The Savage Detectives: A Novel
Monday, August 9, 2010
One hundred and thirty seven pages...
Few days ago I read that the first 100 pages of The savage detectives are part of the greatest of the literature in Castilian (Spanish) language... I didn't believe it. I was right. At least with the edition of the book that I have got. They are one hundred and thirty seven pages.
The Savage Detectives: A Novel
The Savage Detectives: A Novel
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The value of a work
A piece of work is an abstract concept which we handle with more or less expertise. It's kind of driven by the supply and demand law, as any other object (concrete or abstract), and speculation might have a turn in its value as well. So, how do you appraise it??
Well before I graduated as a physicist, I had a casual chat with a friend and colleague at the University of Santiago de Compostela. The talk was on mathematical models for locust scourges and I digressed up to raise and fall apart of languages. This chat became, one and a half years latter, my thesis degree on the coexistence and competition among languages in a same region. Great!!
The price of a work is mainly crap and must be strongly renormalized before someone loses its head. Like a stone in go game, its value depends on the coordinates in which the stone is played, both spatial and temporal.
I was pretty proud of my thesis. It was not only the scientific job, but I'd also learnt a lot together with my mentor about how many random circumstances could devaluate a work well done (not necessarily talking about mine). Together with my thesis they followed: a participation in an international conference, prizes... a lot of stuff. I was never sure that I deserved what it was told about me, nor about my work. None of the recognitions. I went to Berlin with the idea of further researching, trying out my fitness to science and I found emptiness. Though (still do) about withdrawing from research.
Now, back in Galicia for vacation, I visited my former mentor and felt again what I enjoyed that much: the scientific chat about new problems, the maths puzzling me on the train joining the cities of Compostela and Coruña. The origins!! And when I came back home and checked on my single paper up to date, I discovered the greatest reward I could ever dream of!! I felt for first time in a while fulfilled (scientifically). Someone, without any further references to us, just by a daily reading of papers from arXiv, decided that ours was one of the bests new ideas and decided to post it in a blog. It also happens that the blog is held by people from MIT, how unexpected!!!
So I don't know yet what value a research might be worth. I worked into this project so many years ago and as a graduate student and I still get benefits from it. On the other hand, I rot in Berlin solving pointless arithmetical exercises and well far away from any real research project. Although I would devote my time to it, I don't have the feeling that this has any worth at all... Just as in Go game: each and every minute or stone so alike; played at a single space-time coordinate each of them becomes, one by one, the whole or the void.
Well before I graduated as a physicist, I had a casual chat with a friend and colleague at the University of Santiago de Compostela. The talk was on mathematical models for locust scourges and I digressed up to raise and fall apart of languages. This chat became, one and a half years latter, my thesis degree on the coexistence and competition among languages in a same region. Great!!
The price of a work is mainly crap and must be strongly renormalized before someone loses its head. Like a stone in go game, its value depends on the coordinates in which the stone is played, both spatial and temporal.
I was pretty proud of my thesis. It was not only the scientific job, but I'd also learnt a lot together with my mentor about how many random circumstances could devaluate a work well done (not necessarily talking about mine). Together with my thesis they followed: a participation in an international conference, prizes... a lot of stuff. I was never sure that I deserved what it was told about me, nor about my work. None of the recognitions. I went to Berlin with the idea of further researching, trying out my fitness to science and I found emptiness. Though (still do) about withdrawing from research.
Now, back in Galicia for vacation, I visited my former mentor and felt again what I enjoyed that much: the scientific chat about new problems, the maths puzzling me on the train joining the cities of Compostela and Coruña. The origins!! And when I came back home and checked on my single paper up to date, I discovered the greatest reward I could ever dream of!! I felt for first time in a while fulfilled (scientifically). Someone, without any further references to us, just by a daily reading of papers from arXiv, decided that ours was one of the bests new ideas and decided to post it in a blog. It also happens that the blog is held by people from MIT, how unexpected!!!
So I don't know yet what value a research might be worth. I worked into this project so many years ago and as a graduate student and I still get benefits from it. On the other hand, I rot in Berlin solving pointless arithmetical exercises and well far away from any real research project. Although I would devote my time to it, I don't have the feeling that this has any worth at all... Just as in Go game: each and every minute or stone so alike; played at a single space-time coordinate each of them becomes, one by one, the whole or the void.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Back home...
It's nice to be back home from time to time; although since I came back to Galicia last week the allergy doesn't let me sleep, my eyes itchy and I'm sneezing the whole time. And it's like this each time I come back.
I also rediscover the essence of my very folk. I watch local TV--or even any national broadcaster--and become quickly ashamed of the shit on. Can't believe that so much emptiness can be enclosed in such a flat screen.
And from time to time I run into some ethical debate with myself. In large ads at the sides of the main entrances of the city we can see two children drinking or sharing a bottle of water. One of them looks healthy, the other doesn't. The one is fully dressed, the other isn't. The one doesn't, the other looks thirsty. And in between them, in huge letters: "If I drink, (s)he drinks", and a brief explanation that part of the benefits of the company would be shared with some african, thirsty children.
The ad belongs to fontecelta (a Galician brand of bottled water), and I first wondered what the increase of this company's benefits would be thanks to this propaganda. It followed, of course, the straightforward doubt about the ethical of winning a few thousand € with the thirst of any random kid. I though, if the true aim were to help those children, they could do it without telling anyone. Silent hero. Unsung hero. But heroes must be sung to exist. Latter on, I remembered many other such actions (yeah, they're everywhere, indeed). It was amazing when some musicians decided to donate 1€ of each CD's price to hungry--or such--children so to avoid 'piracy'. And they even dared say it.
Charity, as everything else, indeed; has become a show. I'm thinking of dropping a line to the fontecelta friends to know their point about this issue... I'd be nice if they would answer!!
I also rediscover the essence of my very folk. I watch local TV--or even any national broadcaster--and become quickly ashamed of the shit on. Can't believe that so much emptiness can be enclosed in such a flat screen.
And from time to time I run into some ethical debate with myself. In large ads at the sides of the main entrances of the city we can see two children drinking or sharing a bottle of water. One of them looks healthy, the other doesn't. The one is fully dressed, the other isn't. The one doesn't, the other looks thirsty. And in between them, in huge letters: "If I drink, (s)he drinks", and a brief explanation that part of the benefits of the company would be shared with some african, thirsty children.
The ad belongs to fontecelta (a Galician brand of bottled water), and I first wondered what the increase of this company's benefits would be thanks to this propaganda. It followed, of course, the straightforward doubt about the ethical of winning a few thousand € with the thirst of any random kid. I though, if the true aim were to help those children, they could do it without telling anyone. Silent hero. Unsung hero. But heroes must be sung to exist. Latter on, I remembered many other such actions (yeah, they're everywhere, indeed). It was amazing when some musicians decided to donate 1€ of each CD's price to hungry--or such--children so to avoid 'piracy'. And they even dared say it.
Charity, as everything else, indeed; has become a show. I'm thinking of dropping a line to the fontecelta friends to know their point about this issue... I'd be nice if they would answer!!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Urge for Sex!! (Pulsión de Sexo!!)
And this is it!! Spain is, at once!!, Champion of the World!!!
I think it doesn't make any sense to describe the feelings or anything... each one has to experiment this and for each one it will be something different...
But something I'd like to describe was the Urge for Sex after the game. Everything began soon after the match against Germany, last Wednesday (it's incredible that only one week has gone by and that so many things happened!!). After that match, I said, there was party everywhere, even though I'm living in Berlin right now. German people were very proud of their team, but very polite and respectful, as far as it concerns me. Many of them joined the party held on the streets mainly by Spanish people. And then everything began, so suddenly: everyone was nasty, we wanted to get closer, touch each other. Women with women, men with men, women and men... any combination in any amount. The whole street was a sole heart and the wet pulsation would expand without limit if the fences of the dawn wouldn't reveal the madness... Before that, small crowds left the holy mass to become holy themselves through orgiastic performances in any corner of the nature.
...and the party went on, cause Spain became World Champion this Sunday and the streets and the throngs were unleashed again to the mouth of the Night, which would swallow each and all of them, one by one or all at a time, into its beat, horny guts with neon lights. And so on and so forth...
Then a waking up somewhere. Somewhere you know, somewhere you might not know so much... somewhere anyway. And a way back home, if necessary. The feeling that Holland people weren't so polite as the German ones, as far as it concerns me. I'd say, they weren't polite at all. But it doesn't matter: we are the Champions of the World.
I think it doesn't make any sense to describe the feelings or anything... each one has to experiment this and for each one it will be something different...
But something I'd like to describe was the Urge for Sex after the game. Everything began soon after the match against Germany, last Wednesday (it's incredible that only one week has gone by and that so many things happened!!). After that match, I said, there was party everywhere, even though I'm living in Berlin right now. German people were very proud of their team, but very polite and respectful, as far as it concerns me. Many of them joined the party held on the streets mainly by Spanish people. And then everything began, so suddenly: everyone was nasty, we wanted to get closer, touch each other. Women with women, men with men, women and men... any combination in any amount. The whole street was a sole heart and the wet pulsation would expand without limit if the fences of the dawn wouldn't reveal the madness... Before that, small crowds left the holy mass to become holy themselves through orgiastic performances in any corner of the nature.
...and the party went on, cause Spain became World Champion this Sunday and the streets and the throngs were unleashed again to the mouth of the Night, which would swallow each and all of them, one by one or all at a time, into its beat, horny guts with neon lights. And so on and so forth...
Then a waking up somewhere. Somewhere you know, somewhere you might not know so much... somewhere anyway. And a way back home, if necessary. The feeling that Holland people weren't so polite as the German ones, as far as it concerns me. I'd say, they weren't polite at all. But it doesn't matter: we are the Champions of the World.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
A match to dream!!!!!!
Today is the day!
Since the Football/Soccer World Cup is played with the actual setup, Spain has never before entered a final phase. Today we're in, among the 4 best teams of the world. This is the most important match ever for the Spanish national selection.
We are playing against Germany and I'm watching the match in the capital of German, maybe 500 Km far away from the Berlin Wall.
I'm so excited I can't work today...
Since the Football/Soccer World Cup is played with the actual setup, Spain has never before entered a final phase. Today we're in, among the 4 best teams of the world. This is the most important match ever for the Spanish national selection.
We are playing against Germany and I'm watching the match in the capital of German, maybe 500 Km far away from the Berlin Wall.
I'm so excited I can't work today...
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Understanding religions...
...and so I decided it's not good to be sad and I though a good idea to remove almost any kind of sadness would be to think up a ritual. From now on, I perform this ritual and almost any kind of worries will be swept away :D
The ritual includes posting something in my blog (see yesterday's entry); leaving the place where I am, so that the place can be freshened from any bad vibration it could remain; and listening to some meaningful song... and once the song is over (though I might need to listen it twice...) I am happy again for a long long time!! I believed this would work... and it did!!
And so, this is how I came to understand ancient religions a little bit better. When, I guess, any belief or ritual had a reason to be and a reason to be shared. Autosuggestion of an individual extrapolated to a whole community. And latter the ritual itself would have an own entity, different from the former purpose. And latter on the ritual master would inherit the power of the original ritual and the religion would become a mean to gain more power... and so on... but this is only a guess...
Meanwhile, I'm happy again :D
The ritual includes posting something in my blog (see yesterday's entry); leaving the place where I am, so that the place can be freshened from any bad vibration it could remain; and listening to some meaningful song... and once the song is over (though I might need to listen it twice...) I am happy again for a long long time!! I believed this would work... and it did!!
And so, this is how I came to understand ancient religions a little bit better. When, I guess, any belief or ritual had a reason to be and a reason to be shared. Autosuggestion of an individual extrapolated to a whole community. And latter the ritual itself would have an own entity, different from the former purpose. And latter on the ritual master would inherit the power of the original ritual and the religion would become a mean to gain more power... and so on... but this is only a guess...
Meanwhile, I'm happy again :D
Monday, July 5, 2010
Fake and Queer
To lie under the sun while you wonder who you are, while you abandon yourself to the just-being. To act as a response to the tip of your cock. Just play around with yourself, never with any other... yet. Watch World Cup matches. Get happy for an identity you don't know yet if you have... Get happy, indeed, for two identities you are not sure that you have. Remain politely not-so-happy as you wanted. Be about to cry, don't to cry, to cry. To get drunk by the remains of Berlin's Wall...
To wake up sad. Without any identity yet, but with labels you always feared. To feel misread and alone. Looking back, not so much changed... but everything's changed...
To wake up sad. Without any identity yet, but with labels you always feared. To feel misread and alone. Looking back, not so much changed... but everything's changed...
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