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A further cracking! All time low


This video of presentation of "Rajesh's Office" the successful (chúpense the Grapefruit) book by journalist Pedro Salinas, where, as we know, interview colleagues talking about the different aspect of the profession and exploring their fears and most diverse admiration . The video happy (now I) good Pedro said the possibility of more volumes thereof.
I, from this humble forum, I will propose some possible continuations of this saga, with forgiveness for which I mention below.

Rajes of Note No. 3: The Dark Side:
In this book, Pedro focus its efforts on uncovering the secrets of the cheeky, the washing of face and of course, the defense of the most diverse interests to less of the arguments. Some potential respondents may be Luis García Miró, Uri Ben-Shmuel, Magaly Medina, Alejandro Guerrero, Jessica Tapia, Nicolas Lucar, Alamo Perez Luna, Paola Rey and yapa Umberto Jara, to which we must ask (which I could not do until now) as time was to lead 20 and 8 years after witness against Fujimori.

Rajes of Note No. 4: The Fan-Balls: Oh
, sports! The maximum opium of the people. And there's nothing better than the scholars in this area, where there ego, alter-ego, experience and crap together like nowhere else. Those involved in this crime could be Alberto Bengoa, Phillip Butters, El Veco, Kike Perez, Eddie Fleishman, Micky Rospigliosi, Tito Navarro, Gustavo Barnes, Renato Cisneros and Erick Osores. Extra points for the pages devoted to the career of "little bubble" of Cisneros Bengolea and ask if they really found a girlfriend.

Rajesh's Note No. 5: The Dinosaurs: Volume
dedicated to journalism's old guard left, the major representatives of the press Marxist, pro-Marxist and related that he got his big swing in the 80s. For this occasion, with participation of famous people like John Gargurevich, Ricardo Uceda, Luis will pass, Ángel Páez, Edmundo Cruz, Santiago Pedraglio, Guillermo Thorndike, César Lévano, Wiener and finally Jose Maria "El Chema" Salcedo. Old partisan differences, major national traumas and life after the fall of the Wall would be some ongoing issues in this book.

Rajesh's Note No. 6: All-Star Bloggers:
In counterbalance to the dense previous edition, would be the right time to achieve an end almost orgasmic culmination with the new breed of journalists who swarm inospito virtual corner of the web . Major representatives of the Internet as Marco "Ocram" Sifuentes, Jose Alejandro Godoy, Gustavo Faverón, Fernando "Pospost" Obregon, Roberto "The Walrus" Bustamante, Paola Ugaz, Victor (intruduzca insult here) "Coral, Luis Carlos" Henry Spencer "Burnet, Francisco" Paco "Bardales and Christian" Jojoy "Manrique, who would answer questions about the process acid to provide information on the web. Virtual wars, how to copy-paste and get away with it, as being immune to the insults more daring, write long dissertations without fear of being read and the latest technique to turn a stranger into the future star of Youtube would be some things that our respondents have to dodge.

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(Thanks to Godoy, the aide-memoire of the names)

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And after seeing this, I have to make fun of my fellow advertising. No, really, by Sarita, this is already high the worse, the holocaust, Armageddon, hyperinflation, the supreme anal prolapse. Apparently the stars are aligned (Or insane?) So that everything falls like a tide than a tsunami of disappointment greedy, an avalanche of intrinsic statements that make me scream, very loudly: WTF! First
Luis "Dopey" Castaneda accusing all critics with reasons to have "mentality winemaker, Luis Alva Castro still being Prime Minister and of course, Alan Garcia congratulated China for its treatment of Human Rights (at least going to Top 5 of the phrases of the year), in this video, the last major link in the Peruvianism more absurd, the real more unbearable wonderful, the amazing proposal from the sale of soul to watch the rest over his shoulder.
I imagine that he who made this video has some marriages filmed, some candies sold and some radio stations as not recycled. I guess EF Schumacher should be compensated at his grave in the most rude possible, since the moral of all is that one needs of small to achieve big. But there is a giant conspiracy going on against retailers, speculators, winemakers and the like, critics, columnists, opponents, human rights defenders ("caviar is irrelevant), farmers, victims of earthquake Cuzco, dogs in the manger in general, and of course, Chavez, Chavez suspected and suspected of being suspicious. Finally
not understand all this, because no matter how many times you see the post I hold. I imagine that a three-time minister will be pleased with tremendous spot, and some citrus fruit also by the huge check to be dropped. But the truth hurts like seeing this must hurt anal sex without lubrication, or like watching your girlfriend has a webcam video of a porn site. And no matter how many times I repeat, I do not think like you. And still insists, believe me I am able to find signs of humanity to Zidane, compared to the tremendous setback side media. Congratulations, you have accomplished something that I did not think was possible: to fall even lower.
Keep up the good work, guys. Peru will make this a better place.

More The Walrus , Third Floor and Spencer .

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Lullaby

(Photo: Pao Ugaz)


Sleep, child sleep rest your eyes

Until the Sun Comes Up

and you'll awake to light up everyones day again


(The Gathering - Morphia's Waltz)

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All Apologies



right back. Recharged.

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Palm Sunday with Palm Sunday


As I am Jewish and mother is worth Easter, I will commemorate this day with the poetry of one of my favorite Peruvian poets, which fits the redundancy, the same name as this date:

(Courtesy of Urbanotopía)

BANDA NIGHT

The warriors of 80

Under the clear night burning the villages

headlights flashing on the dirty blue jean
youth are lost from corners and parks
chiaroscuro black and fluorescent jackets
between snow-white mist
skulls teeth and fingers blonde frosted blonde with pot
Their eyes shine like silver buckles
drums filled with oil-soaked squares and police
plush.
At night I go out. On the day I smell of tear gas, the crowd
absorbs me in its avocados
but I stop at the clarity of
breathing world without a cigarette on his lips / cold chills me
members and no place to rest for
the red ants carrying crumbs
bones / everything is surrounded by secluded benches
exhausted beasts / broken by the silence and the blue
shell that separates me from you, oh rickety land
.......................................... my body is only fleeting and opaque
wake of madness
.................................... ...... in the natural order
eternal dust without burial
.......... And the flowers and those guys seduced by dust in the order
Oh the plague of this century!
America is an acid, there are thousands of anguished
The law is cruel to say I did not survive the war unfinished
where my dedicated band of loggers fat
to demolish the columns of Justice, where they were just your huge
thighs / O Cecilia / your ass / your face
stalk and a hole in the heart after facing
police with an army of twisted metal that were our bones
after the fire on a highway
unreal that still throbbed and bled
the warm hearts of the horses who fell before us
despite his innocence /
their strong muscles of their ability to circumvent the difficulties that now support
when darkness
and panic reign of the beasts that rake /
approximate street by street / area by area teens covered with bodies of my gang
disaster that has tasted
before the sun cleared the cracks and debris that were subjected
. Oh
el deslumbramiento del horror! Mejor será largarnos
de esta ciudad a la que nunca pertenecimos
y ya no tengo banderas ni multitudes
Estoy perdido
.......... entre los edificios
.......... .......... .......... entre las calles
y bocacalles
.......... .......... entre los cerros y basurales
deambulando con tu imagen impregnada en mi mente
(y tú Sarita eres como un rockanrol en mi pecho
oliendo a pasta que consume mi banda pensando en ti
en el cielo que le ofreces por unas monedas)
¿Qué puedo hacer? llevo un amor a secas
que no me calma en el largo viaje por las
soft sand where I met you oh sweet Cecilia as chicha
you sang to me in those days when we banged
asaltábamos culeábamos destruíbamos and any
mat under the moon and the calm warm sea
curled in your shirt tag / everything ends and our enemies have managed
/ robbing the night we fucked
And only I'm falling / lightheadedness before breakfast and responsible
I write with difficulty
by the flickering candle I am condemned to death
/ have produced sea \u200b\u200b
my shadow I'm divinely desolate / my soul like a torrent
complaint and says expiring MATATA!

.......... .......... .......... .......... and mute stones rolled

on the streets like an army preparing an ambush
to daylight with traffic wardens and helicopters
paper. I stop / kick me out / I organized and vague in places and neighborhoods
demolishing the columns of the Justice fat while my band

away .......... .......... ground

.......... .......... .......... in smoke

.......... .......... .......... .......... powder

.......... .......... .......... .......... ..........

shadow .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... in anything ...


(Del Espanto Architecture Paper published in Lima, 1988) ***



Chacalón



Because you throughout the day gently numb a pile

As a song by Paul Anka as a freak

useless as an action that moves your heart
homosexually
Through an anticipation that overrides any

You must have a passer who looks at you childishly

diagonally backwards to the plane and

A stranger in your strangeness

Clean lying and hairless as a nice walking

single, open front of the lens of a paparazzi and bitch

Arrested

Fractured entirely as the language of tribe vaporous

Displaced in the video clip

De Chacalón in the city

Music & soul of The Comas where these cycling

the ground fish In rabid choreography in the shade of larger trees While I

die in flamma childishly as a dog Lautréamont

Muero barely purposely tiled for your nipples to disintegrate

as pebbles in the mine black corners impossible
These
pita tops my fly Oh my ruca fly fly fly my
pacharacaza
between Indian red gravel that hill

now gray as your hair flying in the wind

brown-bizarre

lift your dress and your wandering way

and wash away your age

that shines tenderly
stones
You are my unwoven nausea

My smile Paracas

Giddy in my concavities


(From the book Golden Apocalypsis, 2004)

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War is Peace (Bolivarian version)

These three super, in a combination or another, are at war and thus take twenty years. However, war is no longer the desperate, annihilating struggle that it was in the early decades of the twentieth century. It is a fight for limited objectives between combatants unable to destroy each other, without a material cause for fighting and not divided by ideological differences are clear. This does not mean that the conduct of war and the attitude towards it seem less bloody and more chivalrous. By contrast, hysteria is continuous and universal war, and rape, looting, killing of children, enslavement of entire populations and reprisals against prisoners to the point of burning and burying alive, are considered normal, and when that did not make the enemy but the camp itself, it is estimated merit.
(...) (...) Therefore, the war now, compared with the old, is a sham. You could compare this to the battles between certain ruminant animals whose horns are placed so that they can not hurt. But although it is a sham, it does make sense. Served to consume the surplus of goods and helps keep mental atmosphere necessary for a hierarchical society. As shown, the War is now just a matter of internal politics. In the past, the ruling groups of all countries, but recognize their own interests and even their enemies and shout as much as possible the destructiveness of war, ultimately fighting against each other and the winner crushed the vanquished. Nowadays river fight each other, but each ruling group against its own subjects, and the object of war is not to conquer territory and defend it, but keep intact the structure of society. Therefore, the word war has become ambiguous. Perhaps it would be fair to say that the war continues to be, has ceased to exist. The pressure exerted on human beings between the Neolithic and early twentieth century has disappeared, replaced by something else entirely. The effect would be very similar if the three super-states, instead of fighting with each other, reached the agreement-respect-to live in perpetual peace without crossing each other's borders. In this case, each would remain a closed world free from the oppressive influence of external danger. A peace that was truly permanent would be the same as a permanent war. This is the real sense (though most Party members understand it only in a superficial way) of the Party slogan: War is peace.

George Orwell, 1984

knew I had seen this once. Comeche Embrace the show to the telescreen, the bluff of the year. In the end, everybody wins, everybody forgot that passed last week. Overall, everything was Blessed Sacrament with handshakes and camera flashes.
There is nothing better than a foreign war to hide the internal weakness: Poor management of resources, political trials and general discontent. There is no better way to distract domestic attention promoting external distraction. I'm sorry the long quote, but this has a great sense: Build a scandal to have a bath in popularity and earning good tramquilidad weeks. If not, ask Buckram and Fujimori, circa 1996.
nothing else, only I have to say that Orwell often successful because all the power you want, you stay there forever.