<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529</id><updated>2009-10-26T22:58:00.448-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dafne Ink</title><subtitle type='html'>Borradores en proceso, como la vida misma, y otros lugares comunes                     .</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>531</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-7870804787841574752</id><published>2009-10-23T01:06:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T01:38:32.963-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tecnología'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='teatro'/><title type='text'>El teatro vs. la pantalla</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SuE-uWYsLII/AAAAAAAAFhs/vrVgbumz5gU/s1600-h/PDA_PhotoRedukto.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SuE-uWYsLII/AAAAAAAAFhs/vrVgbumz5gU/s320/PDA_PhotoRedukto.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395662794570607746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Force majeure en Montréal, Place des Arts, 5éme Salle.&lt;br /&gt;Octubre de 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Dicen Lipovetsky y Serroy, en &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;L'écran global&lt;/span&gt;, que esta sociedad hipermoderna experimenta una transformación en la interacción entre individuos y tecnología, por la mediación omnipresente de las pantallas.&lt;br /&gt;La puesta de los australianos del grupo Force majeure, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The age I'm in&lt;/span&gt;, lo confirma. Pero el espectáculo es más que multimedia. Es danza, teatro y testimonio. Actores y actrices de edades variadas personifican las voces de ochenta entrevistados, cuyas voces registradas de antemano conducen el pasaje por diferentes etapas en la vida. Las voces, dialogan sobre política, sexo, familia, la situación de los pueblos autóctonos australianos, la droga. Lo que dicen, puede ser risueño o alarmante, según el contexto de la interpretación de los actores y de las coreografías de las danzas.&lt;br /&gt;El elemento novedoso, son pantallas planas que los actores portan,  superponiéndolas en diferentes partes del cuerpo, mostrandólos sin su cáscara, la ropa, con sus cicatrices sean quirúrgicas o debidas al paso del tiempo, en la misma escala del original. O interpretando pensamiento, afectos o ausencias.&lt;br /&gt;La música, salvo en las partes exclusivamente dedicadas a la danza, es comparable al sonido de un metrónomo.&lt;br /&gt;La incorporación de la tecnología en la obra, obliga a los interprétes a guardar una sincronización perfecta, o la obra se desarma. He ahí tal vez una consecuencia secundaria interesante de analizar para el trabajo de los artistas.&lt;br /&gt;D.B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-7870804787841574752?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/7870804787841574752/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=7870804787841574752' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7870804787841574752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7870804787841574752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/10/el-teatro-vs-la-pantalla.html' title='El teatro vs. la pantalla'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SuE-uWYsLII/AAAAAAAAFhs/vrVgbumz5gU/s72-c/PDA_PhotoRedukto.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-3811375389452865570</id><published>2009-10-23T00:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T00:56:36.633-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><title type='text'>La vanguardia de U.S.A.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SuEx2KkJxAI/AAAAAAAAFhk/6izI5ofcta4/s1600-h/BruceBaillie-CastroStreet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SuEx2KkJxAI/AAAAAAAAFhk/6izI5ofcta4/s320/BruceBaillie-CastroStreet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395648635185251330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Los franceses pueden haber patentado el concepto, pero los estadounidenses también han hecho lo suyo.  Bruce Baillie realizó Castro Street en 1967, filmando el corto en la calle del mismo nombre en Richmond, California. Se puede ver en: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2dbtk_castro-street-bruce-baillie_shortfilms&lt;br /&gt;Me resulta una curiosidad, pero no creo que le haya cambiado la vida a mucha gente como producto artístico. Puede haber inspirado algunos efectos especiales  en producciones de cineastas posteriores, puede que simplemente sugiera mirar sin comprometerse.&lt;br /&gt;El manifiesto del futurismo fue publicado en 1915, cuando todavía se podía pensar en la belleza de la velocidad. Luego todo se volvió feo, industrial, ruidoso, contaminante, masivo. El cine, desde la cámara de los Lumière hasta hoy, puede seguir creando belleza, inspiración, trascendencia. Puede.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-3811375389452865570?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/3811375389452865570/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=3811375389452865570' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/3811375389452865570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/3811375389452865570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/10/la-vanguardia-de-usa.html' title='La vanguardia de U.S.A.'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SuEx2KkJxAI/AAAAAAAAFhk/6izI5ofcta4/s72-c/BruceBaillie-CastroStreet.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-5202960547339863267</id><published>2009-09-06T23:59:00.016-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T23:07:02.597-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ciencia'/><title type='text'>Orfeo y el Triángulo del Verano</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SqcbS1IumlI/AAAAAAAAFhc/N3ufUPg_StA/s1600-h/sumtri_6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SqcbS1IumlI/AAAAAAAAFhc/N3ufUPg_StA/s320/sumtri_6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379298290232629842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;En las noches veraniegas del  hemisferio norte, entre el este y el sureste, se puede ver el Triángulo del Verano, formado por las estrellas Deneb de la constelación del Cisne, Vega de la Lira, que es una de las más brillantes, y Altair de la constelación del Águila.&lt;br /&gt;La vía láctea atraviesa el triángulo, entre los cuerpos del Cisne y el Águila.&lt;br /&gt;Si bien es observable desde el hemisferio sur, allí es mucho menos notorio. En el norte es tan  distintivo  como la Cruz del Sur lo es para ese hemisferio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vega es la estrella principal de la figura y fue muy importante para establecer el calendario de los romanos, porque el comienzo del otoño estaba indicado por su posición matinal. Los babilonios la llamaban la estrella de la reina de la vida. Es la primera  del grupo en aparecer en el punto oeste, separada de Deneb por unos 23 grados, y con Altair al sur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;El mito de Orfeo tiene conexión con el águila y la lira. Cuando  su amada Eurídice muere, él jura no volver a enamorarse jamás. Un grupo de mujeres tracias, enfurecidas por el rechazo a sus pretensiones amorosas, lo asesinan y tiran la lira con la que él encantaba multitudes en un río. Zeus ordena buscar el instrumento a un águila. Es entonces que el águila y la lira aparecerán juntas en el cielo como tributo al amor eterno de Orfeo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-5202960547339863267?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/5202960547339863267/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=5202960547339863267' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/5202960547339863267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/5202960547339863267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/09/triangulo-estelar.html' title='Orfeo y el Triángulo del Verano'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SqcbS1IumlI/AAAAAAAAFhc/N3ufUPg_StA/s72-c/sumtri_6.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-7118859325254637866</id><published>2009-09-05T23:38:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T14:36:24.199-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><title type='text'>El desierto de Bertolucci</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SqMu7Z_eOFI/AAAAAAAAFhU/0ZGuqbm7yIs/s1600-h/sheltering_sky.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SqMu7Z_eOFI/AAAAAAAAFhU/0ZGuqbm7yIs/s320/sheltering_sky.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378193978134771794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Arte cinematográfico en estado puro: sólo hay que dejarse llevar por las imágenes, no es necesario elucubrar sobre la historia sino imbuirse de su clima hipnótico.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The Sheltering Sky, directed by Bernardo Bertolucci; screenplay by Mark Peploe and Mr. Bertolucci, based on the novel by Paul Bowles.&lt;br /&gt;Music by Ryuichi Sakamoto; 137 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;Port Moresby . . . John Malkovich&lt;br /&gt;Kit Moresby . . . Debra Winger&lt;br /&gt;George Tunner . . . Campbell Scott&lt;br /&gt;Mrs. Lyle . . . Jill Bennett&lt;br /&gt;Eric . . . Timothy Spall&lt;br /&gt;Belquassim . . . Eric Vu-An&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-7118859325254637866?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/7118859325254637866/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=7118859325254637866' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7118859325254637866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7118859325254637866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/09/el-desierto-de-bertolucci.html' title='El desierto de Bertolucci'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SqMu7Z_eOFI/AAAAAAAAFhU/0ZGuqbm7yIs/s72-c/sheltering_sky.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-2862058113354684258</id><published>2009-08-27T23:34:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T20:19:51.271-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historia'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tecnología'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='arquitectura'/><title type='text'>A toda velocidad</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SpdQrU1h6BI/AAAAAAAAFg0/-5bNFpJ-d_s/s1600-h/airmail_poster_fullsize.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SpdQrU1h6BI/AAAAAAAAFg0/-5bNFpJ-d_s/s320/airmail_poster_fullsize.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374853385547802642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Cuándo y cómo comenzó la carrera humana contra el tiempo? Cómo se manifiesta en la cotidianeidad?&lt;br /&gt;El C.C.A., Centro Canadiense de Arquitectura, presenta la muestra audiovisual "La vitesse et ses limites", (la velocidad y sus límites), donde el curador interroga sobre cuáles velocidades debería aceptar la sociedad y cómo definirlas como mito fundador de la sociedad moderna.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hace cien años el manifiesto del Futurismo proclamaba la "belleza de la velocidad". En forma abrupta la exposición comienza con dos proyecciones de imágenes, una en el suelo y otra en una pantalla en el techo de la sala. En la primera se ve tráfico incesante, cohetes despegando. En la otra, dos caracoles, moviéndose a su ritmo natural.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La medida del tiempo ha pasado a ser un elemento disciplinador, transformada en eficiencia. Desde los conceptos tayloristas de la organización del trabajo hasta el diseño de cocinas donde los desplazamientos sean mínimos, el concepto de velocidad a todo precio se fue imponiendo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En otra sala, se muestran diversas escenas "de la vida moderna": un trabajador en una oficina hablando por teléfono a velocidad de un agente de bolsa en plena ebullición de los mercados, en la pared de al lado se ve a Usain Bolt corriendo por sus medallas en los juegos olímpicos de Beijing, mientras que en otra pantalla alguien arma todas las caras de un cubo Rubik en tiempo récord. En el centro de la habitación, se muestran en laberínticas vitrinas los productos que se consumen hoy: medicamentos y bebidas para rendir más, para dormir menos, para poder relajarse, para comer rápido y obtener la máxima energía. Píldoras, bebidas, infusiones, barras energizantes, pastillas contra la ansiedad, productos para "rendir". Son formas de lograr una performance física y mental maximizada. Consumo para consumir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En otro sector hay diferentes instrumentos que sirven para medir velocidades y tiempos: hermosos relojes diseñados por K.E.M. Weber, metrónomos, medidores de velocidad usados por la policía de tránsito, contadores de pasos. Nada parece escapar al control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y cómo se comenzó a representar gráficamente el movimiento como signo? Por medio de líneas onduladas, líneas en zig zag, espirales y curvas. Los posters de motivo art deco de compañías de transporte, de fábricas de aviones, de oficinas postales remiten a la velocidad así representada. Vista así, sin duda la velocidad parecía bella.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En la construcción se abandonaron los estilos clásicos por todo lo que fuera prefabricado y modular. Técnicas que parecían aligerar las tareas,  han vuelto la vida tan complicada que se necesitan especialistas en sistemas complejos para que decidan cómo simplificar las interacciones.&lt;br /&gt;Está claro que la velocidad moderna es ruido de motores. El paisaje urbano adquirió los embotellamientos de tránsito como rutina, porque todos necesitan un automóvil para llegar antes, para llegar rápido. Para qué?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Según el movimiento Futurista, la velocidad era belleza. En perspectiva, podemos analizar los efectos de esa estética y ética en la sociedad. Podemos, o más bien dicho, podríamos, si tuviéramos tiempo para hacerlo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;D.B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-2862058113354684258?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/2862058113354684258/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=2862058113354684258' title='2 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2862058113354684258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2862058113354684258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/08/toda-velocidad.html' title='A toda velocidad'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SpdQrU1h6BI/AAAAAAAAFg0/-5bNFpJ-d_s/s72-c/airmail_poster_fullsize.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-2745448679947984781</id><published>2009-08-21T15:57:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T16:02:43.369-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poesía'/><title type='text'>El Sur</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/So78VFouBFI/AAAAAAAAFf0/5JiU8tYJfns/s1600-h/Sur.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 314px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/So78VFouBFI/AAAAAAAAFf0/5JiU8tYJfns/s320/Sur.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372508844719998034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pero si no es él!&lt;br /&gt;Es El Sur!&lt;br /&gt;O él es el Sur,&lt;br /&gt;viento frío, sin sosiego.&lt;br /&gt;No es el mar, él, no&lt;br /&gt;tal vez cielo, porque no existe.&lt;br /&gt;Es lo que se ve, que no es,&lt;br /&gt;como las historias que me invento&lt;br /&gt;para sobrevivir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;D.B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;para él y para el amigo Gato, que me hizo pensar, más bien sentir el Sur con toda su poesía.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-2745448679947984781?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/2745448679947984781/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=2745448679947984781' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2745448679947984781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2745448679947984781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/08/el-sur.html' title='El Sur'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/So78VFouBFI/AAAAAAAAFf0/5JiU8tYJfns/s72-c/Sur.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-7865694505124640301</id><published>2009-08-21T14:00:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T14:11:29.087-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lugares para la cultura'/><title type='text'>Rinconcito Benedetti en Montevideo</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/So7g-YnF1pI/AAAAAAAAFfs/vdr88sS4QzU/s1600-h/BenedettiFocoBlog.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/So7g-YnF1pI/AAAAAAAAFfs/vdr88sS4QzU/s320/BenedettiFocoBlog.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372478767862503058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Junto a la mesa que siempre ocupaba Benedetti, un mozo pegó un recuerdo. Allí el escritor almorzaba, cenaba, escribía, recibía amigos, periodistas. El lugar no tiene demasiadas particularidades. Como en tantos bares y pizzerías de Montevideo, el espacio es escaso, la luz intensa, el menú clásico, sin osadías, y los parroquianos hablan de sus asuntos, de fútbol, del tiempo, a veces también con los mozos. Durante la larga jornada, en la mesa de Mario hay diversos ocupantes. No sé si habrá entre ellos nostálgicos trasnochados como yo.&lt;br /&gt;D.B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-7865694505124640301?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/7865694505124640301/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=7865694505124640301' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7865694505124640301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7865694505124640301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/08/rinconcito-benedetti-en-montevideo.html' title='Rinconcito Benedetti en Montevideo'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/So7g-YnF1pI/AAAAAAAAFfs/vdr88sS4QzU/s72-c/BenedettiFocoBlog.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-4433529133027497523</id><published>2009-07-27T14:50:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T14:58:28.891-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poesía'/><title type='text'>Tristeza del cronopio</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sm34qotGkdI/AAAAAAAAFVM/UDwcNejFayQ/s1600-h/DSC01973.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sm34qotGkdI/AAAAAAAAFVM/UDwcNejFayQ/s320/DSC01973.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363216142632915410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;   &lt;p&gt;A la salida del Luna Park un cronopio advierte que su reloj atrasa, que su reloj atrasa, que su reloj.&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;blockquote&gt;        &lt;/blockquote&gt;   &lt;p&gt;Tristeza del cronopio frente a la multitud de famas que remonta Corrientes a las once y veinte y él, objeto verde y húmedo, marcha a las once y cuarto.&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;blockquote&gt;        &lt;/blockquote&gt;   &lt;blockquote&gt;        &lt;/blockquote&gt;   &lt;p&gt;Meditación del cronopio: «Es tarde, pero menos tarde para mí que para los famas para los famas es cinco minutos más tarde, llegarán a sus casas más tarde, se acostarán más tarde.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/blockquote&gt;  &lt;blockquote&gt;   &lt;blockquote&gt;                  &lt;/blockquote&gt;   &lt;p&gt;Yo tengo un reloj con menos vida, con menos casa y menos acostarme, yo soy un cronopio desdichado y húmedo».&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;blockquote&gt;     &lt;blockquote&gt;            &lt;/blockquote&gt;   &lt;/blockquote&gt;   &lt;p&gt;Mientras toma café en el Richmond de Florida, moja el cronopio una tostada con sus lágrimas naturales.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/blockquote&gt;  &lt;blockquote&gt;   &lt;blockquote&gt;        &lt;/blockquote&gt; &lt;/blockquote&gt;Julio Cortázar, en Historias de cronopios y de famas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-4433529133027497523?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/4433529133027497523/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=4433529133027497523' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/4433529133027497523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/4433529133027497523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/07/tristeza-del-cronopio.html' title='Tristeza del cronopio'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sm34qotGkdI/AAAAAAAAFVM/UDwcNejFayQ/s72-c/DSC01973.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-9188413779432977498</id><published>2009-07-27T12:30:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T12:37:02.815-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><title type='text'>Rough Cut, el corte más violento</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sm3WpkrxX-I/AAAAAAAAFVE/YkUfJhIylJo/s1600-h/rcut.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sm3WpkrxX-I/AAAAAAAAFVE/YkUfJhIylJo/s320/rcut.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363178740978376674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;No hay un mano a mano posible entre un actor de películas de acción y un gangster de verdad. Ni en la vida, ni en la ficción del cine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La película Rough Cut, dirigida por Jang Hoon, con la producción y participación en el guión de Kim Ki Duk, se presentó en el festival Fantasia de Montréal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Synopsis&lt;br /&gt;Gang-pae, #2 in his organization, is swamped with routine violence, and his dream of becoming an actor never went away. Star actor Soo-ta lives behind a veil, away from public eyes. Over time his behavior becomes increasingly agitated, provoked by paparazzi wanting a piece of him wherever he go...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-9188413779432977498?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/9188413779432977498/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=9188413779432977498' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/9188413779432977498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/9188413779432977498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/07/rough-cut-el-corte-mas-violento.html' title='Rough Cut, el corte más violento'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sm3WpkrxX-I/AAAAAAAAFVE/YkUfJhIylJo/s72-c/rcut.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-3405402715290092342</id><published>2009-07-25T11:40:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T11:44:53.571-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='música'/><title type='text'>Melodía de arrabal, Montréal</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SmsoU14sGlI/AAAAAAAAFU8/sGhyykLg5jo/s1600-h/Vendome.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SmsoU14sGlI/AAAAAAAAFU8/sGhyykLg5jo/s320/Vendome.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362424119842052690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="texto" valign="top" width="350"&gt;&lt;span id="lbl_Letra" class="texto"&gt;Barrio plateado por la luna,&lt;br /&gt;rumores de milonga&lt;br /&gt;es toda su fortuna.&lt;br /&gt;Hay un fueye que rezonga&lt;br /&gt;en la cortada mistonga,&lt;br /&gt;mientras que una pebeta,&lt;br /&gt;linda como una flor,&lt;br /&gt;espera coqueta&lt;br /&gt;bajo la quieta&lt;br /&gt;luz de un farol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Barrio... barrio..&lt;br /&gt;que tenés el alma inquieta&lt;br /&gt;de un gorrión sentimental.&lt;br /&gt;Penas...ruego...&lt;br /&gt;¡esto todo el barrio malevo&lt;br /&gt;melodía de arrabal!&lt;br /&gt;Barrio... barrio...&lt;br /&gt;perdoná si al evocarte&lt;br /&gt;se me pianta un lagrimón,&lt;br /&gt;que al rodar en tu empedrao&lt;br /&gt;es un beso prolongao&lt;br /&gt;que te da mi corazón.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cuna de tauras y cantores,&lt;br /&gt;de broncas y entreveros,&lt;br /&gt;de todos mis amores.&lt;br /&gt;En tus muros con mi acero&lt;br /&gt;yo grabé nombres que quiero.&lt;br /&gt;Rosa, "la milonguita",&lt;br /&gt;era rubia Margot,&lt;br /&gt;en la primer cita,&lt;br /&gt;la paica Rita&lt;br /&gt;me dio su amor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;             &lt;/tr&gt;              &lt;tr height="20"&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-3405402715290092342?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/3405402715290092342/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=3405402715290092342' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/3405402715290092342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/3405402715290092342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/07/melodia-de-arrabal-montreal.html' title='Melodía de arrabal, Montréal'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SmsoU14sGlI/AAAAAAAAFU8/sGhyykLg5jo/s72-c/Vendome.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-6887853059242168901</id><published>2009-06-20T14:17:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-20T14:21:22.268-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='música'/><title type='text'>Écoutez: Apadoorai</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sj0oaZCReHI/AAAAAAAAFL4/wqYHgmBTC2g/s1600-h/apadoorai.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sj0oaZCReHI/AAAAAAAAFL4/wqYHgmBTC2g/s320/apadoorai.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349476366248147058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noche sorprendente en Quai des Brumes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:xx-small;"  &gt;&lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="" myriad="" pro="" light=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:small;"&gt;D'origine Québécoise, Apadoorai est un duo qui offre une musique envoûtante mélangeant didgeridoo et musique électronique. Possédant un répertoire varié et dynamique, Apadoorai s'inspire de diverses influences musicales qui bousculent les conventions de l'univers musical. Apadoorai fait parti des artistes de la petite scène musicale de Montréal qui promettent des concert certes intimes mais qui savent charmer le public et les transporter dans l'univers transcendant et mystique de la musique World Beat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="" myriad="" pro="" light=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:small;"&gt;Plus d'informations: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/apadoorai" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Myriad Pro Light, Arial, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:small;"&gt;http://www.myspace.com/apadoorai&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-6887853059242168901?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/6887853059242168901/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=6887853059242168901' title='2 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/6887853059242168901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/6887853059242168901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/06/ecoutez-apadoorai.html' title='Écoutez: Apadoorai'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sj0oaZCReHI/AAAAAAAAFL4/wqYHgmBTC2g/s72-c/apadoorai.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-7894284080964065542</id><published>2009-06-10T09:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T00:39:31.177-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='opiniones'/><title type='text'>Los gatos persas, animales peligrosos</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si-6nwFaHVI/AAAAAAAAFLY/HgwFJgEys08/s1600-h/rap-a-lhonneur-au-festival-de-cannes-2009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si-6nwFaHVI/AAAAAAAAFLY/HgwFJgEys08/s320/rap-a-lhonneur-au-festival-de-cannes-2009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345696474797317458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Je me souviens...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;de la dictadura en Uruguay, cuando el rock era subversivo.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Este post se volvió una amarga premonición, por lo que sucedió con las elecciones en Irán. Duele la traición de los poderosos de siempre a la voluntad popular, duele el pueblo iraní que hizo una revolución para librarse de un régimen corrupto, sólo para caer en un oscurantismo religioso medieval.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Ahora no sólo se prohíben expresiones musicales, si no también la comunicación, como sucede con el bloqueo a la red y sus herramientas.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;En China se prohíbe a youtube, también en Irán, pero aún se puede acceder al menos a twitter para obtener algo de información fidedigna, de primera mano, de lo que está sucediendo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Le cinéaste iranien Bahman Ghobadi, dont le film "Les Chats persans" sur la scène musicale underground téhéranaise a été primé à Cannes, a été arrêté et incarcéré pendant une semaine à son retour en Iran par la police, qui l'a libéré mardi, a annoncé un proche collaborateur à Paris.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Parti de Berlin pour le Kurdistan irakien le lundi 1er juin, le réalisateur âgé de 40 ans, qui devait se rendre en Iran pour quelques jours, avait pris la route le mardi et n'avait depuis plus donné de nouvelles à ses proches.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Nous étions très inquiets, sa famille l'a cherché partout. Avant son départ, il m'avait dit +Si je n'ai pas fait signe dans deux jours, c'est qu'on m'aura arrêté+", a rapporté à l'AFP un ami et collaborateur, ne souhaitant pas être identifié.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Il vient de m'appeler pour me dire qu'il venait d'être libéré sous caution et qu'il repartait en Irak", a-t-il ajouté, précisant que M. Ghobadi avait été arrêté à son entrée dans le pays par la police des frontières iranienne, qui l'a ensuite maintenu en détention pendant une semaine.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Son oncle et son avocat ont versé une "importante caution", ce qui a permis sa libération, a encore dit ce collaborateur.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Toujours selon la source, l'incarcération serait liée aux "sévères critiques" formulées à l'encontre du gouvernement iranien par le réalisateur lors de la présentation des "Chats persans" au Festival de Cannes, en mai.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Dans ce film aux allures de documentaire, co-lauréat du Prix spécial Un Certain Regard décerné sur la Croisette, Ghobadi dénonce la répression qui frappe les jeunes musiciens de son pays.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Co-écrit avec la journaliste irano-américaine Roxana Saberi - accusée d'espionnage par Téhéran et incarcérée du 31 janvier au 11 mai -, le long métrage dresse le portrait poignant d'une jeunesse en quête de liberté, en suivant des concerts et des répétitions clandestines de rock et de rap.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Les Chats persans", qui devrait sortir début décembre en France, a déjà été vendu dans une quinzaine de pays dont le Canada, l'Espagne, la Grèce, l'Italie, le Portugal, Israël, l'Afrique du sud, l'Argentine et le Mexique.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-7894284080964065542?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/7894284080964065542/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=7894284080964065542' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7894284080964065542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7894284080964065542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/06/los-gatos-persas-animales-peligrosos.html' title='Los gatos persas, animales peligrosos'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si-6nwFaHVI/AAAAAAAAFLY/HgwFJgEys08/s72-c/rap-a-lhonneur-au-festival-de-cannes-2009.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-7569441352154035774</id><published>2009-06-08T10:45:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T10:48:29.871-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poesía'/><title type='text'>La Biblia de los amantes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si0kpky5oeI/AAAAAAAAFH8/_Vy9fp9nQKU/s1600-h/lbh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 208px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si0kpky5oeI/AAAAAAAAFH8/_Vy9fp9nQKU/s320/lbh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344968629429051874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La Biblia humeda, de Rafael Courtoisie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si es que los amantes tienen un credo, mas pasajero que la poesia pura, aqui esta...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-7569441352154035774?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/7569441352154035774/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=7569441352154035774' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7569441352154035774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/7569441352154035774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/06/la-biblia-de-los-amantes.html' title='La Biblia de los amantes'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si0kpky5oeI/AAAAAAAAFH8/_Vy9fp9nQKU/s72-c/lbh.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-2085434085817555421</id><published>2009-06-08T10:03:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T10:28:50.621-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poesía'/><title type='text'>Diamantes y poesia</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si0agZJs1OI/AAAAAAAAFH0/Y11H7xMf2_8/s1600-h/CT0140_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si0agZJs1OI/AAAAAAAAFH0/Y11H7xMf2_8/s320/CT0140_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344957476568356066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt; Juana de Ibarbourou (Juana de América) (Uruguay), es una figura universal en el mundo poético. LAS LENGUAS DE DIAMANTE, fue su primer libro publicado. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;        &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt; Las lenguas de diamante mantiene algunas características que se reiterarán durante casi 60 años en el discurso poético de Juana de Ibarbourou: extrañamiento frente a la muerte; concepto de venganza diferida: morirá, pero se enraizará en semillas, trepará por los tallos, será escándalo; erotismo trascendente que no se agota en la realidad objetiva; actidud sostenida sobre su origen; re-creación del mundo en sus metáforas, el yo lírico no devora imágenes, las crea: el amor en la hablante obra prodigios; integracion con la naturaleza, a veces de carácter panteísta, en otras oportunidades como paralelismo sicocósmico; reelaboración de una temática que la acucia frente al amor, la soledad, la muerte, la transitoriedad del tiempo... (Dra.Sylvia Puentes de Oyenard) &lt;/p&gt;     _&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vida-Garfio&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Amante: no me lleves, si muero, al camposanto.&lt;br /&gt;    A flor de tierra abre mi fosa, junto al riente&lt;br /&gt;    Alboroto divino de alguna pajarera&lt;br /&gt;    O junto a la encantada charla de alguna fuente.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    A flor de tierra, amante. Casi sobre la tierra,&lt;br /&gt;    Donde el sol me caliente los huesos, y mis ojos,&lt;br /&gt;    Alargados en tallos, suban a ver de nuevo&lt;br /&gt;    La lámpara salvaje de los ocasos rojos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    A flor de tierra, amante. Que le tránsito así sea&lt;br /&gt;    Más breve. Yo presiento&lt;br /&gt;    La lucha de mi carne por volver hacia arriba,&lt;br /&gt;    Por sentir en sus átomos la frescura del viento.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Yo sé que acaso nunca allá abajo mis manos&lt;br /&gt;    Podrán estarse quietas.&lt;br /&gt;    Que siempre como topos arañarán la tierra&lt;br /&gt;    En medio de las sombras estrujadas y prietas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Arrójame semillas. Yo quiero que se enraícen&lt;br /&gt;    En la greda amarilla de mis huesos menguados.&lt;br /&gt;    ¡Por la parda escalera de las raíces vivas&lt;br /&gt;    Yo subiré a mirarte en los lirios morados!&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;Leo esta poes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;í&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;a, y me acuerdo de Lorca, de su llanto por Ignacio S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;á&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;nchez Mej&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;í&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;, aquel de:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;Pero ya duerme sin fin.&lt;br /&gt;Ya los musgos y la hierba&lt;br /&gt;abren con dedos seguros&lt;br /&gt;la flor de su calavera.&lt;br /&gt;Y su sangre ya viene cantando:&lt;br /&gt;cantando por marismas y praderas,&lt;br /&gt;resbalando por cuernos ateridos,&lt;br /&gt;vacilando sin alma por la niebla,&lt;br /&gt;tropezando con miles de pezuñas&lt;br /&gt;como una larga, oscura, triste lengua,&lt;br /&gt;para formar un charco de agonía&lt;br /&gt;junto al Guadalquivir de las estrellas.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;Y tambien Paul Celan, con Amapolas y memoria:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...de corazones y cerebros bortan los tallos de la noche...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia,times new roman,times,serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-2085434085817555421?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/2085434085817555421/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=2085434085817555421' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2085434085817555421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2085434085817555421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/06/juana-de-ibarbourou-juana-de-america.html' title='Diamantes y poesia'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Si0agZJs1OI/AAAAAAAAFH0/Y11H7xMf2_8/s72-c/CT0140_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-1278756594184090079</id><published>2009-05-25T23:13:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T22:54:19.392-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><title type='text'>Maldito cuento de hadas en Brujas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Shtg7Rp-K8I/AAAAAAAAE7k/A2q9l84ejdg/s1600-h/inbruges_poster.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 206px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Shtg7Rp-K8I/AAAAAAAAE7k/A2q9l84ejdg/s320/inbruges_poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339968354645846978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Qué puede pasar en una encantadora ciudad medieval de Bélgica? Nada. Eso piensa el jefe de dos asesinos a sueldo, cuando los envía allí, en principio para alejarlos de las implicancias de un trabajo mal hecho en Londres.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;El ambiente brumoso del anochecer, sugiere que las apariencias engañan. Bélgica es famosa por los chocolates y por terribles crímenes sexuales contra menores. Para eso fabrican chocolates, dice un personaje, para atrapar a los niños. Es la misma engañosa, por inocente, apariencia de Colin Farrel, uno de los asesinos sin la suerte del irlandés.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Escenas fellinescas se suceden con aire distraído o falsamente ligero. Una se encuentra riendo en el medio de la tragedia, gran mérito de la película.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;D.B.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-1278756594184090079?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/1278756594184090079/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=1278756594184090079' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/1278756594184090079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/1278756594184090079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/05/maldito-cuento-de-hadas-en-brujas.html' title='Maldito cuento de hadas en Brujas'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Shtg7Rp-K8I/AAAAAAAAE7k/A2q9l84ejdg/s72-c/inbruges_poster.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-2224385692331358306</id><published>2009-05-18T02:25:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T02:50:36.413-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><title type='text'>Two lovers, a pair of gloves, a lucky guy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/ShD_ze4HLZI/AAAAAAAAE7U/bGQ-dwuS9To/s1600-h/poster_large_510.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/ShD_ze4HLZI/AAAAAAAAE7U/bGQ-dwuS9To/s320/poster_large_510.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337046818360864146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Two Lovers is a romantic drama set in New York City. It tells the story of Leonard (Joaquin Phoenix), an attractive but depressed young man who moves back in with his parents following a recent heartbreak. An aspiring photographer, Leonard works part-time at his father's dry-cleaners. His concerned parents try to set him up with Sandra (Vinessa Shaw), the sweet and caring daughter of a close family friend. A big family dinner serves as their introduction and Leonard arranges to see her again. Then late one night Leonard looks out his bedroom window and notices a ravishing young woman he's never seen before. Michelle (Gwyneth Paltrow) recently moved into an apartment in his family's building - an apartment paid for by the wealthy married man she's seeing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-2224385692331358306?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/2224385692331358306/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=2224385692331358306' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2224385692331358306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2224385692331358306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/05/two-lovers-i-should-be-so-lucky.html' title='Two lovers, a pair of gloves, a lucky guy'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/ShD_ze4HLZI/AAAAAAAAE7U/bGQ-dwuS9To/s72-c/poster_large_510.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-2431745882773595089</id><published>2009-05-14T08:28:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-16T00:32:25.846-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ojos para sentir'/><title type='text'>Swain at Tate</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SgwO29UeE5I/AAAAAAAAE7M/-cf6dnuJ-4M/s1600-h/AATonySwainTate.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SgwO29UeE5I/AAAAAAAAE7M/-cf6dnuJ-4M/s320/AATonySwainTate.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335655995863339922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Tony Swain was born in Lisburn, Northern Ireland in 1967 and lives and works in Glasgow. Swain studied at Liverpool Art School and Glasgow School of Art, graduating in 1990.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;A sheet or pasted together page of newsprint gives Tony Swain both the physical base and conceptual starting point for his evocative and dreamlike paintings. The imagery is built up by painting over the collaged newspaper in layers, obliterating most of the original text and photography. The fragments that are allowed to remain are transformed by their inclusion in his imagined landscapes and abstracts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tate Britain, Art Now space&lt;br /&gt;Until 16 August&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-2431745882773595089?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/2431745882773595089/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=2431745882773595089' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2431745882773595089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2431745882773595089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/05/swain-at-tate.html' title='Swain at Tate'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SgwO29UeE5I/AAAAAAAAE7M/-cf6dnuJ-4M/s72-c/AATonySwainTate.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-2917155034262754470</id><published>2009-05-11T14:01:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T20:32:26.358-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='música'/><title type='text'>Los Olima, el camino</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sgi8dkm9_BI/AAAAAAAAE7E/mQp3195zY2Y/s1600-h/33mofuh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sgi8dkm9_BI/AAAAAAAAE7E/mQp3195zY2Y/s320/33mofuh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334720974849702930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miren que son pagos lindos..&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;  los de la quinta secci&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;n!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;  Las sierras son como madres... (&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;mo no)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;y hasta el vientito es cantor!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    Firme esta la Isla Patrulla&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    moj&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;n de la tradici&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;n,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    donde el sol por tomar mate (&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;mo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt; no )&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    dicen que es madrugador!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    La gente no anda mostrando&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    asi nomas su amistad&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    tiene el afecto escondido (c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;mo no)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    como el agua del lugar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    Quieren mantener bien viva&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    la llama de su fogón&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    y hasta la casa mas pobre (&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;mo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt; no)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    tiene su jardin en flor!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    Y en las viejas arboledas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    y por la calle mayor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    entretenido en recuerdos (&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;mo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt; no)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    un aire antiguo qued&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    Patria chica, Isla Patrulla&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    arisco rin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ón&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt; tenaz&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    Patria del sombrero aludo (&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;m&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;o no)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    bien aludo echao pa' tras&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    Patria chica, Isla Patrulla&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    algun dia he de volver&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    pa' hallar los viejos lugares&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    algun camino ha de haber!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    Pa' hallar los viejos lugares (c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;ó&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;mo no)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;    algun camino ha de haber!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Este disco de los Olima era de los que habia que esconder, por si venian los milicos a buscar quién sabe qué, excusas, méritos, quién lo supo en aquél tiempo?&lt;br /&gt;(También estaba el disco de Numa Moraes, el de los chilenos Quilapayun, musicos peligrosos, subversivos).&lt;br /&gt;Ya no creo que los viejos lugares se puedan hallar, aquéllos de la infancia, y tal vez es mejor asi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Tal vez sea mejor construirse nuevos lugares y no seguir en la nostalgia eterna que lo que con la memoria distorsionada creemos recordar como buenos tiempos.&lt;br /&gt;Sin embargo, al escuchar esta cancion con esa memoria distorsionada, quiero llorar y no sé bien porqué.&lt;br /&gt;D.B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="can_span_letra"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-2917155034262754470?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/2917155034262754470/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=2917155034262754470' title='3 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2917155034262754470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2917155034262754470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/05/los-olima-el-camino.html' title='Los Olima, el camino'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sgi8dkm9_BI/AAAAAAAAE7E/mQp3195zY2Y/s72-c/33mofuh.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-8705823557436561565</id><published>2009-04-23T23:34:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T23:55:20.225-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='música'/><title type='text'>Bob Dylan, el huracan de la musica</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SfE38Y9T7LI/AAAAAAAAE68/yRibTBCxRUo/s1600-h/thehurricane.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 243px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SfE38Y9T7LI/AAAAAAAAE68/yRibTBCxRUo/s320/thehurricane.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328101344787295410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;pre class="lc"&gt;Hurricane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pistols shots ring out in the barroom night&lt;br /&gt;Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall&lt;br /&gt;She sees the bartender in a pool of blood&lt;br /&gt;Cries out "My God they killed them all"&lt;br /&gt;Here comes the story of the Hurricane&lt;br /&gt;The man the authorities came to blame&lt;br /&gt;For something that he never done&lt;br /&gt;Put him in a prison cell but one time he could-a been&lt;br /&gt;The champion of the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three bodies lying there does Patty see&lt;br /&gt;And another man named Bello moving around mysteriously&lt;br /&gt;"I didn't do it" he says and he throws up his hands&lt;br /&gt;"I was only robbing the register I hope you understand&lt;br /&gt;I saw them leaving" he says and he stops&lt;br /&gt;"One of us had better call up the cops"&lt;br /&gt;And so Patty calls the cops&lt;br /&gt;And they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashing&lt;br /&gt;In the hot New Jersey night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile far away in another part of town&lt;br /&gt;Rubin Carter and a couple of friends are driving around&lt;br /&gt;Number one contender for the middleweight crown&lt;br /&gt;Had no idea what kinda sh*t was about to go down&lt;br /&gt;When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road&lt;br /&gt;Just like the time before and the time before that&lt;br /&gt;In Patterson that's just the way things go&lt;br /&gt;If you're black you might as well not shown up on the street&lt;br /&gt;'Less you wanna draw the heat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the corps&lt;br /&gt;Him and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowling around&lt;br /&gt;He said "I saw two men running out they looked like middleweights&lt;br /&gt;They jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates"&lt;br /&gt;And Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head&lt;br /&gt;Cop said "Wait a minute boys this one's not dead"&lt;br /&gt;So they took him to the infirmary&lt;br /&gt;And though this man could hardly see&lt;br /&gt;They told him that he could identify the guilty men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Four in the morning and they haul Rubin in&lt;br /&gt;Take him to the hospital and they bring him upstairs&lt;br /&gt;The wounded man looks up through his one dying eye&lt;br /&gt;Says "Wha'd you bring him in here for ? He ain't the guy !"&lt;br /&gt;Yes here comes the story of the Hurricane&lt;br /&gt;The man the authorities came to blame&lt;br /&gt;For something that he never done&lt;br /&gt;Put in a prison cell but one time he could-a been&lt;br /&gt;The champion of the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Four months later the ghettos are in flame&lt;br /&gt;Rubin's in South America fighting for his name&lt;br /&gt;While Arthur Dexter Bradley's still in the robbery game&lt;br /&gt;And the cops are putting the screws to him looking for somebody to blame&lt;br /&gt;"Remember that murder that happened in a bar ?"&lt;br /&gt;"Remember you said you saw the getaway car?"&lt;br /&gt;"You think you'd like to play ball with the law ?"&lt;br /&gt;"Think it might-a been that fighter you saw running that night ?"&lt;br /&gt;"Don't forget that you are white".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arthur Dexter Bradley said "I'm really not sure"&lt;br /&gt;Cops said "A boy like you could use a break&lt;br /&gt;We got you for the motel job and we're talking to your friend Bello&lt;br /&gt;Now you don't wanta have to go back to jail be a nice fellow&lt;br /&gt;You'll be doing society a favor&lt;br /&gt;That sonofabit*h is brave and getting braver&lt;br /&gt;We want to put his as* in stir&lt;br /&gt;We want to pin this triple murder on him&lt;br /&gt;He ain't no Gentleman Jim".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rubin could take a man out with just one punch&lt;br /&gt;But he never did like to talk about it all that much&lt;br /&gt;It's my work he'd say and I do it for pay&lt;br /&gt;And when it's over I'd just as soon go on my way&lt;br /&gt;Up to some paradise&lt;br /&gt;Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice&lt;br /&gt;And ride a horse along a trail&lt;br /&gt;But then they took him to the jailhouse&lt;br /&gt;Where they try to turn a man into a mouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of Rubin's cards were marked in advance&lt;br /&gt;The trial was a pig-circus he never had a chance&lt;br /&gt;The judge made Rubin's witnesses drunkards from the slums&lt;br /&gt;To the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum&lt;br /&gt;And to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger&lt;br /&gt;No one doubted that he pulled the trigger&lt;br /&gt;And though they could not produce the gun&lt;br /&gt;The DA said he was the one who did the deed&lt;br /&gt;And the all-white jury agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rubin Carter was falsely tried&lt;br /&gt;The crime was murder 'one' guess who testified&lt;br /&gt;Bello and Bradley and they both baldly lied&lt;br /&gt;And the newspapers they all went along for the ride&lt;br /&gt;How can the life of such a man&lt;br /&gt;Be in the palm of some fool's hand ?&lt;br /&gt;To see him obviously framed&lt;br /&gt;Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land&lt;br /&gt;Where justice is a game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties&lt;br /&gt;Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise&lt;br /&gt;While Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell&lt;br /&gt;An innocent man in a living hell&lt;br /&gt;That's the story of the Hurricane&lt;br /&gt;But it won't be over till they clear his name&lt;br /&gt;And give him back the time he's done&lt;br /&gt;Put him in a prison cell but one time he could-a been&lt;br /&gt;The champion of the world.&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;p class="facts" style="background-color: rgb(255, 204, 102); text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This is about Rubin "Hurricane" Carter, a boxer who spent 19 years in jail for a murder Dylan felt he did not commit.  &lt;br /&gt;Carter was sentenced to life in prison for the murder of 3 white people who were gunned down at a bar in Paterson, New Jersey on June 17, 1966. Police were looking for 2 black men and pulled over Carter and his friend John Artis. They were sentenced to life in prison.  &lt;br /&gt;8 years into his incarceration, Carter sent Dylan a copy of his autobiography. Dylan visited him in prison, and convinced of his innocence, wrote "Hurricane."  Lawyers at Columbia Records made Dylan change some of the lyrics to avoid lawsuits.  Dylan went of Carter's prison in 1975 as a show of support. The visit brought a lot of attention to Carter's case.  Touring with the Rolling Thunder Revue, which featured Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell and Roberta Flack, Dylan raised over $100,000 for Carter's defense at a Madison Square Garden concert the day after visiting his prison. A month later, they held another charity concert, Hurricane II, in the Astrodome.  Dylan's efforts brought new publicity to Carter's case, getting him a new trial in 1976, where he was again convicted, with prosecutors claiming he killed the men in retaliation for a murder of a black man earlier that night.&lt;br /&gt;Carter was not freed until 1984, when his conviction was finally overturned.  Carter was the subject of the 1999 movie Hurricane, staring Denzel Washington as the boxer.   The A-side of single is titled "Hurricane (part 1)." The B-side is "Hurricane (full version)."  The characters mentioned in the song are real people.  The line "He ain't no gentleman Jim" is a reference to "Gentleman" Jim Corbett, a white boxer in the 1800s known for his manners.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p class="facts" style="background-color: rgb(255, 204, 102); text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-8705823557436561565?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/8705823557436561565/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=8705823557436561565' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/8705823557436561565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/8705823557436561565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/04/bob-dylan-el-huracan-de-la-musica.html' title='Bob Dylan, el huracan de la musica'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SfE38Y9T7LI/AAAAAAAAE68/yRibTBCxRUo/s72-c/thehurricane.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-3881928999612983820</id><published>2009-04-23T00:45:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T01:37:42.952-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><title type='text'>Gomorra a la vuelta de la esquina</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Se_yoCL3MTI/AAAAAAAAE6s/y4yVOLUWynk/s1600-h/gomorra.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Se_yoCL3MTI/AAAAAAAAE6s/y4yVOLUWynk/s320/gomorra.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327743653797900594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La camara ¨cuenta¨. La violencia de la camorra napolitana es la posible Gomorra de San Pablo, Buenos Aires, Montevideo. La camara no se detiene, la mafia tampoco.&lt;br /&gt;continuara...&lt;br /&gt;D.B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luciana P.:&lt;br /&gt;Creo que la peli es muy buena, le doy 4/5 Luchiestrellitas....:O)&lt;br /&gt;Creo que tiene elementos super interesantes , por ejemplo el manejo de los espacios, como pone a la gente en categoria. Te lo explico, la escena que matan a los dos chicos que se robaron las armas. El personaje que los manda a matar, aparece en el techo. O cuando buscan las armas en ese bosque, la sensacion de estar perdidos, representado por ese bosque lleno de arboles iguales, me parecio genial.&lt;br /&gt;Tambien cuando el que cobraba se va, despues de que entrega a su jefe, y pareciera como que sube una colina, esa idea de elevacion, de que se salvo.&lt;br /&gt;En fin, la camara contando, lo cual me encanta, es super rico.&lt;br /&gt;Otra elemento que ayuda a que la peli sea buena, es la evolucion, el cambio de los personajes, es esencial. Hace que la accion crezca.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;D.B.:&lt;br /&gt;siempre me voy a lo filosofico de las historias, no puedo olvidar la escena de la tv mostrando el glamour de la johansson con el vestido, que en verdad esta ensangrentado de sufrimiento de muchas personas, trabajo mal pago, explotacion, espionaje industrial, falsificacion, crimen.&lt;br /&gt;tengo mucho para decir...tengo que poner algo en el blog&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me llamo la atencion la falta de color, si pensamos que es una region tan soleada, era lo mismo que fuera blanco y negro, creo que es a proposito&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;la pelicula es sobre GENTE, sobre personas, pero nunca hay primeros planos abusivos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a priori le daria 3 sobre 5, siendo exigente&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;la manera de "contar" las historias, casi solo con camara testigo, casi documental, me encanto, porque respeta al espectador... mantiene el interes constante a pesar de que es larga, pero no te dice que tenes que pensar o sentir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luciana P.:&lt;br /&gt;La luz es toda natural, no hay luz interior (a lo que voy es que no hay luz artificial, precticamente no hay faroles en el interior). Estan trabajando si no me equivoco con el iris de la camara abierto para que entre mas luz en los interiores, y eso quema un poco la luz en los exteriores (y eso mata un poco el color). La calidad del filmico es muy baja, si no me equivoco es fuji o alguna de esas, definitivamente no es Kodak.&lt;br /&gt;La “camara en mano”, como decis vos estilo documental, es en planos medios a lo americano, (por debajo de las rodillas), a veces eso da la sensacion de gravedad, muchos directores optan por esto para  sacar un poco al espectador de ese “ confort zone”, que estamos acostumbrados con el Steady cam.&lt;br /&gt;Yo diria que el director agarro muchos elementos del DOGMA CINEMATOGRAFICO, no es dogma, pero practicamente se le pueden dar varios atributos de.&lt;br /&gt;Creo que la historias fueron su mayor enfoque, tambien las actuaciones, las verdad, muy buenos actores, un par de excepciones, pero muy neorrealismo....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-3881928999612983820?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/3881928999612983820/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=3881928999612983820' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/3881928999612983820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/3881928999612983820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/04/gomorra-la-vuelta-de-la-esquina.html' title='Gomorra a la vuelta de la esquina'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Se_yoCL3MTI/AAAAAAAAE6s/y4yVOLUWynk/s72-c/gomorra.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-8770166131706515404</id><published>2009-04-19T21:31:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T09:59:35.470-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='libros'/><title type='text'>J.G. Ballard took the last flight to the sun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SevQuiGXRFI/AAAAAAAAE6k/7IzKmjsOKVo/s1600-h/Empire_of_the_sun1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SevQuiGXRFI/AAAAAAAAE6k/7IzKmjsOKVo/s320/Empire_of_the_sun1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326580482141799506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;His later work continued to subject modern life to its own extremes, with a sinister corporate dystopia in 2000's Super Cannes, a middle-class revolution in 2003's Millennium People and a descent into consumerist fascism in 2006's Kingdom Come. But the label of science fiction writer still stuck, much to Ballard's irritation, partly as a way of "defusing the threat". "By calling a novel like Crash science fiction, you isolate the book and you don't think about what it is," he explained.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;He kept the literary world at arm's length, and refused a CBE in 2003, pouring scorn on the honours system as a "Ruritanian charade that helps to prop up our top-heavy monarchy".&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;From The Guardian.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-8770166131706515404?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/8770166131706515404/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=8770166131706515404' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/8770166131706515404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/8770166131706515404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/04/jg-ballard-took-last-flight-to-sun.html' title='J.G. Ballard took the last flight to the sun'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SevQuiGXRFI/AAAAAAAAE6k/7IzKmjsOKVo/s72-c/Empire_of_the_sun1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-2685433564088531696</id><published>2009-04-17T10:32:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T15:28:05.611-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poesía'/><title type='text'>Sylvia Plath, esa tristeza</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SeiThys7I0I/AAAAAAAAE6c/CTJ4RR8i4e0/s1600-h/10766.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SeiThys7I0I/AAAAAAAAE6c/CTJ4RR8i4e0/s320/10766.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325668768120775490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conocí el trabajo de Sylvia Plath a través de otro poeta, Rafael Courtoisie, no hace mucho. Ella, como tantos, sufrió el sino maldito de la enfermedad de la tristeza. Y sin ella, habrían podido crear tantos y tantos escritores?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sylvia Plath (&lt;a style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boston" title="Boston"&gt;Boston&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_de_octubre" title="27 de octubre"&gt;27 de octubre&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; de &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/1932" title="1932"&gt;1932&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; – &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Londres" title="Londres"&gt;Londres&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/11_de_febrero" title="11 de febrero"&gt;11 de febrero&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; de &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/1963" title="1963"&gt;1963&lt;/a&gt;) fue una escritora estadounidense especialmente conocida como &lt;a href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poeta" title="Poeta"&gt;poeta&lt;/a&gt;, aunque también es autora de obras en prosa, como una novela semi-autobiográfica, &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://es.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=La_campana_de_cristal&amp;amp;action=edit&amp;amp;redlink=1" class="new" title="La campana de cristal (aún no redactado)"&gt;La campana de cristal&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt; (bajo el pseudónimo de Victoria Lucas), y relatos y ensayos.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-weight: bold;"&gt;Junto con &lt;a href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Sexton" title="Anne Sexton"&gt;Anne Sexton&lt;/a&gt;, Plath está reconocida como uno de los principales cultivadores del género de la &lt;a href="http://es.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Poes%C3%ADa_confesional&amp;amp;action=edit&amp;amp;redlink=1" class="new" title="Poesía confesional (aún no redactado)"&gt;poesía confesional&lt;/a&gt; iniciado por &lt;a href="http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Lowell" title="Robert Lowell"&gt;Robert Lowell&lt;/a&gt; y &lt;a href="http://es.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=W._D._Snodgrass&amp;amp;action=edit&amp;amp;redlink=1" class="new" title="W. D. Snodgrass (aún no redactado)"&gt;W. D. Snodgrass&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;h2&gt;Apprehensions&lt;/h2&gt;&lt;p&gt; There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself---&lt;br /&gt;Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.&lt;br /&gt;Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.&lt;br /&gt;They are my medium.&lt;br /&gt;The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; A gray wall now, clawed and bloody.&lt;br /&gt;Is there no way out of the mind?&lt;br /&gt;Steps at my back spiral into a well.&lt;br /&gt;There are no trees or birds in this world,&lt;br /&gt;There is only sourness.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; This red wall winces continually :&lt;br /&gt;A red fist, opening and closing,&lt;br /&gt;Two gray, papery bags---&lt;br /&gt;This is what I am made of , this and a terror&lt;br /&gt;Of being wheeled off under crosses and a rain of pietas.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; On a black wall, unidentifiable birds&lt;br /&gt;Swivel thier heads and cry.&lt;br /&gt;There is no talk of immortality among these!&lt;br /&gt;Cold blanks approach us :&lt;br /&gt;They move in a hurry.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-2685433564088531696?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/2685433564088531696/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=2685433564088531696' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2685433564088531696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/2685433564088531696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/04/conoci-el-trabajo-de-sylvia-plath.html' title='Sylvia Plath, esa tristeza'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SeiThys7I0I/AAAAAAAAE6c/CTJ4RR8i4e0/s72-c/10766.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-6401559199007291680</id><published>2009-04-16T14:16:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T14:21:38.694-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='opiniones'/><title type='text'>El silencio de los culpables</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sed20Pcq_cI/AAAAAAAAE6U/l94fGHcHOrU/s1600-h/Minaperu2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 284px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sed20Pcq_cI/AAAAAAAAE6U/l94fGHcHOrU/s320/Minaperu2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325355724260965826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Miles de indígenas han llamado a un paro amazónico en la selva peruana, desde el 9 de abril. El silencio de los medios peruanos al respecto no por esperable, es menos pasmoso. El reclamo es contra la destrucción del medio ambiente por parte de las empresas mineras, entre otras. Las concesiones de tierras continúan, sin respetar los derechos de los habitantes autóctonos y el derecho de la humanidad a proteger el ambiente, para mantener la vida en el planeta.&lt;br /&gt;D.B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-6401559199007291680?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/6401559199007291680/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=6401559199007291680' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/6401559199007291680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/6401559199007291680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/04/el-silencio-de-los-culpables.html' title='El silencio de los culpables'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sed20Pcq_cI/AAAAAAAAE6U/l94fGHcHOrU/s72-c/Minaperu2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-8316007425624383618</id><published>2009-04-10T19:04:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T19:09:21.598-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='música'/><title type='text'>Volver o no volver, Gardel, Sabina</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sd_RP29Ao-I/AAAAAAAAE6M/EM7kAQylwv8/s1600-h/_de_la_plata-Uruguay.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sd_RP29Ao-I/AAAAAAAAE6M/EM7kAQylwv8/s320/_de_la_plata-Uruguay.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323203354954867682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h2&gt;Con La Frente Marchita&lt;/h2&gt;de Joaquin Sabina&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sentados en corro merendábamos, besos y porros&lt;br /&gt;y las horas pasaban deprisa entre el humo y la risa.&lt;br /&gt;Te morías por volver con la frente marchita cantaba Gardel&lt;br /&gt;y entre citas de Borges, Evita bailaba con Freud,&lt;br /&gt;ya llovió desde aquel chaparrón hasta hoy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iba cada domingo a tu puesto del rastro a comprarte&lt;br /&gt;carricoches de miga de pan, soldaditos de plata.&lt;br /&gt;Con aguita de un mar andaluz quise yo enamorarte&lt;br /&gt;pero tú no tenías más amor que el del Río de la plata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Duró la tormenta hasta entrados los años ochenta&lt;br /&gt;cuando el sol fue secando la ropa de la vieja Europa.&lt;br /&gt;No hay nostalgia peor que añorar lo que nunca jamás sucedió&lt;br /&gt;mándame una postal de San Telmo, adiós cuídate&lt;br /&gt;y sonó entre tú y yo el silbato del tren.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iba cada domingo a tu puesto del rastro a comprarte&lt;br /&gt;monigotes de miga de pan, caballitos de lata.&lt;br /&gt;Con aguita de un mar andaluz quise yo enamorarte&lt;br /&gt;pero tú no tenías más amor que el de río de la plata.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquellas banderas de la patria de la primavera&lt;br /&gt;a decirme que existe el olvido esta noche han venido&lt;br /&gt;te sentaba tan bien esa boina calada al estilo del Ché&lt;br /&gt;Buenos Aires es como contabas, hoy fui a pasear&lt;br /&gt;y al llegar y me puse a gritar ¿donde estás?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y no volví más a tu puesto del rastro a comprarte&lt;br /&gt;corazones de miga de pan, sombreritos de lata.&lt;br /&gt;Y ya nadie me escribe diciendo no consigo olvidarte&lt;br /&gt;ojalá que estuvieras conmigo en el Río de la plata&lt;br /&gt;Y no volví más a tu puesto del rastro a comprarte&lt;br /&gt;carricoches de miga de pan, soldaditos de lata.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-8316007425624383618?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/8316007425624383618/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=8316007425624383618' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/8316007425624383618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/8316007425624383618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/04/volver-o-no-volver-gardel-sabina.html' title='Volver o no volver, Gardel, Sabina'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/Sd_RP29Ao-I/AAAAAAAAE6M/EM7kAQylwv8/s72-c/_de_la_plata-Uruguay.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17895529.post-1778371986188210057</id><published>2009-03-31T22:15:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T22:16:16.606-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cine'/><title type='text'>Deliciosa Blueberry night</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SdLOYEr9r9I/AAAAAAAAE58/yvW3Zoyrujw/s1600-h/My_Blueberry_Nights1_inside.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SdLOYEr9r9I/AAAAAAAAE58/yvW3Zoyrujw/s320/My_Blueberry_Nights1_inside.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319541022848298962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a target="_popup6632" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1289528/"&gt;Elizabeth&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: So what's wrong with the Blueberry Pie?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a target="_popup6632" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000179/"&gt;Jeremy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: There's nothing wrong with the Blueberry Pie, just people make other choices. You can't blame the Blueberry Pie, it's just... no one wants it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a target="_popup6632" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1289528/"&gt;Elizabeth&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;: Wait! I want a piece.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogdirs.com"&gt;BlogDirectory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17895529-1778371986188210057?l=dafnescribe.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/feeds/1778371986188210057/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=17895529&amp;postID=1778371986188210057' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/1778371986188210057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17895529/posts/default/1778371986188210057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dafnescribe.blogspot.com/2009/03/deliciosa-blueberry-night.html' title='Deliciosa Blueberry night'/><author><name>Dafne Ink</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10108306287980968958</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01217883126059724094'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qoIMUG4By3k/SdLOYEr9r9I/AAAAAAAAE58/yvW3Zoyrujw/s72-c/My_Blueberry_Nights1_inside.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry></feed>