story workshop and Breviaries
gruesome.
not look at me, please, with those open and expectant ojímetros fried eggs on demand, waiting for another story lilting, chamullante, parlotero, manners and superlative, which tomes graduation speech! Do not ask me another unscrupulous account that the saliva in the colodrilo harasses me and I come from ideas en fila ordenada como tren para turistas bobos.
Nunca hay que confiar en demasía en las casquivanas memorias lacerantes y a veces dolorosas; que también los cicatrizantes y bienhechores olvidos nos llenan las oquedades cavernosas de la sabiola, embalsamando la existencia. ¡Sí! La dulce amnesia del Parnaso de los Enajenados de Todos los Días, si me permiten la digresión, e incluyéndome en ella, recuerdos aparte.
A veces, las palabras se nos atragantan en el garguero, como dudando entre salir o entresacar y se nos traspapelan en el secretaire del pensamiento como colacionados acreedores, motivando engañifas y revoltijo de datos al socaire. Y, que conste mi previa declinación y renuncia a todos los vanos boatos de la retórica herética; esa dolencia superlativa común a todo maestro de ceremonias, en plumaje de gallipavos, muy emplumados pero poco realistas.
Fíjense que no siempre las ideas bullentes pueden ser hiladas, surfiladas, remendadas, zurcidas o entretejidas como peluquín —que también encubre la cabeza como prótesis poco inteligente—, sino que requieren un cierto tiempo de maduración temporizada, como el buen vino; aunque sin dejar que se pudran de tanto madurar… o claudiquen de tanto esperar. Es decir, ni tan tan, ni muy muy, como podrán barruntar en el caletre si la lucidez no se les ha apagado aún en las molleras por falta de pago a la proveeduría de kilovatios triangulados, generados Itaipu in Brazil are imported.
A lexicon cojitranco needy and bustle, a lot of undecided, can adorn crutches, just a papyrus of the fourth, a palimpsest recently deleted after an erratic pentimento or pulp paper took second in pocket size. That, if I recall, they, in the Corin Tellado and sweetened romanticoides soap operas, the melon fly me gray with thirty-eight mark on the right. Or maybe, those paperbacks bruguerianos Don Marcial Lafuente Estefania, where always the bad guys were good guys and the law. Not like now, you do not know on which side and pistols everyone feel comfortable with any that knows how to handle with care, such as women or pets: bandits or police, it does not matter.
Look, that in literature at least, there are no mysteries unveiled, or endorsed by quadrupedal syntax. Nor tangled by solecisms anachronistic, or metaphors mutilated by rusty scissors linguistic limitation.
mode concoct a story, read, written, sung, danced, oral or telepathic variants has been customary over time, as you have seen. From the mythical delusions of the bard Homer terribly discursive, through the miracle of the Pentateuch theogonies LF and those who followed him, until pluscuamposmodernistas modern times science-friction post-futuristic.
And do not ask me about it, because you already know them from A to pa, for having participated before those pundits writing workshops for women, cows and addicts unrecoverable profane lyrics homely. That is heterodox quixotic hallucinations, swirling storm giants beard of the same language dictionary, with that gallantry lameness devoid of misshapen or contradicted.
also conjecture that something you have read, even if gratirola darling and there, I do not fit in the brain cacuminosa suspicion to the contrary. If not, would not be here, surrounding me in a circle of onlookers thrill-seekers, such as fever of novices unconfessed menarche.
As I said, requires not only a narrative introduction, development and outcome, which also links can add up and the extroducciones that usually do not appear in recitals and workshops such as desiderandos postineros, paquirris and nobility to which you come, from time to time, like butterflies phototrophic and suicidal, looking for traitors incinerantes chandeliers chandeliers.
If we look better, sometimes not even required on those entries such as "Once upon a time ..." or, "in times of ..." which to us are usually packaged in some tomes for infants, as if the writers of these monstrosities were Herod syndrome flower heads.
No. A story, of whatever length, "is something serious, like third-class undertaker, to be careful not to mess up in mess of others, or artificial flaunt erudition as tie chimpanzees. Even less, when the case requires simple words, like breakfast or poor literacy primer adulterers night schools. That he does not waver
the challenge of any Ateneo Sanroquense [1] of dipsomaniacs cronies and omnipresent, and heavy and impenetrable that they see the forest of fast-paced and apestillas epifonemas-forgiveness Apostilles I meant-cultures of peripheral sub Parnassus decadent.
Yes, dear classmates of this workshop. I know you are eager to hear a story that will stand up the hairs of the soul shake them until they burst cardiac fibers in an emotional climax, which makes them chicken skin to a cold sweat, but I'm not letting go, without being you adequately prepared to assimilate new techniques psicofuturistas, this server is developing and rolling out, in abstractum. And just for the secret of quiet enjoyment volptuoso sensitive, contained in some ebúrnea Ivory Tower, but not devoid of pens and computers.
No cabe desanimarse por el tórrido desierto de las Letras, donde el único número es el infinito; donde el único sendero es el horizonte, abierto como en un abrazo. Donde podéis transitar sin trepidar ante alambradas restrictivas, ortigas urticantes, zopencos poli necios, o podencos y gozques con más ladridos que colmillos; los que tampoco faltan en el sinuoso discurrir de los caminantes.
Desde el habla lunfardosa y trepidante de los rioplatenses —citadinos o de a caballo—, o el chamullo chévere antillano, hasta las pulidas expresiones filológicas de los sedentarios clásicos del idioma, han de brillar por sus fueros en cualquier palestra vindicadora bajo la Cruz del Sur. Fíjense que el tres veces grande Jorge Luis Borges (solicito un minuto de silencio para tan trascendental y gallarda pluma, hoy omniausente), no pudo haber relatado esas epopeyas cuchilleras, con sabor a callejuelas arrabaleras y compadritos de tacón y facón, sin las afanosas manos y la jocunda verba trabucada de Adolfo Bioy Casares; quien llevara a niveles casi culteranos el habla salvaje de los mataderos orilleros del sur. Tal como John Dos Passos exaltara, en inglés, al áspero cow-boy y al bandolero fugitivo de “Pasó por aquí”.
También García Márquez llevó a la literatura universal (siguiendo los pasos de Elliott, Joyce, Faulkner y otros), el lenguaje coloquial de la Colombia profunda, vallenata y visceral. Lástima is no doubt that our experienced and ex ex red monkey, Augusto Roa, which has tried to polish-talkative goldsmith, armed with chisel lexicographic wonderful, "the villager speaks of Paraguay interioranos without success, or achieving a medium. May have been entangled in the nation by Hispanic bibliofagia, steeped in the touloussienne Roquefort cheese, in addition to a prolonged absence of the soil for reasons not entirely clear. Free
Lederer, Sanchos mine, who kicked to step mills and crepuscular Guarani lost for lack of intelligent use. There's a reason that dogs bark at the moon, perhaps because they never bite, and that may make them feel like advantage.
As Mario Vargas Llosa, one that barks at the moon futilely sinister happened, sorry to Trots useful idiot of the first-mundismo although, fortunately, continues to write well, since they pay same, that does not disdain dollars or euros to keep that habit, which makes no monks vows of poverty and resentment that non-consensual, but yes, write the order and letter.
But he that speaks, from the hangar of my teeth, no more than a storyteller, which is immeasurable need listeners ears and run around in amazement. No excessive place in contemporary literature for gayo gracious concessions to vulgar and coarse taste, or to foil fakes esgrimista al florilegio despalabrado del despelote verbal deslustrado y callejero.
A veces menguado y anémico favor hacen Salamanca y Alcalá, frente al parloteo costumbrista, altisonante y viril que impone, consuetudinariamente, sus fueros comunicativos, en la comunicativa e hispano-parlanchina región austral que pisotean ajetreando nuestros extremismos inferiores.
Pero, volviendo al tema del relato, sabrán que la gestualidad y la oralidad guturalizada han dominado, por milenios, la comunicación humana anterior a hieroglifos y letras, buriladas o escritas. Luego, pasarían a convertirse las sonoras palabras en grafemas visuales, papiros, vitelas, estelas, pergaminos, palimpsestos o simples papeles, amarillentos of both bookish bored in cryptic labyrinths of libraries; plethoric of Florentine scholarship foolish, filtered through Latin word made resurrected, or Gallicisms anacolutha, noblesse oblige, if not dating Germanic gothic-flavored rusty iron, which never had exhumed Goethe himself, if I may narrow.
In the days when the throat of hominids did not harbor any coherent sounds, I say, talking with gestures, dances, jumps and growls ... and were understood by their peers and even some domesticated animals that accompanied them on their adventures and misadventures the random everyday thereafter. Only when the slovenly
erectus dominated pitecanthropus its still rough larynx-a guttural profanity force may, "could articulate sounds more or less intelligible, let alone the hopping and dancing, more for convenience, I believe. Although he continued, until today, with pompous gestures of arms and shaking his monkey's affirmative hair on shoulders ideicida undecided acumen, and an occasional bow stronger greasy to the tribe, as is customary in politics today. Look
just discurseros candidates, especially when they lie with chutzpah substantial. They really know how to tell stories! Only for idiots and understaffed in series spits expelled as a musician since educastradoras institutions, with zeal worthy of better causes! And do not tell them the reverence with which more flexible ridges or arnica liniment obsequious without any!
But to go beat them on stories. A phrase here, chanted quietly by the score of rigor, and another beyond the style for flavored seasoning and, thus, little by little, one is spinning the story-as you can see and hear.
And please do not look to face me I was not, I'm more explicit signal of the European motorway.
The protagonists of a story, fictional or not, must be a man, and above all, be good actors in a scene-experiential invisible pero tangible—, de la cotidianeidad dicharachera y jacarandosa… o de la mufa depresiva en camiseta, que tampoco hay que desdeñarla. ¡Voto al Bello Cuervo!
Ésos, que relataron fábulas acerca de seres casi sobrenaturales, o animales parlanchines no emparentados con el loro, no merecen la devoción de mi plumífera alcurnia transgresora; pues son los precursores de la política, de sus providemenciales engendros caudillescos y espadones acartonados de epopeyas mitológicas. Prefiero relatos acerca de gente común, como yo, como ustedes, como hijos de vecino, antes que de dioses, semidioses o ángeles de teología-ficción.
¡Pues, miren que ese mono sapiens con revólver ha saliva spilled ink, to invent gods and supermen of utility over several thousand years of written mitopopeyas! And all for what?
To escape the inexorable certainty of hypocrites obituaries and nothingness is doomed to every living thing is made ultrasepulcrales literary havens, such as pre-mortem vain consolation. Cold comfort, I would say, that immortality is a myth unifying mystical idiot or desperate confessed ætillicum Opus clouded. Amen.
But I see that you are eager to hear something with feet, trunk and head. Excited to engulf a story that it gets into the deepest fibers, albeit with imaginary bathyscaphe. But as members of this workshop, some formal and finolis anything, should assimilate certain rules that then can break at will. That's why there are rules and regulations. To know them, acknowledge them and then throw the olvidadero of the Real, that says it cleans, fixes and gives splendor to not know what or something I can not remember now.
And I can not put into inquisitors insect pests, which then will ask me a truce licentious, or a bland soup of letters, picnic ideas and sayings of fictitious sources gallegáceos refranescos.
On the oath blasphemous heretic, cathartic and wild, requires a separate paragraph of my contribution clarifier. Many contemporary classics
the use and abuse, but I consider to be administered with delicate restraint, lest they lose their bilious and boisterous charm. Also for your triumphant peyoratividad not diluted by overuse, like poison homeopathic, to losing its aggressive vis oligophrenic semantics. And stop yawning, by Jove! I'm hoarse shouting to illustrate the ruff of the relativity of the stories, while you, ostensibly still swimming in the basin of the commonplace, out of time trying to make waves!
will have noticed, if lynx-pespicaces avizorantes and that, sometimes, the demographics of my brazen stylistic lexicon breed me a bit. Perhaps so called brain drain, blending my capacity for expression and the head leaving some bald ideas inside. It is therefore inevitable that crooks soil or the Petit Larousse Espasa Calpe, but I tend to suck, eagerly, the teats of milk good literature Cervantes and Golden Age, abundant and nutritious, if any. Nor am so inexperienced or maimed lepantino this land of feathers, pens and keys tabulations, but mouth and still depend on the gray floor area memorial, says I do not remember a tango. And this frivolous
cacuménica entity that exhilarating rides on my shoulders like a pendulum the other way around, elude tangentially enamored with trinkets printed, the type Reader's Digest, not always reliable and rather undignified fide, more than anything for his suspected bias depolarized with excessive compass north.
if not cleave the chamullo me, because I see them again face the question mark to distill and hiding half yawns. As I said, a story must have spices to give flavor and aroma, as humor, suspense, uncertainty, the unexpected, chaotic at times, spiced with a dash of human relationships, without falling into that awful kitsch, a that the decaying called "romance" modernists, "castling sentimental" postmodernists, "empathy" and the pre futuristic "eroticism pheromone." All these figures do not always coincide, and repeat offenders, but incident to report, according to the tricks of the hack reporter.
is true that many stories begin with the ending and post crabs make ie: reverse toward the beginning, as if seeking a return to the womb of the imagination hazy, perhaps as a sort of chronological breakdown of the linear. But all positions are lawful and retrogressive steps to hatch an argumentum.
Many pages have been written, but its effects there is nothing for taste, either. The most imaginative, are pure fiction, the others are the historical documentary based on pre-digested and jugglers.
Most prefer to run in the beaten paths of the banal and well-known, making rehashes of legends or "cases" of oral tradition. Ie: a mere collection melodramatic, as did the unfortunate Horacio Quiroga rehashes of Kipling, but the South American.
madness can also be a good topic of metapsychological stories, like tragedy "Der Jügend Werther" by Goethe, or the macabre tales of Poe, Lovecraft and Hawthorne, to name a few. Violations witches, and fall into the third option because it does not remain mere recreations of files and their unholy inquisition Colt pre horrendous judgments, boot and empolgueras, prior to the fires.
I have not always quivering in many and foolish insult against scribes, packed with free truculence, as needy and disdainful of imagination and humor, that is to literature what the stuffing and salt, I also believe, without equivocation, what the clitoris to womanhood.
There are people who can barely tolerate comprendery caliber guides of apricots ... or jokes and jokes late digest finest of those games and evening hackneyed bookish cafes. Mind you, the macabre and tanatofílicas literature will fall like a glove to anyone. Please believe me, look at the amount of horror stories y películas de dar pánico a los menos avisados. ¡Y miren que esos engendros pseudo fantásticos venden como pan caliente! Pero ¡guarda la tosca! Que eso es una forma de apología del terror y la violencia, digo yo. ¡Voto a Belcebush!
Pero no se me duerman, coños, que el púlpito dicharachero me va quedando chico para la aclaratoria acerca de cómo hacer un relato con todo y barahúnda bataholística. Ahora, cada uno de ustedes tiene la posta para no pasar al congelador de ideas. Para la próxima sesión de este taller, me traen un relato breve de su cosecha, con tema libre y un máximo de diez carillas a espacio y medio.
¿Cómo me van a pedir una relación relativa de la confección of a story, if that's what I was babbling all evening? Let them go with everything and colors benetton united, and drizzle them finolis! And health, for my part, Manco of Horror!
[1] Surely the bar San Roque, asunceno intellectual hangout.
gruesome.
not look at me, please, with those open and expectant ojímetros fried eggs on demand, waiting for another story lilting, chamullante, parlotero, manners and superlative, which tomes graduation speech! Do not ask me another unscrupulous account that the saliva in the colodrilo harasses me and I come from ideas en fila ordenada como tren para turistas bobos.
Nunca hay que confiar en demasía en las casquivanas memorias lacerantes y a veces dolorosas; que también los cicatrizantes y bienhechores olvidos nos llenan las oquedades cavernosas de la sabiola, embalsamando la existencia. ¡Sí! La dulce amnesia del Parnaso de los Enajenados de Todos los Días, si me permiten la digresión, e incluyéndome en ella, recuerdos aparte.
A veces, las palabras se nos atragantan en el garguero, como dudando entre salir o entresacar y se nos traspapelan en el secretaire del pensamiento como colacionados acreedores, motivando engañifas y revoltijo de datos al socaire. Y, que conste mi previa declinación y renuncia a todos los vanos boatos de la retórica herética; esa dolencia superlativa común a todo maestro de ceremonias, en plumaje de gallipavos, muy emplumados pero poco realistas.
Fíjense que no siempre las ideas bullentes pueden ser hiladas, surfiladas, remendadas, zurcidas o entretejidas como peluquín —que también encubre la cabeza como prótesis poco inteligente—, sino que requieren un cierto tiempo de maduración temporizada, como el buen vino; aunque sin dejar que se pudran de tanto madurar… o claudiquen de tanto esperar. Es decir, ni tan tan, ni muy muy, como podrán barruntar en el caletre si la lucidez no se les ha apagado aún en las molleras por falta de pago a la proveeduría de kilovatios triangulados, generados Itaipu in Brazil are imported.
A lexicon cojitranco needy and bustle, a lot of undecided, can adorn crutches, just a papyrus of the fourth, a palimpsest recently deleted after an erratic pentimento or pulp paper took second in pocket size. That, if I recall, they, in the Corin Tellado and sweetened romanticoides soap operas, the melon fly me gray with thirty-eight mark on the right. Or maybe, those paperbacks bruguerianos Don Marcial Lafuente Estefania, where always the bad guys were good guys and the law. Not like now, you do not know on which side and pistols everyone feel comfortable with any that knows how to handle with care, such as women or pets: bandits or police, it does not matter.
Look, that in literature at least, there are no mysteries unveiled, or endorsed by quadrupedal syntax. Nor tangled by solecisms anachronistic, or metaphors mutilated by rusty scissors linguistic limitation.
mode concoct a story, read, written, sung, danced, oral or telepathic variants has been customary over time, as you have seen. From the mythical delusions of the bard Homer terribly discursive, through the miracle of the Pentateuch theogonies LF and those who followed him, until pluscuamposmodernistas modern times science-friction post-futuristic.
And do not ask me about it, because you already know them from A to pa, for having participated before those pundits writing workshops for women, cows and addicts unrecoverable profane lyrics homely. That is heterodox quixotic hallucinations, swirling storm giants beard of the same language dictionary, with that gallantry lameness devoid of misshapen or contradicted.
also conjecture that something you have read, even if gratirola darling and there, I do not fit in the brain cacuminosa suspicion to the contrary. If not, would not be here, surrounding me in a circle of onlookers thrill-seekers, such as fever of novices unconfessed menarche.
As I said, requires not only a narrative introduction, development and outcome, which also links can add up and the extroducciones that usually do not appear in recitals and workshops such as desiderandos postineros, paquirris and nobility to which you come, from time to time, like butterflies phototrophic and suicidal, looking for traitors incinerantes chandeliers chandeliers.
If we look better, sometimes not even required on those entries such as "Once upon a time ..." or, "in times of ..." which to us are usually packaged in some tomes for infants, as if the writers of these monstrosities were Herod syndrome flower heads.
No. A story, of whatever length, "is something serious, like third-class undertaker, to be careful not to mess up in mess of others, or artificial flaunt erudition as tie chimpanzees. Even less, when the case requires simple words, like breakfast or poor literacy primer adulterers night schools. That he does not waver
the challenge of any Ateneo Sanroquense [1] of dipsomaniacs cronies and omnipresent, and heavy and impenetrable that they see the forest of fast-paced and apestillas epifonemas-forgiveness Apostilles I meant-cultures of peripheral sub Parnassus decadent.
Yes, dear classmates of this workshop. I know you are eager to hear a story that will stand up the hairs of the soul shake them until they burst cardiac fibers in an emotional climax, which makes them chicken skin to a cold sweat, but I'm not letting go, without being you adequately prepared to assimilate new techniques psicofuturistas, this server is developing and rolling out, in abstractum. And just for the secret of quiet enjoyment volptuoso sensitive, contained in some ebúrnea Ivory Tower, but not devoid of pens and computers.
No cabe desanimarse por el tórrido desierto de las Letras, donde el único número es el infinito; donde el único sendero es el horizonte, abierto como en un abrazo. Donde podéis transitar sin trepidar ante alambradas restrictivas, ortigas urticantes, zopencos poli necios, o podencos y gozques con más ladridos que colmillos; los que tampoco faltan en el sinuoso discurrir de los caminantes.
Desde el habla lunfardosa y trepidante de los rioplatenses —citadinos o de a caballo—, o el chamullo chévere antillano, hasta las pulidas expresiones filológicas de los sedentarios clásicos del idioma, han de brillar por sus fueros en cualquier palestra vindicadora bajo la Cruz del Sur. Fíjense que el tres veces grande Jorge Luis Borges (solicito un minuto de silencio para tan trascendental y gallarda pluma, hoy omniausente), no pudo haber relatado esas epopeyas cuchilleras, con sabor a callejuelas arrabaleras y compadritos de tacón y facón, sin las afanosas manos y la jocunda verba trabucada de Adolfo Bioy Casares; quien llevara a niveles casi culteranos el habla salvaje de los mataderos orilleros del sur. Tal como John Dos Passos exaltara, en inglés, al áspero cow-boy y al bandolero fugitivo de “Pasó por aquí”.
También García Márquez llevó a la literatura universal (siguiendo los pasos de Elliott, Joyce, Faulkner y otros), el lenguaje coloquial de la Colombia profunda, vallenata y visceral. Lástima is no doubt that our experienced and ex ex red monkey, Augusto Roa, which has tried to polish-talkative goldsmith, armed with chisel lexicographic wonderful, "the villager speaks of Paraguay interioranos without success, or achieving a medium. May have been entangled in the nation by Hispanic bibliofagia, steeped in the touloussienne Roquefort cheese, in addition to a prolonged absence of the soil for reasons not entirely clear. Free
Lederer, Sanchos mine, who kicked to step mills and crepuscular Guarani lost for lack of intelligent use. There's a reason that dogs bark at the moon, perhaps because they never bite, and that may make them feel like advantage.
As Mario Vargas Llosa, one that barks at the moon futilely sinister happened, sorry to Trots useful idiot of the first-mundismo although, fortunately, continues to write well, since they pay same, that does not disdain dollars or euros to keep that habit, which makes no monks vows of poverty and resentment that non-consensual, but yes, write the order and letter.
But he that speaks, from the hangar of my teeth, no more than a storyteller, which is immeasurable need listeners ears and run around in amazement. No excessive place in contemporary literature for gayo gracious concessions to vulgar and coarse taste, or to foil fakes esgrimista al florilegio despalabrado del despelote verbal deslustrado y callejero.
A veces menguado y anémico favor hacen Salamanca y Alcalá, frente al parloteo costumbrista, altisonante y viril que impone, consuetudinariamente, sus fueros comunicativos, en la comunicativa e hispano-parlanchina región austral que pisotean ajetreando nuestros extremismos inferiores.
Pero, volviendo al tema del relato, sabrán que la gestualidad y la oralidad guturalizada han dominado, por milenios, la comunicación humana anterior a hieroglifos y letras, buriladas o escritas. Luego, pasarían a convertirse las sonoras palabras en grafemas visuales, papiros, vitelas, estelas, pergaminos, palimpsestos o simples papeles, amarillentos of both bookish bored in cryptic labyrinths of libraries; plethoric of Florentine scholarship foolish, filtered through Latin word made resurrected, or Gallicisms anacolutha, noblesse oblige, if not dating Germanic gothic-flavored rusty iron, which never had exhumed Goethe himself, if I may narrow.
In the days when the throat of hominids did not harbor any coherent sounds, I say, talking with gestures, dances, jumps and growls ... and were understood by their peers and even some domesticated animals that accompanied them on their adventures and misadventures the random everyday thereafter. Only when the slovenly
erectus dominated pitecanthropus its still rough larynx-a guttural profanity force may, "could articulate sounds more or less intelligible, let alone the hopping and dancing, more for convenience, I believe. Although he continued, until today, with pompous gestures of arms and shaking his monkey's affirmative hair on shoulders ideicida undecided acumen, and an occasional bow stronger greasy to the tribe, as is customary in politics today. Look
just discurseros candidates, especially when they lie with chutzpah substantial. They really know how to tell stories! Only for idiots and understaffed in series spits expelled as a musician since educastradoras institutions, with zeal worthy of better causes! And do not tell them the reverence with which more flexible ridges or arnica liniment obsequious without any!
But to go beat them on stories. A phrase here, chanted quietly by the score of rigor, and another beyond the style for flavored seasoning and, thus, little by little, one is spinning the story-as you can see and hear.
And please do not look to face me I was not, I'm more explicit signal of the European motorway.
The protagonists of a story, fictional or not, must be a man, and above all, be good actors in a scene-experiential invisible pero tangible—, de la cotidianeidad dicharachera y jacarandosa… o de la mufa depresiva en camiseta, que tampoco hay que desdeñarla. ¡Voto al Bello Cuervo!
Ésos, que relataron fábulas acerca de seres casi sobrenaturales, o animales parlanchines no emparentados con el loro, no merecen la devoción de mi plumífera alcurnia transgresora; pues son los precursores de la política, de sus providemenciales engendros caudillescos y espadones acartonados de epopeyas mitológicas. Prefiero relatos acerca de gente común, como yo, como ustedes, como hijos de vecino, antes que de dioses, semidioses o ángeles de teología-ficción.
¡Pues, miren que ese mono sapiens con revólver ha saliva spilled ink, to invent gods and supermen of utility over several thousand years of written mitopopeyas! And all for what?
To escape the inexorable certainty of hypocrites obituaries and nothingness is doomed to every living thing is made ultrasepulcrales literary havens, such as pre-mortem vain consolation. Cold comfort, I would say, that immortality is a myth unifying mystical idiot or desperate confessed ætillicum Opus clouded. Amen.
But I see that you are eager to hear something with feet, trunk and head. Excited to engulf a story that it gets into the deepest fibers, albeit with imaginary bathyscaphe. But as members of this workshop, some formal and finolis anything, should assimilate certain rules that then can break at will. That's why there are rules and regulations. To know them, acknowledge them and then throw the olvidadero of the Real, that says it cleans, fixes and gives splendor to not know what or something I can not remember now.
And I can not put into inquisitors insect pests, which then will ask me a truce licentious, or a bland soup of letters, picnic ideas and sayings of fictitious sources gallegáceos refranescos.
On the oath blasphemous heretic, cathartic and wild, requires a separate paragraph of my contribution clarifier. Many contemporary classics
the use and abuse, but I consider to be administered with delicate restraint, lest they lose their bilious and boisterous charm. Also for your triumphant peyoratividad not diluted by overuse, like poison homeopathic, to losing its aggressive vis oligophrenic semantics. And stop yawning, by Jove! I'm hoarse shouting to illustrate the ruff of the relativity of the stories, while you, ostensibly still swimming in the basin of the commonplace, out of time trying to make waves!
will have noticed, if lynx-pespicaces avizorantes and that, sometimes, the demographics of my brazen stylistic lexicon breed me a bit. Perhaps so called brain drain, blending my capacity for expression and the head leaving some bald ideas inside. It is therefore inevitable that crooks soil or the Petit Larousse Espasa Calpe, but I tend to suck, eagerly, the teats of milk good literature Cervantes and Golden Age, abundant and nutritious, if any. Nor am so inexperienced or maimed lepantino this land of feathers, pens and keys tabulations, but mouth and still depend on the gray floor area memorial, says I do not remember a tango. And this frivolous
cacuménica entity that exhilarating rides on my shoulders like a pendulum the other way around, elude tangentially enamored with trinkets printed, the type Reader's Digest, not always reliable and rather undignified fide, more than anything for his suspected bias depolarized with excessive compass north.
if not cleave the chamullo me, because I see them again face the question mark to distill and hiding half yawns. As I said, a story must have spices to give flavor and aroma, as humor, suspense, uncertainty, the unexpected, chaotic at times, spiced with a dash of human relationships, without falling into that awful kitsch, a that the decaying called "romance" modernists, "castling sentimental" postmodernists, "empathy" and the pre futuristic "eroticism pheromone." All these figures do not always coincide, and repeat offenders, but incident to report, according to the tricks of the hack reporter.
is true that many stories begin with the ending and post crabs make ie: reverse toward the beginning, as if seeking a return to the womb of the imagination hazy, perhaps as a sort of chronological breakdown of the linear. But all positions are lawful and retrogressive steps to hatch an argumentum.
Many pages have been written, but its effects there is nothing for taste, either. The most imaginative, are pure fiction, the others are the historical documentary based on pre-digested and jugglers.
Most prefer to run in the beaten paths of the banal and well-known, making rehashes of legends or "cases" of oral tradition. Ie: a mere collection melodramatic, as did the unfortunate Horacio Quiroga rehashes of Kipling, but the South American.
madness can also be a good topic of metapsychological stories, like tragedy "Der Jügend Werther" by Goethe, or the macabre tales of Poe, Lovecraft and Hawthorne, to name a few. Violations witches, and fall into the third option because it does not remain mere recreations of files and their unholy inquisition Colt pre horrendous judgments, boot and empolgueras, prior to the fires.
I have not always quivering in many and foolish insult against scribes, packed with free truculence, as needy and disdainful of imagination and humor, that is to literature what the stuffing and salt, I also believe, without equivocation, what the clitoris to womanhood.
There are people who can barely tolerate comprendery caliber guides of apricots ... or jokes and jokes late digest finest of those games and evening hackneyed bookish cafes. Mind you, the macabre and tanatofílicas literature will fall like a glove to anyone. Please believe me, look at the amount of horror stories y películas de dar pánico a los menos avisados. ¡Y miren que esos engendros pseudo fantásticos venden como pan caliente! Pero ¡guarda la tosca! Que eso es una forma de apología del terror y la violencia, digo yo. ¡Voto a Belcebush!
Pero no se me duerman, coños, que el púlpito dicharachero me va quedando chico para la aclaratoria acerca de cómo hacer un relato con todo y barahúnda bataholística. Ahora, cada uno de ustedes tiene la posta para no pasar al congelador de ideas. Para la próxima sesión de este taller, me traen un relato breve de su cosecha, con tema libre y un máximo de diez carillas a espacio y medio.
¿Cómo me van a pedir una relación relativa de la confección of a story, if that's what I was babbling all evening? Let them go with everything and colors benetton united, and drizzle them finolis! And health, for my part, Manco of Horror!
[1] Surely the bar San Roque, asunceno intellectual hangout.
http://www.tetraskelion.org/trova/index.html
To access the music composed and performed by Chester Swann
with VOX POPULI Project, composed of Noelia Nunez (voice ), Lea Rhodes (voice). Horacio
Cordeiro (Adagio Studies), Quique Calabrese (guitar, track 11), Rolo
Chapman (guitar, track 10), Chester Swann (guitarras eléctricas de 6 y 12 cuerdas, teclados sintetizadores y samplers, bajo electroacústiuco, arreglos,
voz, coros, composiciones y montaje final)
To access the music composed and performed by Chester Swann
with VOX POPULI Project, composed of Noelia Nunez (voice ), Lea Rhodes (voice). Horacio
Cordeiro (Adagio Studies), Quique Calabrese (guitar, track 11), Rolo
Chapman (guitar, track 10), Chester Swann (guitarras eléctricas de 6 y 12 cuerdas, teclados sintetizadores y samplers, bajo electroacústiuco, arreglos,
voz, coros, composiciones y montaje final)
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