The Short List, watch short films or… make one!

san diego’s state university proud tv show
do you get the sunday’s-night-before-working-again-for-a-week depression?
are you on the west coast and it is 9.30pm?
then forget the crudity of the corporate world you’ll have to face tomorrow and
tune in sd channel 4!! The Short List is ON!
for ½ an hour you’ll be immerse in a stranger world
full of the eeriest and loveliest yet short visions from all around the globe

The Short List highlights every week different and glorious short films

http://www.theshortlist.cc/

and not just that! you can actually submit your own films!!!
try their web site also on the submitting films button and read the wonderful words:

“The Short List team reviews work year-round at international festivals and here in california. no limits on year of production. no entry fees. films must be completed with all rights cleared for broadcast.”

i think actually the show appears in many other areas/cities of this so 'grande' country throughout PBS

hooray! and thank you short list and san diego state university for: movies, loony and short, multicolored and multihued, multi-fun!

legends of the magnolia bakery

that's passion for the bread!
found this on the web
in manhattan
http://youtube.com/watch?v=o3DarGd2yE4
here we just mouth-water from the e-smell

all through ROJO
http://www.rojo.com/today/
Rojo means "RSS with mojo" and in this spirit our company is dedicated to providing the best feed reader around so that busy people can discover and read content as efficiently as possible.

funny things at an asian store and rain, john lennon too

you realize that your emotions might be playing with your lucidity*
when
you are in a chinese/korean/japanese supermarket, a big big store
and while buying some tea & snacks for the after lunch
then the indecipherable broadcast on the store’s amplifier recites sales, offers, and more! (all chinese so…)

in between offers carefully presented and distributed in amounts and percents by each aisle
(the numbers were in anglais so… )
they let play the tackiest version of john lennon’s jealous guy
it sounds straight from a jukebox, or a boy’s toy
it is at least an octave high and fast as if john had too much green tea
from the one on special on aisle 15

you remember the feelings, the words, you are about to start to let your heart melt deliquesce and cry cry

then the announcement, the sales the offers in chinese again loud & feelings interrupt

you realized you are just lost… you laugh at yourself or whatever you thought once lost
scared the feeling away while laughing, somehow melancholic but happy that you can still miss someone afar
even as eating panda-shaped cookies with bellies full of a pinkish substantial strawberry jelly
fictional as the character you thought you were in your own life

and I never believe before that one grow to become what we thought we could be
even though at my 36 I am so similar to my dreams at 12: an astronaut I wanted to be, eternally in love with the stars and an incredible man living in mars, with glasses and books, very much like harry potter and yet very far

today I am space-cadet not NASA title but hey! I can really fly high… the devoted one to, still in time in space very afar, maybe never reachable will be, but what life without dreams or great expectations would be…

poor ones those that have all that can desire and then reach, as wilde said: the illusion is the first of the pleasures my friend… now to cry with lennon again…

*(lucidity being out on vacation for so long had to be replaced by a lunatic-dreamy-fascination arising the belief that, in this world, at least half the population could be as idealistic/romantic as you…)

calor -here on en español, i will translate soon / also this one got me 500 pesos not dolares but pesos about 50 bucks, mmm?

Aquí estoy, otra vez tendría que sentirme libre en mi propia casa, en este altísimo departamento de esta airosa ciudad de México, pero ¿como iba yo a saberlo?, si cuando vine por primera vez, hasta me pareció fresco, hasta llegué a creer que seria frío en el invierno. En cierta ocasión, y en los albores de mi felicidad te decía: ¿Te imaginas? Ya me veo en esas tardes lluviosas y frescas de junio, tejiendo cobertores de lana, para los pies de cama, rebozos para los brazos, cobijitas para nuestra cachorrita que es tan friolenta, y un suéter a rayas azules y beiges, para ti mi amor, para que te tomes una taza de chocolate caliente, mirando toda la Ciudad por la ventana, como a ti te gusta.

Pero antes de despertar del ensueño y todavía en la blanca y fresca habitación de mi casa materna, pasó el invierno, un invierno de tres larguísimos días, en los que los meteorólogos de la televisión nos permitieron llevar un ligero jersey de algodón, pero no así el clima, y un ligero temor cálido entró en mi corazón hasta convertirse en terror, mi terror ante esta masa abrasadora que desde entonces ocupa mi cabeza, mi mente, mi cuerpo entero, que no me deja en ningún momento del día. Llegó como una maldición, no se anunció, y de repente un día, el mas largo y cálido de todos, cuando yo preparaba viandas frescas para alimentarnos, derritió tu amor, y se llevó la melaza restante a la casa de enfrente que es fría, habitada por una mujer alta, de cabellos rubios, que todo el día se pasea exhibiendo lindisimos sacos de lino, abriguitos de lana, bufandas y gorros de colores y guantes de punto que hacen juego con las medias gruesas; y al llegar a tu a ese lugar frío, tu amor como miel derretida se cristalizó en dulce mantequilla.

Y yo aquí, ataviada con una ligera túnica de algodón, que se humedece cada dos horas, soporto la masa cálida que me mantiene despierta toda la noche y solo me adormece para provocarme terribles alucinaciones, se pasea por toda la casa, la tiene ya toda ocupada, en cada rincón derrite cualquier partícula de felicidad.

Yo que creía que el punto de ebullición de la felicidad era mucho mas alto, pero en esta casa, todo se derrite al solo existir, la parafina de las velas en los candelabros escurre sin dar luz, los libros unen sus paginas y se mezclan todas las letras sin darme entendimiento, la limonada tiene temperatura de café, y la comida sabor a infusión, ya ni los borreguitos de barro quieren pasear, la madera de los muebles antes crujía al secarse, pero ahora ya esta tán débil que debo sentarme en el piso, pongo una frazada húmeda, pues si mi piel desnuda lo toca, se fundirían en uno solo, las flores y plantas crecieron frondosas durante dos horas y luego se volvieron una sopa hirviendo que todavía burbujea dentro de floreros y macetas.

Antes lograba consolarme mirando nuestra foto en un nevado paisaje, pero cual ha sido mi sorpresa, que el otro día al estarla mirando me pareció ver que lo que antes era un pequeño bosquecito nevado que se hallaba situado a la derecha de la fotografía, ahora reflejaba un verde mas claro, solté la foto con sorpresa y la guardé, pensando que quizá la visión era debida a las gotas de sudor que entraban por mis ojos.

Pero al otro día, no sin temor, me dirigí al álbum, como adivinando el oscuro presagio, y mire como el bosquecito era ahora un conjunto de soleadas palmeras, fue tal mi sorpresa que decidí guardar la fotografía en la nevera y olvidarme del asunto por varios días, pero, ay de mi, que al sacarla el día de ayer, descubrí que toda la blanca y fría nieve se había convertido en candente arena, las piedras volcánicas, en erizos de mar, y el alto pino sobre el que estabas recargado, en palmera crujiendo al sol.

No sé porque te escribo esta carta, tal vez tu puedas ayudarme, no lo sé, pero tengo miedo, pánico, y hasta empiezo a sentir un ligero sudar frío de tanto calor, solo espero que esta carta no queme tus dedos, como lo hizo conmigo el bolígrafo con la que la redacté.

monday blues single-entrée dinner plate

detained encapsulated
a reaction a feeling a connection
and a smile
remaining persisting
on spirit
been keeping cover for a while

didn’t want air touching it
didn’t want the sun stroking it
nor the snow freezing it
between sealed fingers
with all care can have

thinking it: safe clean fine
careful! not to squeeze too hard
careful! not to let go free either
careful! half closed the hand
for a while

every every where with me went
each and every day since found
to dinners to parties to friends
to movies to the laundromat
when i took then photos
and when after, i deleted them
when i breathe deep-in
and when after, breathe down-out
when i made tea
and when after, i drank my dark cafe

the first thought in the morning
the last thought at night
it is
it was

yet like all treasures
got stolen
or it hides
nobody can give me a signal
nobody knows if it's dead or alive

maybe it just got scared of me
and ranaway and hides

the mirror reflection today
empty, again, another day
alone, empty recipients
empty, but care
empty myself, hidden the treasure
under my table, under my bed, and under my head

what if maybe was never there?
maybe just a reflection of my own care
maybe just a reflection of my own despair

maybe while elucidating it escaped
through the spaces
between the fingers
of my thought-careful-enough hands
or maybe between
the spaces of the straws of my hair

today again empty
yet i still hold it
something i want to believe is there

not sure what it is
but still heeding
staring at the space on
my two wide open empty hands

free yet alone another day

remembering what rocio told me one day:
love is for two, misery is for one
please bring me then my single painful entrée

i care not how humble your bookshelf may be...

i am looking into cascading style sheets to design webby pages
that can be accessed by blind people
at my company we have plenty of web-users with disabilities

yet if you are blind you can always type on a url and if it is design suitably for disabilities like blindness (w/voice reader access) like this one, then you'll be able to use the site
http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext05/ttmgd001.mp3
what happens here is that a computer reader reads to you out loud what’s on a page
(like some old macs have a feature that if you type something it reads it back at you with ‘computer’ voice, huh?)
this now is a quicktime file but i am sure in some point it was just text on a word or simple text or html file and then with an aural cascade style sheet reference it to your html code
html reader you can recreate it like this… strange but nice huh?

o btw seems that don sir arthur conan doyle knew some of my friends ‘cause…’smoking is not forbidden’ he wrote

now gutenberg project supports free ebooks don't forget to visit and download or screen-read your favorite classics

monday monday
blue but sunny
san diego goes new week again

the rain it raineth

The rain it raineth all around
Upon the just and unjust fella;
But chiefly on the just because
The unjust stole the just's umbrella.

Rain, rain, go away,
Come another summer's day;
Rain, rain, pour down,
And come no more to our town.

- taken from: I saw Esau

------------------------------------------------

all i said about you rain
nevermind
was not main
was my lazy-ass brown-bread head
come here come here
rain and hail
come here and stay
this is your city
and you are my friend
when is dry and when is wet

americana breakfast on a friday day

smell of tuna sandwich
but the coffee straight and black balances it ok out
acoustic on the back
not yes does matter anymore since why?
the smell
one one one
one on top of the other one
mattered one day
not yet to anyone
there

people in paris
sings cat & sings powers
but who cares if they are in paris?
or if this tuna is grisly?
layered within dark café
and compassionate early-friday-breakfast pain

doesn’t much matter
lately later
since in my cradle
you are not
not today not yesterday
not today not tomorrow
not again

∑ sweater azulito
∑ la blusa de lino
∑ focaccia
∑ los quesos de lata camembert
∑ un trozo de pecorino pequeño
∑ parmesano fresco
∑ el vino 2 botellas
∑ semillitas de plantas para el jardín, no girasol
∑ mantón que te regaló Ana / vestido con el que nos poníamos

Lafcadio Hearn and his brumous luminosity

Today I got a self-paid package on the mail from New York City’s Strand bookstore.

The fine-smelling wrap up (fragrance of cardstock and aged paper mostly) displays an orangey logo on the upper left corner that reveals the motto of this remarkable multi-shelved palace of modern manuscripts: 18 miles of books.

The book ordered is Stray Leaves from Strange Literature by Lafcadio Hearn, a ‘little mosaic of legend and fable’ (as Lafcadio describes himself) a compendium of stories reconstructed and re-written by Hearn based on ancient jewels of literature such as the Anvari-Soheili, Baital, Pachisi, Mahabharata, Pantchatantra, Gulistan, Talmud, Kalewala, etc.

The Contents as follows:

1. Stray Leaves
2. Tales Retold from Indian and Buddhist Literature
3. Runes from the Kalewala
4. Stories of Moslem Lands
5. Traditions Retold from the Talmud

The book printed in 1884 is in almost mint condition, considering the age. It was among the Modern Rare editions printed ones. I can wait to immerse myself in the brumous luminosity of Lafcadio’s ways.

Here a link to a Lafcadio Hearn website with more information on this amazing man who after strolling around Greece, Ireland, New York, Cincinnati, and New Orleans, settled in Japan, where his art flourished as beautiful as a garden in bloom during a tea ceremony.

http://www.mitchellspublications.com/guides/la/no/bio/hearnl/02/

Gracias to Lafcadio, to the Strand bookstore, and to the dear friend that took me there for the first time.