Por fin... se acaba enero... (y lo vuelvo a decir otra vez....) !!! Biennnnnnnnnnnnn (es que odio el invierno y aunque todavía reste parte de éste... febrero, -cuando sale el sOL-, se me antoja muy primaveral ;) !!! Saludos:)
domingo, 31 de enero de 2010
The Beatles All Together Now- FELIZ DOMINGO ;)!
Por fin, se acaba enero............... Ya queda menos para la primavera... Biennnnnnnnnnnn :) !!!
sábado, 30 de enero de 2010
MUERE J.D. SALINGER
Afp, Dpa y Reuters
Periódico La Jornada
Viernes 29 de enero de 2010, p. 4
Nueva York, 28 de enero. Unas pocas palabras conmocionaron ayer el mundo literario: “El escritor J.D. Salinger murió en su casa de New Hampshire. Tenía 91 años”.
No se ofrecieron más detalles, con lo cual el notable autor, que durante toda su vida cuidó al máximo su privacidad, se transformó en leyenda.
Su nombre era Jerome David Salinger y pertenece ya a la distinguida y poco común estirpe de narradores a quienes les basta un solo libro para conmover, de manera inolvidable, a colegas y lectores.
Entre el manojo de relatos que escribió bastó El guardián entre el centeno (The catcher in the rye), para alcanzar una gloria que siempre despreció.
Salinger nació en 1919, en el Upper East Side, de Nueva York, hijo de un judío polaco que importaba carne y queso de Europa oriental. La relación con el padre, quien esperaba legarle el negocio e incluso lo obligó a realizar una gira formativa por los mataderos de Polonia (al regreso decidió hacerse vegetariano), fue muy mala; cuando murió el patriarca de la familia Salinger, el escritor no acudió al entierro.
Como estudiante fue pésimo, aunque se le consideraba mucho más brillante que los demás chicos. Como parte de su servicio militar participó en el desembarco en Normandía, donde vio morir a ocho de cada 10 integrantes de su compañía y, según su hija, fue uno de los primeros soldados estadunidenses en llegar a los campos de exterminio nazi, de lo cual nunca quiso hablar.
Rebeldía de un eremita
Salinger siempre anheló ser escritor. Le llevó diez años fraguar su obra cumbre, dibujar a cincel a su protagonista: Holden Caulfield, un muchacho en la frontera sutil entre la infancia y la adolescencia, en rebeldía contra unas convenciones sociales capaces de aplastar lo humano.
El guardián entre el centeno se publicó en 1951 y desde entonces sigue cimbrando el alma de cientos de personas que lo han leído en 40 idiomas. El autor prefirió firmar sus trabajos sólo con las iniciales J.D. y dejar que su apellido flotara, por si acaso alguien lo pudiera olvidar.
Siempre tuvo fama de ermitaño. A las puertas de su propiedad puso un letrero: “Prohibido el paso”, y si a alguien no le bastaba con eso, era capaz de echar mano de su vieja escopeta de caza y lanzar perdigones al viento. Así vieron algunos impertinentes salir al hombre armado de casi dos metros de alto y cabello totalmente blanco.
Vivía con su tercera mujer, Colleen, una enfermera 30 años más joven que él y aficionada a tejer tapices, en la misma finca rural de los bosques de New Hampshire donde reside Claire, su anterior esposa.
Escribió cuentos, reunidos en un solo volumen. A diferencia de los beatniks, afirmaba el escritor uruguayo Mario Benedetti, Salinger “no cierra los ojos, ni se droga ni se escapa. Es un atrincherado, pero no un evadido; en última instancia, es alguien que no renuncia a descubrir un sentido en la vida; alguien que, así sea pasivamente, aún resiste. Alguien que busca, con serenidad y denuedo, un punto de apoyo”.
La periodista Joyce Maynard, quien a los 18 años sostuvo una relación con el autor, escribió que Salinger le confesó: “Sólo puedo soportar la sociedad allá afuera mientras tenga puestos mis guantes de goma”.
En 1988 la mujer publicó, sin autorización de su ex amante, un libro sobre su convivencia mutua, incluidas cartas que intercambiaron.
No obstante haber dado a conocer unos pocos textos, todavía hace unos años algunos de sus allegados aseguraban que él seguía escribiendo febrilmente: “Amo escribir, pero lo hago para mí mismo y para mi placer”, dijo en 1974 en una de las raras declaraciones que hizo públicas.
Dicen que guardaba sus manuscritos bajo llave mientras trabajaba cada día enfundado en un overol de obrero. El año pasado, todavía tuvo fuerza para luchar por su obra, por conducto de sus abogados, nunca presentándose en público. Logró que una juez federal detuviera la publicación de un libro que Salinger afirmaba era una secuela falsa de su clásico El guardián entre el centeno.
El sueco Fredrik Colting, con el seudónimo de John David California, pretendía lanzar el título 60 Years Later: Coming Through the Rye. La juez Deborah Batts manifestó que el personaje central en la novela de Colting (Mr. C) constituía una “violación” del personaje central de Salinger, Holden Caulfield. Los otros acusados fueron la editorial sueca Nicotext y Windupbird Publishing.
Cuando Mark Chapman asesinó a John Lennon, en diciembre de 1980, llevaba bajo el brazo un ejemplar de El guardián entre el centeno, entonces la obra llegó a asociarse con el satanismo y fue prohibida en algunas escuelas de Estados Unidos, en el resto es lectura obligatoria. William Faulkner dijo que se trataba de “la obra maestra de su generación”.
El hermetismo del autor, en un mundo de marketing, resulta una paradoja, pues sus libros siempre son éxitos de venta.
Hasta donde se sabe, explican los diarios de su país, siguió persiguiendo jovencitas hasta que las fuerzas se lo permitieron, alimentándose de vegetales (excepto alguna pieza de cordero, cocida a 150 grados) y viendo la televisión (no se perdía la serie Dinastía).
Su hija Margaret es autora de una obra sobre él, Dreamcatcher, en la que enumera sus numerosas manías y asegura que hay varios libros terminados que se publicarán tras su muerte.
En 2001, el diario El País reportaba que Salinger gustaba de llamar por teléfono a las actrices o presentadoras de informativos de televisión que más le atraían, confiando en que fueran lectoras de su obra y la seducción resultase más fácil.
“Cree más o menos en el budismo, durante un tiempo perteneció a la Iglesia de la Cienciología, nunca ha utilizado un ordenador, ve una y otra vez la película 39 escalones, de Alfred Hitchcock, y exige que sus amigos le llamen Jerry. Sus fotos son rarísimas –suele tratarse de instantáneas tomadas a la puerta de un supermercado o en la calle, a distancia, porque el hombre es irascible– y hace más de 30 años que no concede entrevistas; la última fue realizada por dos estudiantes de secundaria y apareció en una revista de colegio”, agregaba la publicación.
Salinger mismo dejó claro el criterio para una gran novela cuando le hizo decir a su personaje Holden: “Lo que más valoro es cuando uno queda completamente agotado después de leer un libro y desea ser amigo del autor y poder llamarlo por teléfono en cualquier momento”.
Su agente literario, Phyllis Westber, declaró que el novelista se había roto la cadera el pasado mayo, de lo cual se recuperó bien. Pero su salud se deterioró a principios de año, poco después de celebrar su cumpleaños 91, el primero de enero; no obstante, al morir “no sufrió ningún dolor”.
La familia de Salinger subrayó el deseo del autor de “defender su privacidad a toda costa” y pidió a los medios y al público respeto en estos momentos.
sábado, 23 de enero de 2010
martes, 19 de enero de 2010
La ricerca della felicità........E crescendo impari.... quanto sia bella e grandiosa la semplicità.
E crescendo impari che la felicità non e' quella delle grandi cose.
Non e' quella che si insegue a vent'anni, quando, come gladiatori si combatte il mondo per uscirne vittoriosi...
La felicità non e' quella che affanosamente si insegue credendo che l'amore sia tutto o niente,...
non e' quella delle emozioni forti che fanno il "botto" e che esplodono fuori con tuoni spettacolari...,
la felicità non e' quella di grattacieli da scalare, di sfide da vincere mettendosi continuamente alla prova.
Crescendo impari che la felicità e' fatta di cose piccole ma preziose....
...e impari che il profumo del caffe' al mattino e' un piccolo rituale di felicità, che bastano le note di una canzone, le sensazioni di un libro dai colori che scaldano il cuore, che bastano gli aromi di una cucina, la poesia dei pittori della felicità, che basta il muso del tuo gatto o del tuo cane per sentire una felicità lieve.
E impari che la felicità e' fatta di emozioni in punta di piedi, di piccole esplosioni che in sordina allargano il cuore, che le stelle ti possono commuovere e il sole far brillare gli occhi,
e impari che un campo di girasoli sa illuminarti il volto, che il profumo della primavera ti sveglia dall'inverno, e che sederti a leggere all'ombra di un albero rilassa e libera i pensieri.
E impari che l'amore e' fatto di sensazioni delicate, di piccole scintille allo stomaco, di presenze vicine anche se lontane, e impari che il tempo si dilata e che quei 5 minuti sono preziosi e lunghi più di tante ore, e impari che basta chiudere gli occhi, accendere i sensi, sfornellare in cucina, leggere una poesia, scrivere su un libro o guardare una foto per annullare il tempo e le distanze ed essere con chi ami.
E impari che sentire una voce al telefono, ricevere un messaggio inaspettato, sono piccolo attimi felici.
E impari ad avere, nel cassetto e nel cuore, sogni piccoli ma preziosi.
E impari che tenere in braccio un bimbo e' una deliziosa felicità.
E impari che i regali più grandi sono quelli che parlano delle persone che ami...
E impari che c'e' felicità anche in quella urgenza di scrivere su un foglio i tuoi pensieri, che c'e' qualcosa di amaramente felice anche nella malinconia.
E impari che nonostante le tue difese,
nonostante il tuo volere o il tuo destino,
in ogni gabbiano che vola c'e' nel cuore un piccolo-grande
Jonathan Livingston.
E impari quanto sia bella e grandiosa la semplicità.
lunes, 18 de enero de 2010
I wish I could say all the things that I should say
¡¡¡¡ Cómo me gusta esta canción (y cantarla mucho + ;) !!!!!
Nota: el vídeoclip está rodado en el metro de Praga.
Por otra parte, el metro que sale en el vídeoclip de la canción Full Moon de The Black Ghosts (de un post posterior a éste) es el de Berlín. Y, no, no es que esté obsesionada con el metro (antes que tener que ir en metro, preferiría mil millones de veces caminar, -por ejemplo-, varios kilómetros por un prado verde de Suiza, un bonito día de primavera, a plena luz del sol ;)... ja,ja... sino que me encanta la música con especial significado en cuanto a ritmo, métrica, melodía, letras y armonía. Podría pasarme horas y horas escuchando buena música :) !!!
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I could break all the chains holding me
I wish I could say all the things that I should say
Say 'em loud say 'em clear
For the whole wide world to hear
I wish I could share
All the love that's in my heart
Remove all the bars that keep us apart
And I wish you could know how feels to be me
Then you'd see and agree that every man should be free
I wish I could be like a bird in the sky
How sweet it would be if I found I could fly
Well I'd soar to the sun and look down at the sea
And I'd sing cos I know how it feels to be free
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I could break all the chains holding me
And I wish I could say all the things that I wanna say
Say 'em loud say 'em clear
For the whole wide world to hear
Say 'em loud say 'em clear
For the whole wide world to hear
Say 'em loud say 'em clear
For the whole wide world to hear
One love one blood
One life you've got to do what you should
One life with each other
Sisters, brothers
One love but we're not the same
We got to carry each other Carry each other
One One One One One...
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
"Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."
Martin Luther King Jr. Day is a United States holiday marking the birthdate of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., observed on the third Monday of January each year, around the time of King's birthday, January 15. One place outside the USA where this day is observed with equal importance is in the Japanese city of Hiroshima under mayor Tadatoshi Akiba, who holds a special banquet at the mayor's office as an act of unifying his city's call for peace with King's message of human rights.
"I Have a Dream" Speech by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Aug. 28, 1963.
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves, who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacle of segregation and the chains of discrimination.
One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languish in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land So we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we've come to our Nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.
This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."
But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.
We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.
Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy.
Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice.
Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.
Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual.
There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds.
Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality.
We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.
We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one.
We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for white only."
We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.
No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of your trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecutions and staggered by the winds of police brutality.
You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow. I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up... live out the true meaning of its creed. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will they be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right down in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plains and the crooked places will be made straight and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.
With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.
With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God's children be able to sing with new meaning "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!"
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that, let freedom, ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tenneessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi, from every mountainside.
Let freedom ring,
And when this happens,and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old negro spiritual,
"Free at last, free at last.
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."
"I Have a Dream" Speech by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Aug. 28, 1963.
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves, who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacle of segregation and the chains of discrimination.
One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languish in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land So we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we've come to our Nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.
This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."
But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.
We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.
Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy.
Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice.
Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.
Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual.
There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds.
Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality.
We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.
We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one.
We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for white only."
We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.
No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of your trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecutions and staggered by the winds of police brutality.
You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow. I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up... live out the true meaning of its creed. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will they be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right down in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plains and the crooked places will be made straight and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.
With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.
With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God's children be able to sing with new meaning "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!"
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that, let freedom, ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tenneessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi, from every mountainside.
Let freedom ring,
And when this happens,and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old negro spiritual,
"Free at last, free at last.
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."
sábado, 16 de enero de 2010
jueves, 14 de enero de 2010
miércoles, 13 de enero de 2010
Quando sarai grande tutto ti sembrerà così stupido...
E ti ricorderai quel ragazzo che ti aveva fatto piangere...
Quell'amica che ti ha tradito...
Quell'ostinazione del vero amore che mai arriva.
Ti ricorderai delle mille notti piangendo e
delle mille notti a zonzo con i migliori amici;
quelli che MAi Ti TRADiRANNO.
Ti ricorderai che...
Ti ricorderai di quanto sei stata ingiusta con i tuoi genitori
e quanto lo sei stata con le amiche.
E capirai che quel ragazzo non meritava le tue lacrime...
Che il trucco non serve nella vita,
molto meglio avere una faccia pulita...
Che l'amore arriva quando meno te lo aspetti...
Che piangere non serviva a niente,
bisognava prendere in mano la situazione...
Che i veri amici si contano sulle punte delle dita.
Ti accorgerai che quel ragazzo non era così bello,
ma... Ricorderai che tu lo vedevi FANTASTiCO.
Capirai che i tuoi genitori sono le uniche persone:
qualunque cosa accada ti saranno a fianco,
e che le tue amiche meritavano più attenzioni...
Ma ora forse è presto per capirlo...
Prima o poi, rileggendolo, diremo...
Sì, È VERO.
martes, 12 de enero de 2010
lunes, 11 de enero de 2010
domingo, 10 de enero de 2010
Keane - Thin Air
I can't keep up, you're
moving too fast,
Deep holes and darkness,
these things will pass.
Dark times and strange places where...
When I came to see you
you had nothing to say,
I stood right beside you,
you turned the other way,
I reached out to hold you
and found nobody there,
You turn into air.
Trust me, I want you
just as you are,
Don't change the things you do,
just stay as you are.
Dark turns and strange places where...
When I came to see you
you had nothing to say,
I stood right beside you,
you turned the other way,
I reached out to hold you
and found nobody there,
You turn into air.
Dark times and strange places where...
When I came to see you
you had nothing to say,
I stood right beside you,
you turned the other way,
I reached out to hold you
and found nobody there,
You turn into air...
miércoles, 6 de enero de 2010
Ya vienen los REYES MAGOS
Para mi abuelito Pepé, -el simpático andaluz farmaceútico que en la guerra daba medicamentos gratis a los pobres que no tenían para pagar-, que estará en el cielo ahora mismo sonriendo;). Aunque te fuíste en la madrugada de un día 5 de enero porque los Reyes te llevaron consigo hace ya tiempo (de lo bueno que eras, eres y serás siempre) cuando yo tenía casi 10 años... te queremos porque te llevamos en nuestro corazón por siempre (da igual el tiempo que pase porque el amor no entiende ni de tiempos ni de espacios). Muchas gracias, abuelito por todo (eres un ángel del cielo que siempre está en todos los momentos: en los buenos y en los malos). Siento tener que llorar pero, a veces, las lágrimas pueden ser tanto de alegría como de tristeza. Quizá algún día sepamos utilizar aquellos lápices de colores que nos regalasté tan sólo unas horas antes tanto a mi hermana Anabel como a mí... pues espero que algún día nuestros sueños se puedan cumplir. La materia es efímera pero el espíritu, no... Tu tiempo en la Tierra expiró no sin antes dejar un halo de gracia, alegría y buen hacer. No se pudo hacer nada, inesperado golpe directo al corazón cuando mamá se enteró y tú lo sabes... creía que era una broma de madrugada de nuestro tío, -el médico-, que vivía en la calle de enfrente y que nada pudo hacer... ni siquiera él. Golpe fulminante. Así se van los grandes. Grandes del alma. Pero yo sé que sigues ahí. Muchos besos;)
martes, 5 de enero de 2010
FELIZ NOCHE DE REYES
¡¡¡¡ Qué la estrella de Belén siempre ilumine nuestro camino !!!!
Salud para los enfermos / Alegría para los desdichados / Paz en la guerra y en el mundo /Prosperidad para los necesitados / Trabajo para los parados (sobre todo, para aquellos con familia que mantener) / Felicidad para todos.
Hay mucha gente a la que tendrían que traer carbón, -en esta noche-, los Reyes Magos... sin embargo, seguramente no sea así...
Me quedo con la ilusión de los niños en la cabalgata de esta tarde en Madrid, con su inocencia (eso vale más que mil millones de falsedades e hipocresías de las que estamos tan aconstumbrados en este mundo tan cotidianamente nuestro... al que yo no me aconstumbro, ni quiero.. pero me alegra saber que la verdad, -pese a todo-, siempre acaba triunfando) y con la canción final del cierre: Imagine de John Lennon.
.FELIZ NOCHE DE REYES.
domingo, 3 de enero de 2010
sábado, 2 de enero de 2010
viernes, 1 de enero de 2010
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