v

v
PARA DONAR APRIETE EL BOTON DE LA DERECHA Y SUELTE 1 FULA ($,€,£,¥)

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

EL PEO MAS ALTO QUE EL CULO

smartphone pic: ludmila bordarenko's asshole
en una sociedad de bazar como la cubana, la gente que no manufactura se recicla mas que la masa artesanal. por eso muchos necesitan de justificaciones constantes a su nulidad productiva. en sus muermos de vidas no son capaces aca ni de crearse aventuras modernas como caza, pesca, exploracion, alpinismo, paracaidismo, parapente, hiking, camping o al menos busquedas de latas en basureros. uno lo puede ver dando un tour por la blogosfera cubana. las cartas abiertas tontas. las controversias por trivialidades. incluso los recuerdos constantes al pasado reciente (nunca mas alla de 1980 y no mas aca de 1990). es logico, fue la epoca dorada de ellos. donde se acusan unos a otros de crear menos, de adular mas, y de irse despues. en si no sirven para nada, son pasatiempo social, ilustracion que caduca muy rapido en el mundo actual. porque si bien antes un artista o escritor duraba un cuarto de siglo acaso entreteniendo, ahora aburre antes de 5 años. no es culpa del productor ni del producto sino del usuario. ahora los niños captan 48 imagenes por segundo. los dedos de las personas menores de 30 se mueven en los minusculos teclados de los smartphones a 3 letras por bip. no solo todo es mas rapido sino mas especifico. hablar por telefono es de viejos, ahora se textea. las palabras se contraen, las frases se condensan, las conversaciones se intuyen. los emoticones sustituyen los adjetivos y las expresiones mas elementales. en resumen, la vida se banaliza, por simplificarse. y se llega al sexo mas rapido que antes, que es la finalidad real de la existencia. entonces, si no se dan esos rodeos (innecesarios?) para el contacto fisico, quien sufre, es el intelectual, desde luego. su producto es el que se ve alterado, reducido, minimizada su esencia. y por eso no tienen trabajo ni en la habana ni en miami. y tratan por europa, asia y africa (conozco a uno que se fue a mozambique). casi que no lo consiguen. pero si no se adaptan, perecen, eh. lo que empezo en cuba como tragedia social, se extiende fuera de ella como comedia politica. como caso serio pondre el de un periodista que estuvo en karate conmigo y se graduo de cinta negra. recuerdo que cuando llego de cuba lo invite a el y a su mujer a cenar porque coincidimos en una publicacion de fort lauderdale. me conto que en la isla -tronado de bohemia- se buscaba la vida alquilando su casona del vedado como posada de singueta. les cobraba a las jineteras para que tuviesen sus sesiones alli con los turistas. mientras el y su esposa vivian en el apartamento de su suegra. al llegar a miami en los 90s, como dominaba el ingles, comenzo a curralar por contrato con publicaciones americanas de la perisferia local y estaba muy contento de haber vuelto a su profesion. su esposa, doctora en medicina, hacia de enfermera en un hospital del area. ayer lo veo de nuevo -monstruosamente fuerte- y me dice que esta de guardaespaldas de la dueña de un club de baile en cuero en north miami beach, de esos de la mafia rusa. le pregunto por su esposa: ya se divorciaron, ella tiene una clinica del medicaid-medicare con un balsero recien llegado mas joven que ella. le indago por su propia vida sentimental y me dice que anda con la dueña del club, es decir, le cuida la espalda y le coge el culo. vamos, que nacio para chulo, no para periodista. el periodismo fue el accidente que la revolucion le puso delante. de la misma manera comprendo entonces que esos blogueros que leo, filosofos, filologos, biologos, micologos e ictiologos no son sino jardineros, bibliotecarios, pillos, bartenders y cocineros. en fin, el mar.©varela 
smartphone pic: ludmila bordarenko's friend ass
in a bazaar society as the cuban, people who doesn't manufacture, recycles more than the artisan mass. for this reason many need constant justifications to its productive invalidity. in their boring lives here they aren't able to create modern adventures such as hunting, fishing, exploration, mountaineering, parachuting, paragliding, hiking, camping or at least searched trash cans. it can see giving a tour by the cuban blogosphere. the silly open letters. disputes by trivialities. even the constant memories to the recent past (never beyod 1980 and no more after 1990). it's logical, it was their golden age. where accuse each other to create less, flatter more, and arrive later. in fact, they aren't useful to anything, they're social pastime, illustration that expires very fast in today's world. because even though previously an artist or writer lasted a quarter of a century perhaps entertaining, now bored before 5 years. it's not the fault of the producer or the product but the user. now children capture 48 images per second. people younger than 30 moves the fingers in the tiny smartphones keyboards to 3 letters per beep. not only everything is more faster but more specific. talking on the phone is old, it's now texted. the words contract, the phrases are condensed, the talks are instuited. the emoticons substituted the adjectives and more elementary expressions. in short, life is trivialized by simplified. and sex becomes more faster than before, which is the real purpose of existence. then, if there are no those detours (unnecessary?) for the physical contact, who suffers, is the intellectual, of course. its product is what is altered, reduced or minimized its essence. and that is why they cannot work in miami or havana. and they try in europe, asia and africa (i know one who went to mozambique). almost that don't succeed. but if they don't adapt, perish, eh. what began in cuba as a social tragedy, extends it outside as political comedy. i'll put a seriously case of a journalist who was with me in karate and is graduated from black belt. i remember that when he arrived from cuba i invited him and his wife to a dinner because we met on a publication of fort lauderdale. he told me that he was living on the island -fired from bohemia magazine- renting his big house of vedado area, as motel to fuck. he charged to the jineteras for their sessions with tourists there. while he and his wife lived in the apartment of his mother-in-law. arriving at miami in the 90s, as it dominated the english, began to work by contract with american publications of the local periphery and was very happy to have returned to his profession. his wife, doctor in medicine, was a nurse in a hospital in the area. yesterday i met him again -monstrously strong- and tells me he is the bodyguard of the owner of a nude dance club in north miami beach, of those of the russian mafia. i wonder by his wife: they divorced, she has a medicaid-medicare clinic with a newcomer rafter younger than her. i search for his own sentimental life and he tells me that he's involved with the owner of the club, i.e. he takes care of her back and took her y the ass. c'mon, he was born wimp, not journalist. journalism was the accident that the revolution put in front of him. in the same way i understand then that those bloggers that i read, philosophers, philologists, biologists, mycologists and ichthyologists are not but gardeners, librarians, crooks, bartenders and chefs. bottom line, whatever.©varela