Pues, me ha llegado este juego, gracias Yolanda, en el cual debo confesar cinco hábitos extraños y/o bochornosos. Vamos al mambo. (diablo qué cursi quedó eso).
1. Dejo que me crescan las uñas de los dedos (generalmente solamente dos dedos en cada mano) por ninguna razón específica o especial. (A veces creo que es porque soy medio vampiro) Pero después me repugnan cómo se ven y me las arranco con los dientes. Al día siguiente me arrepiento porque no tengo con qué rascarme. (Y rascarse con unas uñas chéveres es tan bueno).
2. Tengo que dormir boca arriba, con dos almohadas mínimo y con el abanico prendido, aun cuando haga el frío más peludo en la historia (si no hay abanico, me tardo horas en dormirme, aun si hay aire acondicionado, it's not about the air, it's about the sound). Entonces, siempre me acuesto de lado y siempre me digo: "Joel, sabes que no te vas a dormir si te acuestas de lado", pero todas las noches lo hago y todas las noches lo digo (o casi todas).
3. Mis pies pueden apestar todo lo que ellos deseen, pero no pueden verse ni sentirse sucios en ningún momento. De día no salgo en chancletas, y si es de noche y hace mucho calor tampoco, la humedad hace que se le peguen cosas a los pies semidescalzos. Detesto andar descalzo, se me pegan tierritas y cosas y se me ensucian. no.
4. Si estoy hablando por teléfono tengo que dejar todo, porque si no pierdo la atención y la concentración de lo que me están diciendo. Y si se quedan callados al otro lado del teléfono por mucho tiempo digo: "adiós" porque no me gustan los silencios largos e incómodos. Después me quejo de que no me llaman.
5. Colecciono los Lego's Bionicle. I'm a dork.
6. A veces caminando me pongo a pisar las grietas y/o uniones de losetas en el piso, y a contar los pasos entre las grietas. A veces la regla es NO pisarlas. Y a veces en mi mente voy narrando somo si fuese una carrera de caballos o un partido de fútbol soccer: "Y tiene que pisar las tres siguientes grietas en cinco pasos exactos... ahí va... ahí va... ¡lo hizo, lo hizo, lo logró! ¡Ha hecho lo imposible!. Cosas así.
Sí, ya sé que puse seis. Es que se me fue la cuenta, porque también soy despistao.
ahora, a quién poner de "víctimas", jum.
David - http://vervenna.blogspot.com/
Nicole - http://nicolececilia.blogspot.com/
Ojitos - http://ojitosdemar.blogspot.com/
(((((BIBLIOTECA OCTAGONAL)))))
(((Libros-Películas-Paréntesis)))
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
STORY: Broken Smile
Broken Smile
by: Joel Feliciano
© 2006
Subconsciously my mind wanted to capture the blooming of the dark umbrellas on film. That's why I brought my (digital) camera that day. The rain was thin and annoying, and the clouds were swirling in the sky. I was waiting for the bus with a bunch of people under a tent. Some raindrops were pounding on the leather of the roof.
I was busy taking pictures of the people walking from the tent to the bus, opening and closing their umbrellas, when I noticed her, on the sidewalk, her face towards the rain, her eyes closed in a trance, a smile on her face. I took a picture of her. The drops dripping from her bangles, her hands limp on her sides, her head thrown back facing the ashed sky, her clothes soaking wet, plastered on her breast, on her stomach, on her legs. I took another picture and then thought that there were a lot of crazy people in the world.
My bus arrived. I tucked my camera in my jacket. Grabbed my umbrella, pushed the little black button, (I'm always aware of these small details, sometimes I'm annoyed, my girlfriend says that that's the nature of photographers, I guess she's right). So yes, I also noticed how I shook the umbrella so it would extend and then bloom with a flapping noise. I noticed the bony, metallic structure of the inside, and the little drops of rain that bounced off the black fabric just before I set the umbrella over me. The same thing happened when I stepped in the bus, but in rewind.
Through the dropleted glass I watched her stading there, smiling at the sky, unmoved, unbothered by the sharp cold drops of rain.
I checked the pictures in my camera, a stern-face guy lifting his umbrella, the inside of the flower of another, and then her. She is so happy.
I was shocked the next morning.
It has been raining for two days non-stop now, they announced floods on the news. One reporter even said that the world was drowning in tears, tears because of the light feather-like drops of rain.
She was still there, same clothes, same position, but her white blouse was stained with blood. She was still smiling, though, right before she fainted.
I ran with my black umbrella and covered her face from the rain. Her deep blue eyes were opened but they were lost in a raging storm.
"Are you Ok?"
I leaned to her face, her lips were slit and swollen, her teeth were bathed in blood, one of them was chipped. Watery tiny red rivers escaped her overflowed mouth.
"I lost my umbrella," she said spitting drops of blood and pointing to the sky.
"Who did this to you?"
"I don't know," she said looking away from the sky.
"Where did he go?", I quickly assumed that some brute guy did it.
"I don't know. I just lost my umbrella", she repeated, and I thought that she was really loosing her mind.
"Where? Where did you loose it?"
And she pointed up. I don't know why I ventured out of the comforting shade of my umbrella, but I did. I looked up to the smoked sky, one single drop stung my eye… A black dot was dancing in the clouds. I blinked, I focused, the dancing dot was still floating in the air.
"Do you see it? It kinda looks like a flower, doesn't it? It blew away yesterday, when I was walking."
That's when I noticed the puddle of water where she was lying, and the halo of water made by the falling drops from the corners of my umbrella, I noticed the bareness of a nearby tree.
"Is that why you were smiling?" I asked.
The winds in her eyes dissipated, she looked directly into mine, almost like she looked through me, she gave a weak smile and said: "I was crying."
by: Joel Feliciano
© 2006
Subconsciously my mind wanted to capture the blooming of the dark umbrellas on film. That's why I brought my (digital) camera that day. The rain was thin and annoying, and the clouds were swirling in the sky. I was waiting for the bus with a bunch of people under a tent. Some raindrops were pounding on the leather of the roof.
I was busy taking pictures of the people walking from the tent to the bus, opening and closing their umbrellas, when I noticed her, on the sidewalk, her face towards the rain, her eyes closed in a trance, a smile on her face. I took a picture of her. The drops dripping from her bangles, her hands limp on her sides, her head thrown back facing the ashed sky, her clothes soaking wet, plastered on her breast, on her stomach, on her legs. I took another picture and then thought that there were a lot of crazy people in the world.
My bus arrived. I tucked my camera in my jacket. Grabbed my umbrella, pushed the little black button, (I'm always aware of these small details, sometimes I'm annoyed, my girlfriend says that that's the nature of photographers, I guess she's right). So yes, I also noticed how I shook the umbrella so it would extend and then bloom with a flapping noise. I noticed the bony, metallic structure of the inside, and the little drops of rain that bounced off the black fabric just before I set the umbrella over me. The same thing happened when I stepped in the bus, but in rewind.
Through the dropleted glass I watched her stading there, smiling at the sky, unmoved, unbothered by the sharp cold drops of rain.
I checked the pictures in my camera, a stern-face guy lifting his umbrella, the inside of the flower of another, and then her. She is so happy.
I was shocked the next morning.
It has been raining for two days non-stop now, they announced floods on the news. One reporter even said that the world was drowning in tears, tears because of the light feather-like drops of rain.
She was still there, same clothes, same position, but her white blouse was stained with blood. She was still smiling, though, right before she fainted.
I ran with my black umbrella and covered her face from the rain. Her deep blue eyes were opened but they were lost in a raging storm.
"Are you Ok?"
I leaned to her face, her lips were slit and swollen, her teeth were bathed in blood, one of them was chipped. Watery tiny red rivers escaped her overflowed mouth.
"I lost my umbrella," she said spitting drops of blood and pointing to the sky.
"Who did this to you?"
"I don't know," she said looking away from the sky.
"Where did he go?", I quickly assumed that some brute guy did it.
"I don't know. I just lost my umbrella", she repeated, and I thought that she was really loosing her mind.
"Where? Where did you loose it?"
And she pointed up. I don't know why I ventured out of the comforting shade of my umbrella, but I did. I looked up to the smoked sky, one single drop stung my eye… A black dot was dancing in the clouds. I blinked, I focused, the dancing dot was still floating in the air.
"Do you see it? It kinda looks like a flower, doesn't it? It blew away yesterday, when I was walking."
That's when I noticed the puddle of water where she was lying, and the halo of water made by the falling drops from the corners of my umbrella, I noticed the bareness of a nearby tree.
"Is that why you were smiling?" I asked.
The winds in her eyes dissipated, she looked directly into mine, almost like she looked through me, she gave a weak smile and said: "I was crying."
Friday, January 20, 2006
Leche Sola
Hoy me bebí un vaso de leche sola. Hace tieeeeeeempo que no bebía leche sola, siempre era con chocolate o con azucar o con mantecado.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Six months!
Today, six months ago, I started to write in this blog. Wow. Time passes by ever so swiftly.
And here is my first "official" post, it has so many errors, but at that moment I didn't care. "Is home where the heart is or anywhere but here"
This date also marks the moment where this blog will change.
First: I don't think the translated Spanish version is ever coming (altho I might be wrong)... there is just so much... So, I'll just alternate languages between posts; and as you have seen, there are bilingual posts, so... whatever.
Second: aside from diary/comment content that this place has, I'm also going to put some actual short stories, some in english, some in spanish, some on both.
And that's it. Yep. See u.
And here is my first "official" post, it has so many errors, but at that moment I didn't care. "Is home where the heart is or anywhere but here"
This date also marks the moment where this blog will change.
First: I don't think the translated Spanish version is ever coming (altho I might be wrong)... there is just so much... So, I'll just alternate languages between posts; and as you have seen, there are bilingual posts, so... whatever.
Second: aside from diary/comment content that this place has, I'm also going to put some actual short stories, some in english, some in spanish, some on both.
And that's it. Yep. See u.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Bits for the Brain
Did you know?
Melcocha translates as: taffy!
It is soooo weird!
(melcocha, for those who don't get it, has a very negative connotation in Puerto Rico, it is a "something" that is gooey, mixed with a lot of stuff and kinda disgusting. It isn't something you'd buy in a candy store or in any store, it is something you create with any ingredients, just picture: mud with stick and shit, and mold and eggs, well, thats a very gross, graphic, hyperbolic example, but melcocha is not something you eat. Unlike Taffy!
You learn something everyday.
Melcocha translates as: taffy!
It is soooo weird!
(melcocha, for those who don't get it, has a very negative connotation in Puerto Rico, it is a "something" that is gooey, mixed with a lot of stuff and kinda disgusting. It isn't something you'd buy in a candy store or in any store, it is something you create with any ingredients, just picture: mud with stick and shit, and mold and eggs, well, thats a very gross, graphic, hyperbolic example, but melcocha is not something you eat. Unlike Taffy!
You learn something everyday.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Toda la Ternura. by Nicole Cecilia Delgado
(All the Tenderness)
Hi. It is not common for me to publish/post poetry here, and even less so poems that are not mine. As I have said: I'm a poetry-hater, (I'm more of a story kind of person) but sometimes I get an interesting idea that there is no other way of putting down if it is not on a poem. But that's not the case today.
The other day I went to derivas.net (a blog-like literary online magazine) and found the Poem you are about to read (original and translated version, of course). I read it and found it so tender and so simple, and it looks so small, and unimportant and fragile on the page... but after you read it you find the power in words, the power in being direct, simple, and true. The size of the poem has to do with the subject, and title. Here goes: Thanks to Nicole for lending it to us, and for writing it.
Toda la Ternura
por: Nicole Cecilia Delgado
Me gusta cuando empiezas a sobarme-
toda la ternura que te cabe en la cabeza
y también, sin querer
la que no sabes posible
evidente y expuesta
en el gesto valiente que te acerca
a mi vulnerabilidad
All the Tenderness
by: Nicole Celicilia Delgado
I like when you start to caress me--
all the tenderness that fits in your head
and also, unconsciously
the one you don't know possible
evident and exposed
in the brave gesture that moves you closer
to my vulnerability
Hi. It is not common for me to publish/post poetry here, and even less so poems that are not mine. As I have said: I'm a poetry-hater, (I'm more of a story kind of person) but sometimes I get an interesting idea that there is no other way of putting down if it is not on a poem. But that's not the case today.
The other day I went to derivas.net (a blog-like literary online magazine) and found the Poem you are about to read (original and translated version, of course). I read it and found it so tender and so simple, and it looks so small, and unimportant and fragile on the page... but after you read it you find the power in words, the power in being direct, simple, and true. The size of the poem has to do with the subject, and title. Here goes: Thanks to Nicole for lending it to us, and for writing it.
Toda la Ternura
por: Nicole Cecilia Delgado
Me gusta cuando empiezas a sobarme-
toda la ternura que te cabe en la cabeza
y también, sin querer
la que no sabes posible
evidente y expuesta
en el gesto valiente que te acerca
a mi vulnerabilidad
All the Tenderness
by: Nicole Celicilia Delgado
I like when you start to caress me--
all the tenderness that fits in your head
and also, unconsciously
the one you don't know possible
evident and exposed
in the brave gesture that moves you closer
to my vulnerability
Thursday, January 12, 2006
The mirror of wonders
Have you ever thought of looking at yourself?
No, not just stand in front a mirror and look at yourself.
I mean, really look at yourself, as if from someone else's eyes.
Could you stand your own image/presense
for more than the couple of minutes you spend in front of the mirror?
One doesn't notice how one changes, because one is always looking at oneself periodically.
But, we don't see ourselves all the time, like your boyfriend/girlfriends would.
It just bothers me that I cannot see myself, how I act or how I speak or how I look from someone else's perspective. I guess I'd have to keep a camera fixed on me all the time. But isn't it unconfortable to see yourself? At least at first?
Movie actors must be cured from themselves... I envy them.
Doesn't it bother you? I guess this is me and my insecurities talking...
But it would be cool to invade someone else's body just to see me, (and to see how that "someone else's body" feels...)
I'm just very curious about weird stuff like that. About imposibles. About existential questions like: doesn't it wonder you how your body stands on its two feet?
It wonders me.
No, not just stand in front a mirror and look at yourself.
I mean, really look at yourself, as if from someone else's eyes.
Could you stand your own image/presense
for more than the couple of minutes you spend in front of the mirror?
One doesn't notice how one changes, because one is always looking at oneself periodically.
But, we don't see ourselves all the time, like your boyfriend/girlfriends would.
It just bothers me that I cannot see myself, how I act or how I speak or how I look from someone else's perspective. I guess I'd have to keep a camera fixed on me all the time. But isn't it unconfortable to see yourself? At least at first?
Movie actors must be cured from themselves... I envy them.
Doesn't it bother you? I guess this is me and my insecurities talking...
But it would be cool to invade someone else's body just to see me, (and to see how that "someone else's body" feels...)
I'm just very curious about weird stuff like that. About imposibles. About existential questions like: doesn't it wonder you how your body stands on its two feet?
It wonders me.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
The Horribly Bad reviews surrounding the movie: BloodRayne
I like to go to this website: www.rottentomatoes.com , (a movie review website) (I wish there was a BOOK review website just like it...).
Anyway. I stumbled upon BLOODRAYNE. I was stunned by the bad reviews that this movie has. Well, I saw the trailer, and it looks horrid (and sounds horrid), but I mean, there should be at least someone that likes it. So, I went to rottentomatoes.com and found out that there is only ONE good review for this movie. And when I read the ONE review is not that good at all, it just say something like: "you should be drunk before going to watch this movie". Another thing that impressed me was the lack of reviewers that actually wrote something about the movie. Now, there are at least 200 reviewers that write in rottentomatoes, only 30! have reviewed this movie. So, I kept on reading, there must be a reason for this.
And I found it.
The movie has hugeamungous names: starting with: Michael Madsen (Kill Bill 2), Michelle Rodriguez (Blue Crush, Resident Evil), Ben Kingsley (academy award winner, Ghandi), Billy Zane (Titanic), Meat Loaf, even Charlie Chaplin's daugther is in this movie, and as Rayne we have Kristana Loken, better know as the badass-beautiful nemessis in Terminator 3. So, why is the movie bad? Because of the director, as stated by the reviewers. The director's name is Uwe Boll, from Germany I believe. His previous movies were: House of the dead, and Alone in the Dark. As you may have noticed, both movies are videogames, so now Bloodrayne starts to makes some sense.
It happens that this director has bad directing skills (sorry for redundancies). And no wonder I was wary of the trailer, there was something inside of me saying: this is stupidly horrendous, and my instincs were right. I have not seen House of the dead, nor Alone in the dark, because of the bad trailers (or wait, I think I saw Alone in the dark, but it is THAT forgettable...). But, I wanted to know more, I wanted to read what this director said about the critics. Instead, I found an interview that he gave just after filming. And as I read I could see the ineptness (is that word?), I won't say ineptness, I'll say: superficiallity of his words. Maybe the language barrier is what's holding back his "good words" and/or intelligent thoughts... But it is painful even to read his answers to the questions, its like he is trying to sell the movie at all cost. We all do that at some point, but in almost every question? And he has this teenage word-choice/mentallity that bothers me. Don't get me wrong, I might sound like he does sometimes (or a lot of times) but, come on, on an interview? Anyway, with that it was proven to me that he's not worthy of my 5.50-6.00 dollars (or 10.50 - 9.50 if you are not in Puerto Rico). Although, I might just go see it, just because I bothered to look info on it. I might see it if they show it here, but by the looks of it I don't think they will show it. Good for me, then.
Now, see for yourselves:
Trailer: http://www.apple.com/trailers/independent/bloodrayne/trailer/
Interview: http://filmforce.ign.com/articles/561/561872p1.html
Website: www.bloodrayne-themovie.com
Don't go into the website, it's flash and it takes a lot to upload if you have Dial-up.
goodbye
Anyway. I stumbled upon BLOODRAYNE. I was stunned by the bad reviews that this movie has. Well, I saw the trailer, and it looks horrid (and sounds horrid), but I mean, there should be at least someone that likes it. So, I went to rottentomatoes.com and found out that there is only ONE good review for this movie. And when I read the ONE review is not that good at all, it just say something like: "you should be drunk before going to watch this movie". Another thing that impressed me was the lack of reviewers that actually wrote something about the movie. Now, there are at least 200 reviewers that write in rottentomatoes, only 30! have reviewed this movie. So, I kept on reading, there must be a reason for this.
And I found it.
The movie has hugeamungous names: starting with: Michael Madsen (Kill Bill 2), Michelle Rodriguez (Blue Crush, Resident Evil), Ben Kingsley (academy award winner, Ghandi), Billy Zane (Titanic), Meat Loaf, even Charlie Chaplin's daugther is in this movie, and as Rayne we have Kristana Loken, better know as the badass-beautiful nemessis in Terminator 3. So, why is the movie bad? Because of the director, as stated by the reviewers. The director's name is Uwe Boll, from Germany I believe. His previous movies were: House of the dead, and Alone in the Dark. As you may have noticed, both movies are videogames, so now Bloodrayne starts to makes some sense.
It happens that this director has bad directing skills (sorry for redundancies). And no wonder I was wary of the trailer, there was something inside of me saying: this is stupidly horrendous, and my instincs were right. I have not seen House of the dead, nor Alone in the dark, because of the bad trailers (or wait, I think I saw Alone in the dark, but it is THAT forgettable...). But, I wanted to know more, I wanted to read what this director said about the critics. Instead, I found an interview that he gave just after filming. And as I read I could see the ineptness (is that word?), I won't say ineptness, I'll say: superficiallity of his words. Maybe the language barrier is what's holding back his "good words" and/or intelligent thoughts... But it is painful even to read his answers to the questions, its like he is trying to sell the movie at all cost. We all do that at some point, but in almost every question? And he has this teenage word-choice/mentallity that bothers me. Don't get me wrong, I might sound like he does sometimes (or a lot of times) but, come on, on an interview? Anyway, with that it was proven to me that he's not worthy of my 5.50-6.00 dollars (or 10.50 - 9.50 if you are not in Puerto Rico). Although, I might just go see it, just because I bothered to look info on it. I might see it if they show it here, but by the looks of it I don't think they will show it. Good for me, then.
Now, see for yourselves:
Trailer: http://www.apple.com/trailers/independent/bloodrayne/trailer/
Interview: http://filmforce.ign.com/articles/561/561872p1.html
Website: www.bloodrayne-themovie.com
Don't go into the website, it's flash and it takes a lot to upload if you have Dial-up.
goodbye
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Un pensamiento encontrado mientras limpio / A thought found while cleaning
La vida feliz
Y el mundo contento
les pertenece
sólo a los inocentes.
. 20/julio/1999
. 11:40 PM
The happy life
and the content world
is only owned
by inoncents.
. July 20, 1999
. 11:40 PM
Y el mundo contento
les pertenece
sólo a los inocentes.
. 20/julio/1999
. 11:40 PM
The happy life
and the content world
is only owned
by inoncents.
. July 20, 1999
. 11:40 PM
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