algunas respuestas con respecto a la FIL

el pensamiento no se coloniza. resiste. es una actitud paternalista asumir que una persona tiene el poder de transmisión de la palabra. solo expone sentimientos latentes / articula lo que las pasiones de los iletrados no pueden exponer mediante el lenguaje simbólico / institucionalizado por lo que es un acto oportunista por parte de este poseedor del pensamiento que se auto impone como el líder pastor salvador de los pobres que no saben y siente la responsabilidad moral de imponer su verdad para redimir sus pecados ante el (Dios) padre.

en respuesta a José Luis Barrios

La filosofía hasta Marx es una representación de la realidad y no un proyecto de estado nación. este concepto no estaba presente en el pensamiento del idealismo germánico. ellos trataban la historia como el ahora como lo que bajo esta lógica del haber llegado solo expone su progresión intrínseca y no como un cambio radical que propone luego el temple marxista expuesto por Marx mismo después de su critica a la filosofía del derecho de Hegel.

en respuesta a Mariana Botey

places visited or want to visit

deadlines

There is an inherent beauty of seeing a blank page. Which are never completely blank these days. They are more like a web site layer waiting to be filled, by your words. There is a header, there are many buttoms for edition. There are many things which forever will be let untouched. Just waiting for the right moment. Quietly staring at you. Then you push the buttom ´publish´and in a fraction of a second the words you had written cease to be yours—they are now in the open, you don't know who will reach them, you can see which country went to see it, but you wonder why? why would they do something like that? There are so many amazing texts, there is such a limited time frame, why someone would take a precious moment of their being to be with you? reading you? I think it is truly beautiful. And I'm grateful you are here. I hope you don't feel as you had wasted your time. I hope you are in a nice setting. If you are reading this probably are, because that means you are infront of a computer, with wifi and things cannot be that bad when you have access to *that*. I just realized google doesn't complete your sentence when you write the word 'fuck'. I was trying to re-search how the words `buttoms' is written, and first I thought it was written as 'bottoms' then I google `Fuck Buttons' (as the band) to see if that was right, but I wasn't so I corrected to 'buttoms'. It is funny how services like Google censored this kind of stuff. From whom are you trying to protect us? English is not my *native* language, but I got fond of it already, I think it is a language that adapts pretty easily to anyone. You can break rules with English and get away with it. With spanish is more difficult because the meaning of the sentence will get completely screwed and it will lack any meaning. It will be just random words one after the other without any logical sequence. But with English you don't have that problem. You can adapt it to yourself. I'm supposed to be writing a review. The deadline was due yesterday but unfortunately I have been lazy, not because I don't like what I'm doing but deadlines give me this drive for transgression which I cannot avoid. It makes me feel dutyful and at the same time don't want to be dutyful and that's why I think I let deadlines pass. But I don't recommend this to anyone. I think it is not a good approach to things. People can get really mad at you. I just want to work at my own pace, but on the other hand if I lack the imposition of a deadline probably I would end up doing nothing ... probably I will end up writing blogposts sporadically. Probably I will end up depressed thinking about my lack of motivation and opportunities. Probably I would let someone down. And I don't want that. I want to be there, I want to be there with you. I want to have fun with you. I want to be bore with you. I want to see the day pass and then the night pass and say to you good night. Because I love you. But at the same time I don't know you and you are not there.

But someday you will...

endless open tabs

It was that moment again. When you are sitting alone, infront of your computer, with so many open tabs that you cannot see or distinguish one from the other, probably they will just be there for a couple of days until you need to restart your computer because It is so loaded with information that you need to restart. Then Facebook, endless train of more information, I question myself if people really read all the notes they post or they just post it as a personal reminder that they will read them, but in a public way. Perhaps someone read the note posted and comment it, and then save the effort and time to the person who posted in the first place. Perhaps no one cares and you are the only one that cares, that you have the responsability of sharing that precious piece of writing to your closed circuit of friends because you feel that in that way you are contributing to something bigger, you are changing the world, you are changing the minds, you are a great and aware human being. But the true is, I don't think it matters, I really believe it is just a compulsive activity mixed with habit and some kind of guilt of not using your time in other way because you don't know what to do with your time in the first place. But I do it anyway, because I see some beauty in self-destruction, I see that pointless activity has some transparency of intention that actually can reach further levels, un-knowing about the consequences. I don't know, I really don't.

I was thinking yesterday something crazy over dinner, about the polar vortex that happened in the US the past winter. I was thinking how all memes become just repulsive at the end of the line. I thought about how good intentions end up failing and gathered in youtube compulation videos. I thought about conspiracy theories while on the train, like it could be possible that the polar vortex was just an invention to justified the lack of resources to maintain heated a city over winter without being ashamed of admitting it. In the future only rich people will be able to afford proper heating. In the future families will gathered around fire again, like the good old days, but this time the fire will smell like gasoline.

these are my top 10 books

they dont mean that are my favorites, they are just the first 10 books that came to my mind while thinking about writing this entry.

The Shining - Stepehn King

this was the first book in english i read. I was 16. I was in Whitehall, NY and the winter was harsh for me, so the context helped a lot. 

Living in the end times - Slavoj Zizek

This book was like a gateway drug for me. enough said.

Contact - Carl Sagan

For many (me included) Sagan is cheesy and too positive, but nonetheless this book made me aware of science fiction and how fun it was.

Ecce Homo - Nietzsche

badass Nietzsche, unapologetical and grandious ... then he went mad

Kafka on a shore - Murakami

I think I enjoy this book because it was so surreal but at the same time strange and real that it just clicked

El Aleph - Jorge Luis Borges

man, infinity is a harsh topic to approach right

Phenomenology of the Spirit - Hegel

i decided to pursuit philosophy 'seriously' after reading this

Either / Or - Kierkegaard

Role model

Slaughter House Five - Kurt Vonnegut

never read something like the dresden bombing in such an amazing prose on fiction

The Divine Comedy - Dante

well, it is hell all the way

h/t to Jacob Wren. I got this idea from him after reading his ...
http://radicalcut.blogspot.ca/2013/12/they-dont-have-to-be-right-or-great.html

dieduscheistimdachstock

I finally arrived to Berlin. It is a non-complicated city. I needed to rest and a nice shower and I got those at the moment I arrived. It has been 4 days already. Today it was my first bike ride. I think I ride for 12 km. I discovered that I have muscles I didn't know before I had. I'm feeling OK, almost tempted to say happy. I'm going to see a Ianis Xanakis concert in a couple of days, with two germans and maybe a couple of brazilians. A german girl proposed me to get married with her if what I want is to stay. I said thank you. I was a little over-whelmed by the proposal. I said to her "I will think about it, first I want to see if I can get to enroll to a university in Berlin", she said "that's fine, now you know, let's go out and have some wine". We sit in the interior park outside of the art university, red squirrels and posionous berries, beautiful green grass and old structures surround us, I felt as we were the only people in the whole building. I said something like "this building looks like Michael Haneke aesthetics", she smiled. His boyfriend had a Werner-Herzog-gy voice, I told him, he said that he didn't know if that was a compliment because he had never hear someone mention to him something like that, I said "yeah, it is a compliment" he nodded. I have been smoking a lot of roll cigarrettes. Pueblo is the brand, we ran out of filters but we bought more ... I think they are cheap ... everything seems cheap compared to Switzerland. I haven't been so wasted as in Zurich. I woke up the next day at 9 PM. I watched the Big Lebowski but I didn't pay much attention, still a good movie.

I'm staying with the roomate of my flatmate, she is moving to her own place tomorrow ... I was the first person to see her new place, it is full of marxist / communist parafernalia, I liked the place ... I will hang around a lot in that place ... I only have 25 days left but I don't want to leave but also I don't want to get married yet. Or perhaps I do?

Fall is coming. You can see it on the leaves, they are changing colors really fast. Yesternight two strangers yelled to me "Shalom" which was odd because I was wearing a Kafia, I told in a low voice it is Palestinian. They were drunk so I didn't want to "engage". I didn't like them. The food has been great. Kebabs, Vietnamese, long breakfasts, lots of cigarrettes, coffee and tap water.

I saw an exhibition by Paul Klee. He seemed pretty badass and smart. I liked him. His paintings look pretty real and non-pretentious but very avant-garde-dy. Nice colors and natural traces. I think he taught many future bauhaus artists and history of art will change with him, I was humbled to be infront of his work, but then I moved to the next room and they had Goyas, I like Goya, he seems pretty fucked up and I like that. A part of the building has originals hierogryphics ... we joke a little bit about that fact ... like, fuck you, we are going to take those from your walls and bring them back home and you will not get nothing in exchange because we preserve stuff better!" Or something like that.

The wall seems pretty touristy, but I enjoyed it, I feel pretty touristy myself. I took cool pics, they were not as liked as I expected, but those are my favorites because ... just because.

"I am so modern I am a neurotic"

Kircheim 26

"it feels like a pressure inside of your head. Like you want to say something but it is hardly articulated. You just feel like if you are losing control of yourself. Then you get angry and your thoughts blurry. You start thinking about all what bothers you. The past starts unfolding infront of you, but it is a oast related to the angry feeling you are suffering. Feelings have memories. They associate themselves with what triggers them before. When I feel this way is with my oarents because they know how tontrigger this unconfortable feelings in me. They have the right words. Sometimes I think they do it intentionally, but if it is intentional there is a sadistic side attached to it because no one should detonate all the negativity which is hidden and latent inside of every person. It is also a very unproductive state of mind because you cannot fully express anything besides anger which is not benefical for anyone. Anyway, I think it is pointless to keep saying someone what they should have done, because the past is long gone and you cannot fix the future with a blink of an eye, as if you can just undone it and start anew at any given moment. You habe to rethink, and thinking is a tough process and it takes time. You have to re-evaluate what you have done in the oast to figure out how not repeat the same mistakes twice. Like ending up in Heidelberg with your oarents when you just quit your job, without a job prospect in the future, without money and without the skills and papers needed to sustain your habits by yourself. They scream at you for your independence but what I think they are saying is leave us alone and become deoendent of someone else because we don't want you anymore. No one is completely independent. Everyone needs money to sur ive and to get money you need to work and have a job and that means you need to be dependent from someone else, from someone who doesn't even give a fuck about who you are because they are paying you for making them richer than they are. If you fail to give them that something they will lay you off without remorse because there are millions of people out there who can take your place and make the job better. You fail. You are worthless. Go back and self-loath again in your childhood room. Look at your parents age. Listen carecully their words of wisdom because hidden in them is the reasin why you failed. You and your ideals, you and your pitty will."

Amy turned off the tv and went to bed. She was tired of this endless monologue at tv. She thought that how could someone be making a living telling the world about his neurosis. She couldnt locate the art side of it. SHE THOUGHT ABOUT post modernism and then occured to her about maybe it is hyper realism. She conceptualized the concept at her philosiphy se inar in the University of Berlin. She went to wikipedia and research about the famous people who studied there. She spot Arendt, Hegel, Weber and Goebbels. The ham in her bag started to stink. She bought it a Rewe so she could save some money instead of eatimg outside. Now all her clothes smelt like cheap salami, she was embarrases so she throw it to a garbage can. 

She sat in the park, it had been raining for the last couple of days but todays was sunny. She opened her book about Hegel. She then read:

Schulgasse 6

"Hegel entered through these doors. It was summer of 1816 and he was 36 years old. after carefully revised all his options he decided Heidelberg because he thought it was a quiet place to work on his philosophical essays. After his Phenomenology of the Spirit bombed he was with a low confidence. He sacrifized so much for this seminal work. All his friends were already in stable job positions and he was still undecided what was going to be his next move. So Heidelberg seemed like the better shot. The rent was cheaper also and he would be able then to move to Jena with better knowledge about the history of philosophy. Fichte was already making shockwaves in the philosophy world and he was very excited he could have time to read him and the possibility to meet Schelling. The first night he spent wandering around Univeersitatpltatz and wanted to see a Beethoven concert but he didnt have enough money so he decided to stay outside of the theater to have a glimpse of what was happening there. "

the non-purpose of traveling

Traveling serves many purposes and at the same time non. Long gone are the days when you feel you just disconnected from everything just because you are in somewhere far from where you define home, at will. The same desires remain, the same preoccupations are in mind but the backgrounds are different. What changes is the superstructures, the architecture and the colors which are defined from the dominant culture from where you are. Long gone are the days when you could just transverse your fantasies and left them in the realm of the private pron to redemption, joy and guilt. Is this not a sign of an hyper-homogeniezed era? 

a song for new years eve

Casi 2009 from Orangegután Lab on Myspace.

I recorded this song with Chenrry. It was a couple of hours before the end of 2008. I don't play instruments, Chenrry does, but I like to mess around keyboards and guitars when no one is listening. Anyway, this was the end result of our collaboration. We had recorded 3 tracks, but they are hard to find, they are somewhere, I'm sure.

i like roy lichtenstein

when i say i like something

i

don't always mean i'm stating it is good, or it is provocative or it is politically engaged

it just had something which makes me enjoy it

then i feel bad about it

because i just got into it

but fuck it

who cares

it is not like i'm buying monsanto stocks

or voting for my locally right wing party

a man with a gun

I

A man took his rifle and went out for a walk.

He was not sure why he did this action, he was supposed to be at his living room watching feeds and thinking about the never-ending streaming of information that pop-ups in his screen.

The TV was on, he never pays attention to it, he uses it to block outside noises, the white-noise had a soothing effect to him, it helps him to relax.

“Where did this rifle came from?”

He could not remember, he detests guns, he didn't even knew he had one but nonetheless it was there, and it was the right time to use it.

The city was calm and cold, it was a brisk afternoon of early spring in the northern hemisphere. A red cardinal flew next to him and with ease started to sing for a quick moment and then departed to its private destiny.

He hadn't thought much about this, he was used to the local fauna and his mind was still revolting from what he had on his mind. To shoot that bastard that took everything from him.

But who was him? Why he was having this desire now? So many things had passed since the event. He was such an average person for having such a crazy drive. He was supposed to be drinking scotch, alone in his flat, and now he is outside, with the world at his knees, waiting for unload the charge to his target and he could not stop now. He could not withdraw from his purpose. His future was sealed and he will be remembered. His name will be all around the press and he will get the obstinate recognition he had been longing for for so long.

A deer stood in front of him. It started to pronounce over and over

“But you know that you will not get there”

“Shut up!” the man screamed to it, “you are a deer, you cannot talk!” the deer just stare at him for a moment and replied “you know that you know you don't know” and then it got lost in the midst. The man was confused, “what was that? what is happening to me? This could not be real, I'm not supposed to be this man, I didn't even know how this rifle came to my hand and why am I supposed to kill that bastard who I don't even know what did to me!”. He stopped and smoked a cigarette, the action of exhaling smoke appeal to him. He had been smoking since he was 18 and promised to himself to stop at 30, but he was 40 now and he stopped doing promises he cannot fulfil to himself a long time ago.

The man started thinking this was all a dream, but what a curious dream it was, he never had a dream so real as this, he wanted to wake up, but he couldn't so he proceed with his desire. He thought “if this is a dream let's see where does it takes me, eventually I will wake up”. What he didn't know is that unfortunately it was everything but a dream. He kept walking, until he got into an intersection, a bus was parked there and suddenly he heard someone shouting at him, he turned his back and saw this man with a red cap, brown velvet and a gaze staring at the skies, he told him “I will take you where no-one else have taken you before, because I know” and made a follow me sign and got inside of his bus. The man stood there for a moment, thinking, “what the hell it's all this about? Ok, I told myself to just follow the dream as it unfolds and stop questioning what seems to be real” .

II

The bus driver turn on the radio and a voice started “Due to climate change new droughts are expected, this will have a direct impact in the price of grain”, the bus driver mutter something and then added “this world is going to hell”, the man nod in approbation and then he changed the station, the voice of Edith Piaf was singing “Je ne regrette rien” and thought aloud “man, I love that voice”, the bus driver replied with excitement “Do you like Edith Piaf?!” “Yeah, who doesn't?” “Well, you are the first person I know that likes her, I'm surrounded most of the time with idiots”, then an awkward silence followed. “Man, I don't like these modern times, everything is so depressing, when was the last time you felt alive staring at something contemporary?” “I don't remember” “that's my point, there is nothing to appreciate right now, that's the state of affairs we are in”. He kept driving for hours, and the man didn't asked about where they were heading, “it's all part of this crazy dream”. He felt into a deep dream.

The bus driver woke him up, “we're here”. They were in what seems a downtown area of an average city. “Let's go for a coffee”. While walking he saw this young man deeply immersed in a book, then he raised and pointed to the direction of the man and said out loud “Ill n'ya pas un rapport sexual” and then went on to his reading again. “That was certainly odd”, he thought but he just followed the bus driver into a coffee shop without thinking much about what just happened, he discarded as a “post-modern statement young people make these days”.

The coffee shop was full of students getting ready for their long day at school, getting bagels and stuff students eat. “What do you want? Be splendid, there is a long road still ahead” '”Just a cup of coffee and a bagel” “OK then! but you had been advised”. The cooker growled when he received the order and started fixing it mechanically. “There you go, now leave and please never come bac”'. “Man, the hospitality of these people is jawbreaking”, and they went to the park to eat their stuff. While there the man started getting anxious, “please, could you tell me what is this all about, I'm supposed to be at my office right now but instead I'm with a complete stranger traveling to an unknown destiny while I'm carrying a gun ready to kill that bastard”. “What are you worried about? Look at me as a medium, you need me to carry on what you know you have to do.” “But precisely that is the problem, I know but at the same time I don't know where this knowing came from, yesterday i was just...2 A boy with a bicycle suddenly stopped in front of them and said “the man with the gun, please follow me”, the bus driver just weaved and said “my duty is fulfil, good luck” and went away and got lost into the multitude.

III

The Gambit

“I’ve never thought about that”. He said in a mysteriously voice. He cried a couple of hours ago without any reason. He was 30 years old. “I’m waste, and I cannot keep trying”, he thought repeatedly, without finding any voice of consolation. “You have to think positive, if you cannot at least do that you should go to a psychiatrist” his mother frequently replied to him while outbursting in anger about his situation, “but I don’t see any problem! that’s the problem! I just don’t want to be medicated and set into a straight line! Ups and downs are part of the human nature!” he said losing his temper, “I cannot help you, it’s all your fault, if you don’t like to be here you just have to leave” she said, “it’s not that easy, I don’t know where to go, I’m worthless, I cannot survive by my own” he quietly sigh to himself and returned to his childhood bedroom while lying on bed, and putting his headphones and immersing himself in a deep melancholia while listening to Ambient 1 / Music For Airports by Brian Eno on youtube. He thought briefly about how amazing the internet was, how easy was to get all the stuff that he liked with just a click, how convenient his savvy knowledge about computers have being so far, always bragging with his father about how smart he felt compared to other people who he described kindly as idiots at expense of his father

I just feel

     To start

 A new

      There is something in my which is not well

   Within myself

        I heard it

On my dreams

       Something                                s
                                                   m
                                                 a  
It                                            e
     is                                     r
         not                            d
               well           in your
         but                             it
  I will                                    see        
start                                            will
       again                              you
               a 1,000 miles away

the sharp edge of the real cuts daffy duck in half

I WILL START POSTING BRIEF PARAGRAPHS/DRAFTS OF THE THINGS I'M WRITING THAT MAY OR MAY NOT END IN MY DISSERTATION. THANK-YOU.

So there must be a sudden stop. You realize that what you think you are no longer is. You crash into a wall, at full speed and without a safety net. The morning after, perhaps, you will not feel the pain, but the breach have been done, the intrusion has been placed // Hidden the movie --- something in me more than myself //. Nothing returns as it was before, you might feel scare but you have all the reason to be, because from now on you will be all alone, by yourself, with no coordinates and points of reference, with no one whose guidance will keep you in comfort and secure.

You become like a blank page but with the past knowledge of an image plastered on it already, like in the movie the Matrix when suddenly everything disappear and only Morpheus and Neo are in the image, an empty space waiting to be filled. And that’s the Real. It is a cold and empty space, with endless possibilities but with no starting point left behind and a just a remainder of something that was. In the movie Stalker by Andrei Tarkovsky the only traces an alien civilization has left behind for us humans to wonder, is just the leftovers of their crusade, the garbage bags filled with the content already consumed and thrown away and just the carcasses of an unreachable and unintelligible world. That's how we perceive the Real, as an already consumed but nonetheless beautiful and terryfing state of being.

We can have also a glimpse of the real in the iconic cartoon by Chuck Jones Daffy Amuck where the main character just gets pushed from one side of the drawing paper to the other, becoming conscious of its role as just the capricious will of its master, the drawing hand which full body or voice we never see nor hear, but we know it is there because we see Daffy Duck complaining about his non-stop mood swings, we see his pencil only as this organ without body*, which erratic brushes on the paper and sudden changes of ideas resemble the actions of a sadistic child, enjoying the submission of his subject, Daffy Duck, but what neither of them know is that they are both part of the same image, they are both in-existent. Their function is to serve as a version of a master-slave cartoon dialectic; which is located and formulated in the realm of a twisted fantasy delivered in the form of different art styles and resonant music.