permeate the fields of spikes and celebrate the gods honor fertile. With his dream is still dance anthem, with its anthem persist beyond the eyes. Of all the named, which never delivered. What we never had a presence no air, no sleep was oboe. The land was quiet and retracted the sunrise.

***



H o I am no longer and been more myself than ever.


***


V ariation of a subject without end, life.

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A appeared without warning and left his lap the field spikes. His body amarilláceo of intricate long, addresses the hills I see from the road. It was a siege at night, because you never sensed what was true-breeds. Wheat has issued the stay of the spring and I ingratiated himself with the gods fertile. Spikes, looming cast aside by the wind, shown in the distance, the uniformity of a poem. In a poem which I will never stop unpronounceable trace or sound or hint. It is the relentless inability to make, as does the cosmos in the distance, as does the light in the deep, soundless harmony.

remember the first time I read a biography of Bach, I asked myself that question that goes unnoticed, a biography. It was at that moment, I realized that the biographies are annexes or adjacent to the lived and they never will deposit or closure of any of what was experienced. Beyond any philosophical theory, body detached from the soul, is what we are, because what really matters and never happens to us happens in our life. The brands that will become are mere footprints in the wet sand of our forgetfulness. These geniuses, Bach, Pessoa, Plato, Cervantes, Montaigne would not appear in his works or show clear or decisive influence over them. What we must understand is that these geniuses, so named because of his mysterious life, were the same literature, the music itself. Pessoa is literature. Bach's music. Montaigne's essays, so he wrote. Are these subjects, their preaching.

That is the virtue of the nature and the cycle that do not belong, but we want and we cling. Is the invisibility the membership of which will be a whole while being ever. And that sublime consciousness, so elusive, is the desire and renunciation, at the same time, of life. Be music such as wheat dawned. Be the literature appears to be whispering the air without being noticed.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

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E s difficult to find the calm when the day has been an emotion or DRYLAND from morning nothing has had more weight than the air or the rigidity of statues. It's hard not to surrender to meekness and will donate to the blackness of the time. It is difficult, I know, not go back on the misfortune of life and not blame the unrest on this nature so contrary who we are. Because nature is a circularity that begins and ends at the same point. In it, the metamorphosis is possible, since its inception is its conclusion. Not so with what man muses, as we have in mind that the days can not be discounted otherwise lived alone in the memory it escape. And we know the angles of memory. Perhaps that is why

one dares to build some notes on white paper, as white as the blood of dormant silence. Despite this hindrance, one dares to write in the newspaper in search of who knows what time, what colorful rumor may be revealed. For one reveals the reality of their hiding places until it is polished and haggard. So leave it as a vanishing point that spread of the days, hours, noon in the middle of a park. We know nothing of the first syllable and even less of the latter, but we recognize their differences. What happens in the meridian: ourselves.

Our will is finite because we know the final coda. Perhaps only by recognizing some of the circularity, damp soil that will spray fields when we will be more human. Too human. open Library of Apollodorus, perhaps the first book of miscellaneous history. A book in which the greatest puzzle is the identity of its author. An author transparent retracted what collection. Start reading through the sieve of the imagination and the patch.

remains the notebook closed and everything is illusory. Not a hunch to open it, it does not admit the evidence or the momentum without burning in the distance, but within. The notebook closed and a cloister old-looking for birds crossing its columns. Only that, the flight is only that, the passing of a tree branch, a temporary resting place of balance. Only part of creating harmony.

Monday, May 2, 2011

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H nce thought to leave the notebook open on the table and each Once passed near him, writing something, for example, even as you read this now. Leave it as a mirror that was holding what our actions were tacking around, like a pile of notes to natural, evening, unconscious.

The fundamental condition is not paying attention, live as if one had never before written anything rescued from life as if what happened had belonged to a dream, knowing that the dreams will match everything and that this stretch and reconciles all too often with this and the future. An open notebook speculate between what happened and what happens, which will come and what he might have happened. Is not that, itself, memory, I wonder? before left by the wayside among a mountain of books and leave confused, as this life appears confusing subjects I write I do not even recognize. Increasingly

a man believes in the mystery of literature. Can a great connoisseur of the literary use a resource or another, may even know all the public rhetoric and even having read tens of thousands of books, but when you begin typing, you may never write what the literature calls. Never as an insurmountable wall, which condemns him to his true happiness. For the mystery is like a presence innate, instinctive, that the writer he models over the years and redirecting the force of his intelligence. It is fleeting, artificial, we may dwell for a moment and leave us forever.

margins are creating is not subjugated to any discipline, arriving given, such as talent, and come with a naturalness that, if not lived, left in artifice.

Is that what I notice in most books I read: the mystery is forced. Literature is a treacherous statement to the writer, because she tied the great mystery that has one. But this knot can be to own gallows. And the reader must be relentless in what aspires to be and I can not be.

For this reason, wanted to leave pages alone, I wanted to let hidden support that every day I hold the insomniac speech, but necessary, leave me alone to myself, let go of the device. The self is an artifice unnecessary.

The graphomania not be confused with the intensity and the intensity does not understand numbers, is a quality of soul. There are poets who want to use originality to stand out in the campus. Others want to imitate the most beloved poets. Neither one nor the other will find their being. The mystery is individual, absolutely alone, silent, perpetual rhythm and he alone decides who dares to start a poem. If there comes to us, that is, if we do not go out to meet us none of them will occur.

is exactly what he writes in Gaya Silence art: "A desperate art is a contradiction. [...] The art seems to come from afar, going through the man, then discard, get rid of man as a crust, and on. [...] A great work of art is never a conclusion, and promises to be a scientific or philosophical, but a principle that escapes, fleeing, which frees .[...] The operator does not aspire to the word , ie the art, the work, but the silence is clear that a living silence, a silence of life, not death, even dumb, but communicating. Art is not clothing, but bare. "

had left the open notebook on the table, but I decided to close, curtail their whiteness for staying in silence naked and communicating that every artist should belong.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

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Report from the Valles del Tuy - Miranda (Venezuela) Banda Ku


Greetings friends, they reported 25 channels (13 FTA) at KU, from the valleys of the Tuy
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Installation Site: Venezuela, Miranda State, Los Valles del Tuy, 25/04/2011


Cua Latitude: 10.50 ° N
(10 ° 30 '0 ")
Length:
-66.91 ° \u200b\u200bE (66 ° 54' 35")
City: The Valle del Tuy

Country: Venezuela


Signal strength:
90 Signal Quality: 80

TP: 11524 V 3000

TP TP TP
11380 H 42351 11505 V 2999 11513 V 3098 TP

25 channels, 13 in FTA.

azimuth angle:
227.09 ° (True North)
Elevation angle: 72.12 °

LNB Tilt: 46.06 °

offset angle: 20.36 °

Distance to satellite: 36048.86 Km

Signal Delay:
240.33 ms (Uplink + Downlink)
decline angle: -1.84 °

The polar angle of the mount: 193.00 °

engine Grades:
13 ° West
The satellite: Simón Bolívar
(78.0 ° W)



thank Larry Wilson Guerrero stop by so important.

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P hink, "after reading the preface to the complete poetic work , AC-, in the condition of the poet.

The poet is an oracle of his work. At first, go blind because the language is only offered in the epidermis and are the factors of sound, rhythm, music that makes it so powerful to succumb to the universe. React as homo ludens before a game of synesthesia and alliteration that drunk. Put a word here, another there, with no intention of rearranging the syntax of life. Is rediscovering a new way of naming that, ultimately, is the vice of creation. Its scope goes slowly taking in the light of reality through the words as they emerge.

Then, when the poet confirms their status becomes an oracular character for it, as he decides what tone, what substance will be tacking its forms. It is the most critical moment, because here we decide what was and what will be offered. In this if the author fails to understand the place in which gravitate its creation, is where the work is done live or perish forever.

For this to take shape, step by step, the demiurge who weaves their profiles must project an image of the future of his work so that this never access and recess to substitute, however attractive they are the glory and fame . You must imagine and will want to sum nest where his verses and what reality will be lifted and renewed forever. Beyond himself, as he will remain as an anecdote, as a bug in the margins.

Thus, in the poetic work of this author, can one read poetry without concessions from the first verse to the last. Even if you go to the index of first lines, you can compose something like a patchwork, and that poetry is any combination emerges.

AC's poetry will live forever, because it is what it is man. It recognizes the man in your condition. This is neither more nor less than a living example of poetry and I'm so attracted to this proposal, and so enthralled with this tiny little these verses that I began to read aloud with the newest edition exquisite in his hands all over the house to the house, he thought, was getting the break and the need for these words.

This poetry is so far from what others do, but at the same time, so close to the man who is perhaps this same man, its substance, its essence, the deepest and not everyone can perceive. And it is these words that are closest to the concert I felt yesterday in the reading of these poems: the word through my condition and offered me purge.