Baby Engaging Diagrams

The scheme (Hell 8) Rembrandt and body


For
Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas

K and Virgil pass with difficulty through Hell. Suddenly appears in their path Dite, the labyrinthine and awesome city of demons. To follow its progress, it must pass through. No detours available. Virgilio touches the gate. Open. Speak then, Virgil with demons. These suddenly shake their heads. Close defiant in the face of the poet. Virgilio K returns to the side, pale with rage. K is dismayed, but Virgil reassures him: soon arrive one sent down to meet her mishap, and the continuation. They sit on a rock to wait. But time passes and nobody comes. K afflicted not stop looking at the sky, sighing, and Virgil is overwhelmed with boredom, while scribbling with a stick in the sand burned. Soon K, not more, they decide. Proposes a strategy to Virgil, a ruse to enter Dis. Call one in the front door and soon after another on the back. While the devils confused attend, and let one of the entrances unguarded to go to the other will be the right time to venture there surreptitiously. Virgil agrees and rubs his hands full with joy. Proceed as planned. Virgil calls at the front door and hide. Open and look out demons. K at that time called the other door. The demons they rush there, allowing free passage. K runs back by Virgil and both come hastily Dis. Close both doors without delay. Then beat the demons outraged. Virgilio K and laugh and welcome as a pair of accomplices. But just at that moment, listen to heavy weights to be dragged. Completely surprised, we can do nothing. The Devils have been closed with huge rocks, on the outside, both entries. Thus K and Virgil were trapped in the labyrinth of Hell for all eternity.


Copyright ©

Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas. All rights reserved.

Image taken from:
http://www.darkmoon3d.com/tg-max/gallery/images/labyrinth.jpg

More articles from the author:
http://www.escritorium.com/autor-170/jesus-ademir-morales-rojas/

Most Releiable Laptops

By John Berger

When he died, at sixty-three, seemed much older, even for its time. The drink, debts, death of many loved ones because of the plague could explain the damage suffered. But the portraits point to something else. In his maturity he lived a climate of economic bigotry and indifference, an atmosphere, on the other hand, not unlike that exists today. It was not possible to simply copy human, as in the Renaissance, the human was no longer evident: there was to be found in the dark. Rembrandt was an obstinate, opinionated, smart, capable of some cruelty. Let's not make him a saint. But looking for a way out of that darkness.

drew because he liked. It was a way to remember every day around him. The paint-especially in the second half of his life was for him something different: painting trying to find a way out of the darkness. Perhaps the extraordinary clarity of the drawings has prevented us from seeing how the painting actually.

rarely made preparatory drawings, began painting directly on the canvas. In his paintings there is little logic linear or spatial continuity. If your pictures are convincing because the details, the parties emerge and come out to meet the eye. Nothing prepared, ordered before us, as in the works of his contemporaries Ruisdael and Vermeer.

While the drawings completely dominated the space and proportion, the physical world he presents in his paintings is very distorted. This has never been stressed enough in the studies of his work. Perhaps because to realize it must be a painter rather than an art historian.

In an early work of a man (himself) in front of an easel in a studio painter, the man in question has a size of just over half of it should be. In a wonderful picture late, Woman with an open door (Berlin), hand and right arm Hendrickje could be those of a Hercules. In the Sacrifice of Abraham (St. Petersburg), Isaac has the physical traits of a young, but in relation to his father, his size is a child of eight years.

liked Baroque foreshortening and unlikely juxtapositions, but while Rembrandt exploited the freedoms that came with the style, the distortions of his paintings have nothing to do with them, because they are not obvious, but on the contrary, almost furtive.

San Mateo On the sublime and the Angel (Louvre), the space impossible to accommodate the head of the angel on the shoulder of the evangelist is discreetly hinted, whispered like an angel whispering in your ear to the saint. Why forgotten or ignored in the tables that could do so masterfully in the drawings? Interest was something else, something that was antithetical to "real" space.

Get out of the museum and go to the emergency room of a hospital, probably located in the basement of the building, where it is usually X-ray units The wounded and sick are transported in the beds or wait hours, side by side in wheelchairs, who can serve until the first specialist is free. With Often, the rich go before those who are sicker. But in any case, patients waiting in the basement is too late to change anything.

Everyone lives in his own body space whose landmarks are the pain or disability, a feeling or discomfort unknown. Surgeons can not obey the laws of this space when operating, is not something you learn in anatomy lessons of Dr. Tulip. A good nurse, however, recognizes the touch and know that every mattress in each patient, takes a different form.

space is the consciousness that inhabits the body itself feels. It is unlimited as the subjective space: finally always framed the laws of the body. But its milestones, its focus, its internal proportions can not stop change. The pain sharpens our awareness of this space. Is the space of our fundamental vulnerability of our society. And the disease. But potentially, it is also the space of pleasure, comfort and the feeling of being loved. Robert Kramer, the film director, defines it thus: "Behind the eyes and spread throughout the body, a universe of circuits and synapses. The beaten paths where energy tends to flow." Perceived better feel of what you see with your eyes. And Rembrandt was a great teacher who led the space to paint.

Consider the four hands partner of The Jewish Bride. Are your hands, far more than their faces, indicating: marriage. But how he arrived there, to the body space?

Bathsheba reading David's letter (Louvre). Figure, natural size, is sitting in the nude. Think about your destination. The King has seen and wants. Her husband is away at war. (How many millions of times something similar has happened?) Kneeling before her, her maid you feet dry. It has no other option presented to the king. Will become pregnant. King David will have to kill her beloved husband. She will cry. Marry King David and give him a son who will more King Solomon. A fatality has already begun, and in the center of this fatality is that desirable as a wife Bathsheba.

And so the whole picture is focused on his nubile belly and navel, which stood at the eye level of the maid. And painted it with love and compassion, like a face. No other European art belly painted with a thousandth part of this affection. Became the center of their own history.

Table after table was giving a part of the body or body parts, a particular narrative force. The table speaks with many voices, like a tale told by different people from different viewpoints. But these "views" can only exist in a corporeal space that is incompatible with the territorial or architectural space. Corporeal space change their actions and their focal points continuously, according to circumstances. It is measured in waves, not in meters. Hence, it is necessary to distort the "real" space.

La Sagrada Familia (Munich). The Virgin is seated in the workshop of Joseph, the Child sleeping in her lap. The relationship between the hand of the Virgin, his bare chest, the head of Jesus and his little arm extended is absurd in terms of any conventional pictorial space: nothing fits, nothing belongs to its rightful place, nothing is the right size. But the chest and a drop of milk flowing from his talk in the face of the child. And the hand of the little speech to the amorphous continent that is his mother, while that of the child hears it says.

His best pictures just offer anything coherent view of the viewer. What it does is to intercept it (especially) the dialogues that occur between the various parts, and these dialogues are faithful to the bodily experience that speaks to something that all of us. Faced with his works, the spectator's body remembers his own inner experience.

Historians have often noted the "interiority" of images of Rembrandt. However, they are the opposite icons. They are carnal images. The Flayed Ox meat is no exception, but rather characteristic of him. To reveal an interior, would be the body, the thing trying to get the lovers when they caress and at the time of intercourse. In this context, the latter word has a literal meaning and more poetic: Coire, "go together."

About half of his great works (portraits apart) describe the act of hugging or preliminary at the same time, the gesture of opening and extend your arms: The Prodigal Son, Jacob and the Angel, Danae, David and Absalom The Jewish Bride ...

can not find anything similar in the work of any other painter. In Rubens, for example, there are many figures that are touched, they are transported, they are conducted, but few, if any, to be held. In no other painter ranks supreme embrace this position, central. Sometimes the painting is sexual embrace, others not. In the merger of two bodies comes not only desire, but also forgiveness or faith. In his Jacob and the Angel (Berlin) we see all three, and not easy to separate.

public hospitals, as an institution that originated in the Middle Ages, were called in France Hôtels-Dieu. They were places where the roof gave assistance in the name of God to the sick or dying. But beware to idealize. During the plague, Hôtel-Dieu de Paris was so crowded that each bed was occupied by three people, a sick, dying and another dead one. " But the term

Hôtel-Dieu, interpreted otherwise, may help explain his painting. The key to this vision distorted by the classical space need was the New Testament. "Whoever lives in love, in God remains and God in him [...] By this we know that we live in him, and he in us, because he has communicated his spirit." (First Epistle of St. John, chap 4, verses 16 and 13).

"And he in us." What were the surgeons in the dissection of bodies was one thing. Quite another to what he wanted. Hôtel-Dieu in French can also mean a body in which God resides. In his last self-portraits, so indescribable and terrible, it seems that as she watched her own face was waiting for God, despite knowing full well that God is invisible.

When he painted freely to those whom he loved or imagined, or those from whom he was coming, tried to enter his corporeal space at that precise moment, trying to enter the Hôtel-Dieu, and thus find out from the darkness. Front

small cadre of the Youth Bath (London) we seem to be there among the folds the shirt that she gets up. Not as voyeurs. Not with lust, like the old spy on Susan. Quite simply, the tender love with which he painted us to inhabit the area of \u200b\u200byour body.

embrace To Rembrandt was synonymous with the act of painting, and nearly touched both prayer.


Text taken from:
http://www.jornada.unam.mx/2006/05/14/sem-john.html


Image taken from:
http://web.educastur.
princast.es/proyectos/jimena/pj_leontinaai/arte/webimarte2/WEBIMAG/BARROCO/IMAGENES/PINTURA/REMBRAN/budes.jpg

Alicia Rhodes I Like It Black 5

Juan José Arreola: Theory of Dulcinea

In a lonely place whose name is beside the point there was a man who spent his life avoiding specific women. Preferred the manual enjoyment of reading, and was pleased effectively every time a knight lunged to fund one of these vague ghosts female virtues and skirts made of overlapping, awaiting the hero after four hundred pages of deeds, lies and nonsense.

On the threshold of old age, a woman of flesh and bone laid siege to the hermit in his cave. Under any pretext entered the room and invaded with a strong aroma of sweat and wool, a young peasant woman warmed by the sun.

The gentleman lost his head, but far to catch the front of her, leaned towards through pages and pages of a pompous creature of fantasy. He walked many miles, speared sheep and mills, burr oak and a few took three or four heels in the air.

Upon returning from a fruitless search, death awaited him at the door of his house. Only had time to make a will cavernous, from the depths of his soul dry. But a pastor's dusty face washed with real tears, and had a useless flash with the mad knight's tomb.

Text taken from:

http://www.ciudadseva.com/textos/cuentos/esp/arreola/teoria.htm

Image taken from:

http://www.letraslibres.com/imagen.php?id=1304&dw=100

Ipods And Phones Stolen At Schools 2010

The knight and the dragon

For
Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas

sincere tribute to the heroism of Either way, this play is suspected by the straight path, very likely, that trace the weapon of the knight to the dragon's body. And that ultimately accounts, both the "essentially" human, instinctive as "reprehensible" by Paolo Uccello are sketched with the same fine line. ***



Ultimately, the dragons never existed: they are a mere product of human fantasy. In such a way that San Jorge, it may be fighting the wind alone. This says a lot about the lack of substance, much of human actions. What if such a foundation lastrante perhaps, but a chameleon is not the beast ruse to confuse us, and prevent the exploit of a (mis) conduct full and open alternatives to full and diverse to be? If this were true, We the courage to wield the spear in depth? ***



It further about whether or not the San Jorge de Uccello is accurate awareness of the chimerical nature of his opponent. If so, we would then face an unprecedented quixotic ahead of its time, clean and inspiring idealism. But if on the contrary San Jorge knows the virtue of his enemy, and still strives to continue to drill, its assigned role, with the pure desire to leave the system in your environment, we would have here, an unexpected prediction of our Today, that probably would not have tolerated Uccello. As gray as to the future, certainly would have preferred to finalize all throwing his hero, for food of dreams, in those great jaws. ***



Paolo Uccello may hesitate long in deciding on which of the two adversaries, the protagonists of his famous painting, drawing in secret the features of his face and signature. Surely the brothel went to confession, and again, in order to finally choose. And took so long, forgotten until the end itself, in which one was fixed. Today only the name of artistic genius lives on, because man, Paolo Uccello, unfortunately, in the words of Vasari, "ended his days, lonely, eccentric, melancholy and poor"



*** Note in this work of Uccello, and the side of the Dragon is the light, a woman, cultivated fields and a city, in short, the very possibility of life. On the side of the knight, however, dark, barren land, the open mouth of a cave ready to loneliness and helplessness, that is, the evil side of life. In this way, you may question, what was the ultimate message here with him that he wanted to warn the Italian Renaissance? And then so, who is the real enemy to be defeated? ***



A voracious dragon makes its nest close to the source that supplies a large city. Because this dire situation, citizens were forced to distract the beast every day away from its source, and get water. To accomplish this, every day sacrificed a victim raffled among the inhabitants. On one occasion, was selected the beautiful local princess. The king, desperate father, unsuccessfully sought clemency. When the girl is about to be devoured by the ruthless beast, the hero appears San Jorge, who arrived there from distant lands, attracted by the famous beauty of the princess. Armed with his legendary spear and his white steed, and after a hard fight, St. George defeats the Dragon. When the champion fatigued but full of hope, prepares to take his prize, he finds a nasty surprise: Princess rotate the view, snubbing with cold disdain. One can imagine then to San Jorge, the invincible one thousand battles, quick to surrender voluntarily to the clutches of the Emperor Diocletian, the murderer of Christians. Surely then, neither the long and painful process of the many torture or to see in the last second, the executioner's ax approaching unwavering until his neck, none of this was so egregious as to suffer the savage grin of that indomitable, the from him without mercy, forever.

Copyright ©

Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas. All rights reserved. More

author texts:
http://www.escritorium.com/autor-170/jesus-ademir-morales-rojas/

لشغ ؤشة

My hang-called "Maan"

According to legend, in 1942 or 1943, a 12-year-Laventille on the Caribbean island Trinidad and Tobago named Winston "Spree" Simon gave her a friend large metal drum. When Simon got it back, the drum had been beaten with a martil reaching the concave shape and had lost the tone "special" he loved. The boy began to hit the art p rear drum, trying to recover its original shape and discovered that in doing so, they listened different tones and notes. Just got a four-note drum and this accident was the beginning of the transf ormation metal drum rhythm instrument in a melodic ... read more about the history of steel drum

Many years later in 2000 across the world into the quiet mountains of Switzerland Felix Rohner asked about the steel drum sound. Although a nvironment of steel drums was a very closed and did not admit outsiders (Trinidad & Tobago), the Swiss gradually gave up their heart was made with the knowledge to create and adjust the steel drums. More and more musicians "steel drum" found their way to equip Felix and reached more than 200 groups that worked with steel drums.

was a percussionist in India that she came and asked Felix to create for the percusssión an instrument. I have reached the ears that was not coincidence that this visitor came from India, but was guided by the universe order to recover a lost instrument thousands of years ago. At least that's what I think a wise teacher in India who saw and heard an d hang IJO reproducing sacred vibration and shape instrument is also sacred. The wise man said that this instrument is not new but has existed for thousands of years, but was completely lost, but according to the possibly there any examples of this ancient meditative tool and sacred temple or hidden in some secret place. Felix

created for the musician of India steel instrument and percussion d using all the knowledge he had accumulated through working with thousands of steel drums and was born first and Hang, Hang Breast . Hang means "hand" in Swiss German dialect in Bern.



Hang First, the "Mama Hang"
hang
The first was great, but Felix fascinated. That was how he began to develop with Sabina Schärer the hang ... narrowed its format and began to increasingly improve the sound and resonance. Felix and Sabina are now working daily in his workshop next to the river "Aare". The hang has become their life plan and enjoy giving life to the steel, making a magic box with sacred vibrations, adjust their creations with their hands personally checking the sound. And are several generations of hangs. Creation is a purely manual creation ... each work is created hang Jando steel with a hammer ... are trained ears imprecindible Happy and Sabina. Each hang tien and base tone in the form of a circle in the crown of the Hang, RE , and sides of the instrument are also 7 or 8 tones in circles. The tones sound different sides in each hang ... hang there that sounds like no .

The hangs have found their way to their owners without great efforts of its creators. People love their sound, portability, as ... magic. The instrument that was circulated for some time through specialty stores instruments, I was so successful that its creators decided to stop the distribution through stores in order to reduce the pressure to produce more. The decision was to give priority to quality and development and not expand the circle of owners to the fullest. Today one of the most important goals of the creators of Hang is to serve the community of players hang "... while gradually expand this community. The distribution of hangs is gone directly ea Travé s factory in Switzerland . The process works so that by word of mouth can get data from Felix and Sabina, to connect with them, you put on a waiting list and may take a year or more until I contacted them personally. Sooner or later when you send an invitation to come and seek your personally hang at the factory in Bern in Switzerland.

to me letter of invitation arrived this month and a half (how exciting!) And chose the date of August 20 to go and get my Hang. I took the plane from Barcelona to Zurich and from Zurich by train to Bern. Since the Bern station is about 20 minutes walk along the river Aar towards Hangs workshop. I got Sabina, lovely person. He left his shop and talked and she showed me and explained its operation Hang gently touching it sa magical tones Cando ... then she gave me the key Hanghaus is down by the river Aar and tell me to test the exposed and there hangs chose the one I liked. Wow!!



I went down a lot of time trying all the different hangs, enjoying the differences between them as a child in a magical toy store .. lol. There were seven tones, and all eight ringing tones (slightly) different. Sure, there was one I liked from the beginning rather than the other, number 0694 of this generation of hangs ... I am convinced that it was this that I chose to Hang me ... I stayed with it ;-) Tonight we got together several people playing in the Hanghaus Hang ... magical moments.



gradually learned to like playing the Hang Loose ... hands and gently. Only a few days have passed since then, but seems to have changed my world. I'm learning how to play, playing the inward I hang ... hang sounds seem to wake up ... Nice! Lindo! Lindo! I use my Hang to create meditative and relaxation music. Probably will use it in my yoga classes and meditation. is a Love instrument. My hang have given the name "Maan" which means "Moon" in Dutch. Maan for their round shape, its creative energy and feminine, the mystery and magic you have, because it represents perfection.



"Maan", change your look completely in a different light ...


What will the future of the Hang?

Many people have already offered Felix and Sabina to learn to create hangs like them (in order to increase the volume of production), but until now, Felix and Sabina prefer to work alone. Not both the technical process that is difficult to convey, but the experience, talent, an ear to adjust it every Hang. Maintaining the quality of the instrument is the ultimate goal of the creators and they resist to expand production and begin to train students (for now). No doubt that Felix and Sabina trying to follow up on the Hang increasingly approaching perfection. It

hope that one day some big manufacturer will begin to create a copy of the Hang, created in large volumes without the manual process or may arise that create small factories like instruments Hang. Will we?

okay ... I thank in behalf of all "hang players" to Felix and Sabina ... bring a lot of magic to the lives of many people through their Hangs. Not only those that play a Hang, but all these viewers are left with their mouths open when they hear the first Hang  I also thank Felix and Sabina and are as they are lovely people, beings of light ... you get in his workshop and hanghaus as your child ... you immediately feel part of their extended family of players hang. players hang a family of very special people ... I'm grateful now form part of this beautiful family :-) I love

Felix and Sabina! ... And I want the whole family Hang players.

A big hug for everyone ... Joost

Other websites on the Hang:

• Hang-Music
• Ravid Hang
• gidda Hangdrum
• France Hangmania
• Curasound
• Hang Fan
Hang
• Blog
  

Whats Similiar To Hydrocodone

The agony of existence-Tribute to Hidekki Anno (Neon Genesis Evangelion )


For

Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas


"... Nothing ... Everything is Permuted ..."

Hassan-i-Sabbah

"... an instant, no more,
No more than the minimum
perpetual moment of grief,
when the form itself, the pure form,
abandons the purpose of his death
and drifts, clouds above,
tormented by that swirling
in which people all fall back into slumber
first stage
build from scratch.
The star then black.
have returned to dart sleepless night
to perfect his quiver. " José

Gorostiza, Death without end. ***





... and rippling ocean of calm in the metal, have faded into the distance, oblivious to the quiet contemplation he did, floating on the water, a quiet presence that no one saw ...

* **


Cynthia spoke with vehement intonation, all participating scientists synchrony Space Center:
"Well, the Nexus Project is underway, there was already time to lose, the situation of extreme emergency when we drove him to it. Oxford, and the most important cities of the world have fallen prey to systematic and staged acts of brutal terrorism, radical groups and sects and subcultures killers have unleashed chaos and massive destruction of people and institutions. He has no other hope to the world that we forge here. We bombed a black hole hidden in our galaxy, our most powerful particle cannon, we have altered the extent of transforming it into a hole worm, now continue to conduct all the exotic material we have collected over the years to keep the hole open, which in essence is a ticket to travel through space-time.
Although remember, the journey is conditioned by the moment of creation of the hole.
But even with all this, "continued Cynthia, is our only, our last hope, it is necessary to strive here and win all the time for us to realize the alternative that opens Nexus: obtaining access to an alternate universe clean and suitable for all. However, IA plus, the virtual being insane, is determined to stop at all costs, to control the transformation of reality, is why he has sent his hordes of clones, genetically altered to obliterate synchrony Space Center, the last bastion of humanity, in addition to the above, there are rumors that has infiltrated your favorite executive arm, the treacherous Lain, within the premises of synchrony with the aim of sabotaging the operation of particle gun that holds the Nexus project progress. Finally, the system repeated warnings keep us worried about a possible direct attack of the light to the entire network of computers in our center to prevent the hole remains open.
We must contain all costs their nefarious deeds! Cynthia
then ordered that the Michio koki cyborg goes into the underground network of facilities Cronian to stop the attack Lain; Daniels prevent Hokoppler would address the threat of the horde of clones of Andrew and Cynthia eventually it will venture into the network to offset plus IA destructive frenzy.
The few scientists who were in synchrony, they would face the master controls to safeguard the progress of Nexus.
Koki looked pained as Cynthia put even with careful attention to their special harnesses Hokkopler Daniels. He left to do without restraint. Nothing had been well between her and Koki since Daniels had appeared. The identification of the once-sleeping was crionizados something that exceeded the passionate impulses of Koki, and this coupled with the strange disease that he suffered Hokoppler, which would tie the care of Cynthia, filled the soul of Koki, full of resentment and spite. Only one ambiguous
look at him the blonde scientific in-chief, when Michio Koki, angry and overwhelmed with jealousy, domestic and underground structures in the center, gun in hand.
never see him again alive. ***



Hokoppler Daniels for his part, after returning to life after its long sleep of cryonics, was discovered with regret that his body had been invaded by a strange virus that made him immune to pain. Powered for the love of Cynthia synchrony was integrated to perform dangerous missions alongside the scientific and Koki who knew hated him. In many of these jobs, difficult and risky, research and defense had repeatedly lost parts of his body and suffered horrible wounds, but his strange illness was all that was pushed forward, fighting for the love of Cynthia and salvation the world, even at the expense of supporting multiple replacement operations of the body. Now, to face Andrew clones had designed a suit "Echidna" covered with expandable blades and showed that, coupled with his no sense of pain, made him a formidable enemy for any agent of chaos. Along with the rest
armed security personnel of the center, left to face the fierce thousands of clones of Andrew and around the whole school. The clones, as ferocious baboons evil, performed prodigious leaps and weapons were used together, throwing himself against Hokoppler and their allies. Soon Hokoppler was only in combat, where before there was a wooded area, now, by the destroyer over the clones, it was just a wasteland of ashes. The Andrew were naked and attacked them with movements like schools of fish. Clones huge, bloated and misshapen and grotesque ant queen, were dragged with chains for many Andrew, and these Andrew "queen" of their mouths and their age, was expelled from other clones in functional bags that broke away to join the fight. Hokoppler expertly moved warrior, shaking its harness, armed with sharp knives back and forth and maimed so, to any number of clones, but there were thousands and thousands and soon the whole horizon was filled with these creatures and insane grimacing . At the end, up about Hokoppler, tore all members and impaled on a pole so pathetic as a banner unfurled, and celebrated their improbable victory dances running as the sky came crashing down on them. ***



Koki meanwhile ventured through the maze of underground pipes, marching swiftly on a red motorcycle, adapted and designed for him by a friend named Akira.
soon noticed the presence of their opponents: the wild rider on the back hairless Lain, a giant mutant rat.
Its specific intention was, without doubt, throw a giant machinery that gave life to exotic energy cannon, which kept open the wormhole. Koki
pursued them to a depth alarming, until at last he could catch them suitable for their shots, just when the tunnels were already oppressively close. Lain
saw it coming and attacked him with his crossbow loaded with acid arrows, Koki in turn fired his gun multiple loads. One of the arrows, however, brushed Koki's face: on his motorcycle skidded and fell wounded. Lain
wanted to finalize, and the large rat blind, came to bring it closer to the jaws of the beast. Koki
recovering just had time to pull the trigger of his gun several times, one of which propelled the bullet that split his face the treacherous Lain. The rat, however, managed to reach him and bit his arm to the elbow. Koki giving a shout, with the other arm emergency drew his revolver and shot the rat desperately to destroy it. Unfortunately the frenzied throes
the huge animal collapsed the walls of the tunnel and soon Koki mad with pain, was caught in its own grave. ***



"Because the man discovers his silence
their beautiful language is withering
the minute it's grief ...
... when everyone started returning to their dumb lethargy
vegetable when acute
lark
is dissolved in water
dawn ... ... when all-finally-what walks or crawls
and everything that flies or anything, everything shrinks
a crack of butterflies,

back to his roots and fatal source of its origins,
until it is reinstalled echoed
in the first dark silence ... "José

Gorostiza, Death endless


Cynthia, after installing the connector in the neck that penetrated into the virtual world of the web ... ...
then flew to the Center of the wise minds Alcocer noosphere, that's where the wise teacher reported Lordvi and Morquei kind of terrible situation. They called for all consciousness to a meeting extraordinary, and I discussed all these bright ethereal presences on possible courses of action, when suddenly one of them began to sing extravagant, the stanzas of the Ode to Joy by Beethoven. Soon all these creatures were driven to form a desperate chorus, as if they were puppets of a foreign consciousness. Suddenly their tongues began to acquire a blue tint and began to fall out of the throat to each of them, between groans of agony. Soon all these creeping fleshy appendages were tied in a huge worm, which completely destroyed, to chase a terrified Cynthia, all precincts of the Centre Alcocer. Then, as he escaped by gardens surrounding the center, Cynthia looked like many young men who had been wandering quiet over there, now pointing in horror at the monstrosity and an abomination of the name shouting "IA Plus." The hideous being he was soon devouring each of these young Hikikomori, and even Cynthia could identify and Schelley Ayanami desperate to be absorbed by the liquid slug huge jaws of the blue. Cynthia Soon
it was cornered under the quivering flesh and pestiferous.
and disappeared into the blackness. ***



Koki buried alive after knowing and without any hope of escape, not even a single charge in saving his mistress, is unhinged altogether, and walked in the dark banging your head against the rough walls, and also screaming bawling throat Cynthia.
the end, exhausted, curled up next to the cold body of the rat mutant and began to sob in the darkness.
After an indeterminate time, I stop, he shuddered and said in a hoarse voice: "It's time ...




*** Cynthia swept the vast expanse of glass temple. Suddenly fell from the sky a ball of hummingbird feathers. It kept the girl in her white apron. Suddenly the glass temple shook. Without feeling any pain Cynthia wanted to give birth and their bowels gushed a little something between bird and man began to grow with the sun's rays. Soon it was a powerful young man with hair wings and hummingbird feathers. Volume
hand to Cynthia and said, "I want to be everything

- Why? - He said the young mother
" I do not know exactly, but I will not be alien to anything.
She stroked his face and told her feathered.
"So rather than wanting to be everything, let everything can be in you ...
Then she pulled him and joined in a sweet and slow dome, and really push each harmonic entire distended, soon joined with such intensity to be merged into a single blue metal began to grow and grow without measure.
virtual reality of the entire network was soon saturated with the foreign substance, and soon all the monitors in the world exploded letting out the substance that flooded the whole world. Synchrony Space Center, Andrew clones began to devour each other were surprised by this stream of mercury drawn like ants led to the cold of an overflowing river.
Maybe the stars themselves fell into heavy liquid, who knows, the truth is that his brilliance was soon clouded, and even the moon seemed to get away alarmed at such a cataclysm.
Koki in his grave laughing out loud, because he realized Finally the blind AI Plus had never been able to find the true center of the Nexus project, the only real weapon that could safeguard the success of the preservation of the universe, his own interior, where it had been implemented in most Deep within his conscience and his being. Outside
all drowned in a celebration of infinite death. Koki
could imagine laughing and crying while bled. ***



"... until all this fertile river
of semen that combines love,
inaccessible to boredom,
the sumptuous wealth of his appetite, does not lead
its very core, in
acre silence of their sources,
between suns glare ambush
where nothing is and nothing is,
where sleep does not hurt,
where anything or anyone, ever dying
and only now, on the great waters,
fleet, the Spirit of God who groans
more crying with a cry that still crying as if hurt
- alas, he too - by a hair
the eye in the death
kernel that emanates from his mouth,
had to end bloody drowned his words. "
Alleluia, Alleluia!

José Gorostiza, Death without end.


Dr. Carmona was in a gazebo in the central observatory in the Andes mountains and, accompanied by the young couple Koki, enjoyed holding the baby Michio and thrown into the air while listening to their children basked joyous laughter.
And to think, I began to love these two young parents a just-and think that everything you've sought for so long out there, "pointing to the snowy peaks and vast sky," he seems to have found in the laughter of your child.
"But then it seems to have found the answer I was looking, he said the smiling young Koki.
"Maybe, maybe not," said Dr. Carmona-reflexive may always knew the answer, but had not known how to express it. Perhaps that is what exists in the personal search to find particular ways of expressing the silence.
And together, the four people, watched the beautiful sunset from the summit. ***


After disposing
nails and teeth, finally achieving a hole between the earth and rocks, it expanded and came to the surface.
looked an infinite ocean of metal and a purple sky where small flakes fell amber light. Strange organic formations jutting above the murky waters that flowed into the beach with bell sounds. Soon
light flakes were grouped and took shape before his eyes dazzled, his parents, Andrew, Lain, Dr. Carmona, Morquei, Hassan-i-Sabbah, the master Brian, Lordvi ... all, all appeared before the Aurola a light, now glitter, and smiled. The turn
smiled and walked over to them, they embraced with tender affection. Gradually
were separated from him and disappeared in flakes of light moved away towards the sea ... ... and rippling
calm metal in the ocean, have faded into the distance, oblivious to the quiet contemplation that performed floating on the water, a quiet presence that no one saw ...
... just Koki, that for a second winged recognized Cynthia still floating on the waves , and then saw it disappear in an instant. Koki
So, haggard and dirty, still smiling, looked at the new world again, then gave one back, and returned without hesitation to the shadows of deep hole to start dreaming. Copyright ©


Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas. All rights reserved.


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How To Fill A Bag With Co2 Using Hcl Baking Soda

Diogenes Laertius or satisfied


For
Fernando Báez (Merida, Venezuela)

Read Diogenes Laertius is one of my bad habits. There are others, of course, but this in particular I've spent several years it is not little. I confess I hate formal and traditional readings and this trend has led me to feel the fascination of some works never reviewed or in any case, marginalized. The Lives of the most famous Greek philosophers "of Laertius, in particular, considered mediocre and pointless, always has given me an inexplicable happiness. I have four versions (Greek, Latin, English and Castilian) of any re-reading this book and I was discouraged. I remember Alfonso Reyes, in a bizarre trial, called it an author "as indispensable as useless." But that reasoning can be taken as soon as he attempts to define. By this I express my disagreement with those who have seen Laertius an informant and not a mere writer. There can certainly be compared to Plutarch. There is no parallel as possible. In part because it lacks the structural view of this and rigorous style. Its purpose is not idealized models, seeks to provide the details to invite the attention of a particular thinker. Not chronological, describing a life and look for traces at the edge of every vice and virtue. But, as pointed out by R. Genaille, his "testimony ..., similar to those of Lucian, Aristophanes, Thucydides, the ancient Greeks restores a normal character of humanity as opposed to those who just want to see them as supermen ...". Perhaps this is what brings me closer to his work. I am not satisfied with the portrait of Socrates, Plato did or Xenophon: I enjoy the Laertius and of Aristophanes' Clouds. " In his "Lives" Laertius gives grace the pages of a story unavoidable to rescue the above scholarship. Against the story itself, against the hermeneutics of philosophical discourse, from the genealogy, their intention is to entertain and inform with precision and pleasure. Socrates, for example, says: "Having been injured for a second time his wife, Xanthippe, and then water over arrojádole replied," Did I not say that when it was raining Xanthippe thunder? "." Humor is a very characteristic guidance signal of exposure as the indiscretion. Bion of Borysthenes said: "I used to take for some young children to be abused in her luxury ...".

Life of Diogenes (also "de") Laertius, however, is invented. As Suidas, Ateneo de Naucratis or Hesychius of Miletus, partially rescued the memory erasing his past. R. Hope says that all feature his is a paradox: a doxographer no doubt confused by hasty readings, a poet impressed by the philosophy and metrics, a daring reporter (forgive the neologism bold) of the nonsense in the world of philosophers, a tireless reader defeated by his own scholarship, a writer who combines the topos Uranus Plato with public masturbation Diogenes of Sinope. At this point we do not have data worth yours and we can not predispose or cheer, which, of course, luck can be a factor as much as perverse. Marcel Schwob had not asked for more time to write his biography.

Almost unanimously confirmed that lived between ages 2 and 3 BC Without evidence, we suspect he was born in a city of Cilicia. We do not know who his parents. Has not been determined in which military or philosophical trend which was his profession. Carlos García Gual considered him a follower of Epicurus: "As representatives of Epicureanism de los siglos II y III de nuestra era, están Diógenes de Enoanda, al que conocemos porque su entusiasmo por Epicuro llegó a tanto que mandó grabar en las columnas de la plaza del mercado de Enoanda, para que todos pudieran leerlas, inscripciones pertenecientes a la física y a la moral de Epicuro, y Dógenes Laercio, que a comienzos del siglo III redacta la erduita historia de la filosofía griega...". Con menor fundamento algunos ensayistas lo identifican como un miembro del neoplatonismo. Otros lo acercan al escepticismo. En lo personal, discrepo absolutamente de semejantes posiciones: seis o siete relecturas de su obra me llevan a creer que fue un noble perteneciente a un círculo de eclécticos, lector voraz antes que seguidor a philosophical position and perhaps a vague prestige poet philosophy found a place of comfort and motivation. Love, prepared, according to the gossips, who are always there, to a woman named Arria, their Lives and judgments of the most important Greek philosophers, "or, according to another version," Lives of the most famous Greek philosophers. " This occurred between 225 and 250 AD. Metric to show off their knowledge, allowed the dissemination of "Panmetro" poems in which he boasted of all styles metric used by the great classics and demonstrated the technique in the hands of a bad poet, is a subterfuge that exhausts all forms there is not move the reader. In one of his epigrams, dedicated to Anaxagoras, said:
"That the Sun is burning mass
Anaxagoras said, and therefore
was sentenced to death.

What Pericles delivered his disciple:
but he learned from languor,
know let life volunteer. "


I have on hand the trials of E. Schwarz, RD Hicks, Arnaldo Momigliano, Antonio Alegre Gorri and others on Diogenes Laertius and his "Lives of the most famous Greek philosophers." Brilliant, tireless, intense, concise, above. It would be an honor, indeed, share their observations, but I want to convey, to the extent that is possible, a personal version of a book that does not hesitate to call classic. I'm interested too to avail myself of the voice of others to explain. What continues to worry me to read, to put it bluntly, is its uneven: I suspect that was not written originally as a single book. Moreover, there is a phrase, for a woman, in Book III, which makes me believe that the text around Plato was the first of the series: "And you, quite rightly, a lover of Plato, and askest with great diligence the dogmas of the philosopher, I have had for inexcusable write about the nature of his style, the order of the dialogues and the series of his doctrine, in my power to reach, touching all elementary and summarily, so as not to lack a sufficient notice of his life and work ...". This unusual and dislocated prologue of the scenes will surely love this short, had to leave the idea of \u200b\u200ba kind biographical dictionary of the history of the philosophy of his time, which was not new to his contemporaries.

No impartial Laertius, Diogenes the cynic more interested in Aristotle, say. tendentious, favors their tastes in ten chapters of his work: the doctrines of Plato, Cyrenaica, the Stoics, Skeptics and a very special place, that of Epicurus, who delivers letters and showing maximum the great admiration he professed. Between book and book notes that, contrary to those reported by several critics, there is a powerful group of thinkers system that fits in schools classified as Alexandrian point of view. What moves a vision in which philosophers are dogmatic or skeptical, Ionic (if descended from Anaximander) or italics (if descended from Pythagoras), and involves the division of philosophy into three units: physical, moral and dialectics. Attributed to stem exclusively from Greek philosophy, by name and function. Do not skimp when sources provide a detail: the number of authors that it is immense. There whole passages that verge on plagiarism, paraphrasing or quotation too blatant or timely. Or was it a pedantic reader chronic or massive. Indiscriminately used books Antigonus of Caristo, philosopher, biographer of painters, sculptors and thinkers, Hermippus of Smyrna, librarian, author of a famous "Lives of great men" of Socionics Alexandria, doxographer, Apollodorus of Athens, famous compiler of Demetrius of Magnesia, author of a memorable treatise on the poets and writers homonyms, Diocles of Magnesia, doxographer, historian, friend of the poet Meleager of Favorino, historian and philosopher, as well as many others (Panfilo Heráclides Pontic Hecateo, Duris, etc. .)

In each biography, and according to the information available, the method of exposure is invariably Laertius: Life develops from a family link ("Euclid was a native of Megara, a town near the Isthmus, or according to some, Gela ...") and philosophical ("- Archelaus - was a pupil of Anaxagoras and teacher of Socrates, who first brought the Ionian natural philosophy ..."), Athens presents an anecdotal format, where combines character, vices, virtues, life journey, cites literature (as thoroughly overwhelming as in the life of Theophrastus), summarizes his thought, if they thinks fit, provides a curious document or essential supplies a poem of his or someone else and ends with what was a common Hellenistic enjoyment of coincidences of names and variety of trades. Can not believe that it meets this permanently (the life of Diogenes of Apollonia and others are done with all the reluctance imaginable), but when it does provides invaluable data. Laertius does not intend ever to idealize the vast universe of the life of a thinker, not an analysis or further postulates a vagary metaphysics. Modest as few, is an author who defends life as the main starting point for philosophical discussion. Is able to synthesize an abstract speculation without accepting its aftermath.

Laertius, in every line, every page, gives the impression of being a biographer who achieves his task force stopped appealing to authority or historical criticism. Spontaneity, with an undesirable, is abruptly shoved aside in favor of a harsh comment. Your attempt was a defense against acute scholarship of his time, but it had two writers who struggled to distinguish: the collector, antiques dealer and loan shark lives of special and sensitive poetic thinker, whose work safeguards, with silence or indiscreet revelations happy, the remarkable story of group of men that informed one of the boldest moves and effective cooling of the planet. Nothing less. Or anything else.

Considering the sheer pleasure in the "Lives of the most famous Greek philosophers" would recommend reading the biographies of Heraclitus, Diogenes of Sinope, called The Cynic, of Citium Zeno, Pythagoras, Socrates, and Demetrius Falero Epicurus. Anecdotes and data are arranged with such a sense of humor and philosophy that are irresistible. Fragments anthology a great extent. Suffice it to a sample: "- Diogenes - being in an unclean bathroom, said:" Those who bathe here, where they wash? "." Another says: "He sent - Epimenides - once his father to his field with a sheep, and deviated from the road, when noon came to a cave, and slept there for fifty-seven. Awakened after this time, he sought the sheep, thinking he had only slept for a while, but finding it turned into the field, and as I saw it all from another aspect, and even field to another owner, marveled at end, he went to the city. He wanted to enter his house, and asking who was found with his younger brother, then an old man, who knew of his mouth the whole truth. Known for that of all Greece, which had as beloved of the gods ...". The happiness does not stop once you start reading this prodigious. At least for me, never ended. I think even I'm just at the dawn of that enjoyment.

Postscript. Despite numerous adverse judgments continuity in the work of Laertius transmission is a fact undeniable. It was and remains very well read. José Ortiz Sainz, Castilian translator, wrote in the eighteenth century to the version used "the famous Graeco-Latin edition of Laertius given by Enrique Westenio in Amsterdam, the year of 1692, cum not. Var., In two volumes in 4to." But long before Borbonicus manuscripts (XII century) and the Laurentianus (XIII century) have provided compelling issues with the call is editio princeps of 1533 and was made in Basel, the legendary Hieronymus Frobenius. In 1850 CG

Cobet prepared an issue. In 1950 appeared in the Loeb Library version "Lives of Eminent Philosophers" by RD Hicks, and it is this that I used for the composition of this short text. Have the opportunity, I hope that a frustrated version started in January 1989 reached a happy ending some day.

From:
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Good Morning America Aeropostle

brief indiscretion Dimensions of Hell VII-Greed


For
Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas

With reference to Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto VII.

Witnessing as Dante and Virgil entered its reserved, Pluto threatened them with a jargon of dark interjections Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. However, Virgil was able to make sense of bravado, and in addition to smother the danger, urging the devil to submit on behalf of the divine power.
is possible in this notice, then good and evil are able to understand each other, either because they both come from the same source, where they were inseparable and therefore the world was completely different in its evaluative dimension, or because basically still together and form a secret unit that basis, a reality that only pragmatic habit we tend to branch, through the work of a thoughtless Manichaeism. ***



"There I saw more condemned than any other part, which formed in two rows, rushed from one to the other enormous weights with all the effort of his chest, shouting loudly: dábanse big hits , and then back again each exclaiming: - Why are you? Why do you waste? "

As these sad beings show, is already condemned who monopolizes much, since it misses the mark. Which aims to Wholeness denotes excessive ambition, a little judicious calculation of own scope, because home can express the simple concept of all totality is an act delimiter, which can only be understood by what it leaves out, so fails to grasp. There is a wealth that might make sense if it is in relation to what has not. ***



The lavish act the same way, only more clever, try to hide their greed in negative terms, trying to grab the blue. When they realize what their actions unsatisfactory, it is too late: they have thrown themselves, tied to rock torment. ***



"Then you can see, my son, how quickly passes the breath of the assets of the Fortuna, by which the human race proud and complaint. All the gold that exists under the moon, and everyone who ever lived, can not give a moment's peace to one of those weary souls. "

So that is consistently expressed, that all men accumulated wealth , are not worth one tear motivated by pain, since ultimately both shine with the light, but only one of two gives evaporates over time, and therefore, increases its value. ***





"Teacher, Fortuna show me what that you speak of, and thus you are holding the world's goods.
And he replied:
- Oh, crazy creatures! How great is the ignorance that they lost! "

should be noted that only straying in darkness, it was like Dante, eventually, managed to ascend to Heaven. In such a way that if ignorance is what allows total disorientation, unexpectedly, will become our largest and most abundant source of wealth.
"Blessed are the poor in spirit that theirs is the kingdom of heaven." ***



"Behold why as a nation dominates another languishes, as judged by Him who is hidden, like the snake in the grass. "

then responsible for the present, overwhelming and immersed in inequality, no fruits are dedicated to providing prohibited, they speculate now ... ***



"Your changes have no truce, the need requires it to be fast, for it changes everything in the world so often. Such is this, who so often reproached should extol them, and who blaspheme and curse for no reason. But she is happy, and not hear the curses: happy among the first creatures, continuing his work and enjoys the bliss. " Undoubtedly

Dante is not contained in manifest once again in this passage, that his great fortune is Beatrice, ie women. ***



"Son, looks at the souls of those who have been dominated by anger ..."

And if the area is hellish prodigal greedy and connects with the angry, perhaps because it is delivered to extreme anger, but not until they capture self consumption. And then give generously, to head against the void.
So, no more, no less.


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Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas. All rights reserved.


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3 Birthday Invitation

Philip K. Dick: How to Build a Universe That no Two Days After Collapse

by Philip K. Dick

First, before you start to bore you with the kind of thing that usually talks say the writers of science fiction, let me convey official greetings from Disneyland. I consider myself a spokesperson for Disneyland because I live just a few miles away; and as if that were not enough, once I had the honor of being interviewed there by Paris TV.

For several weeks after the interview, I was really sick and confined to bed. I think it was the whirling teacups. Elizabeth Antebi, who was the producer of the film, wanted me turning into one of those giant teacups while discussing the rise of fascism with Norman Spinrad ... an old friend of mine who writes excellent science fiction. We also discussed Watergate, but that we did on the deck of Captain Hook's pirate ship. Toddlers Mickey Mouse hats-those black hats with ears-kept running and turning against us as the cameras whirred, and Elizabeth was unexpected questions. Norman and I worried about the shaking of children, said some extraordinarily stupid things that day. Today, however, I must accept full blame for what they tell you, since none of you has Mickey Mouse hats and trying to climb over me with the idea that I am part of the furniture of a pirate ship.

science fiction writers, I say, do not really know anything. We can not talk about science, because our knowledge of it is limited and unofficial, and usually our fiction is dreadful. A few years ago, no college or university would have ever considered invited to speak to one of us. We were mercifully confined to underground magazines, not to impress anyone. Those days, friends would tell me, "but you're writing something serious?" Meaning, "Are you writing anything other than science fiction?". Longed to be accepted, if we were done. Then, suddenly, the academic world noticed us, we were invited to give speeches and appear on juries, and immediately look silly. The problem is this, simply, what does a science fiction writer? What is an authority issue?

reminds me of a headline that appeared in a California newspaper just before he flew there. SCIENTISTS SAY THEY CAN NOT SEEM TO GET THAT HUMANS MICE. Was a research program funded by the state, I guess. Think about that: there is someone in this world who is an authority on the issue of whether or not we can put the mouse shoes, bowler hats, striped shirts, and Dacron pants, and pass for human.

Well, I'll tell you what interests me, what I consider important. I can not say that is an authority on anything, but I can honestly say that certain subjects fascinate me, and I write about them all the time. The two basic topics that fascinate me are "What is reality?" and "What constitutes the authentic human being?". During the twenty-seven years that I have published novels and stories I have investigated these two interrelated topics over and over again. I consider them important topics. What are we? What is it that surrounds us, what we call non-self, or the empirical or phenomenal?

In 1951, when I sold my first story, I had no idea that such fundamental issues could be pursued in the field of science fiction. I started doing it unconsciously. My first story was about a dog who imagined that the man who picked up every Friday was stealing away precious food that the family had carefully stored in a secure metal container. Each day, members family drew good food bags matures, went into the metal container, the lid was secured tightly closed, and the container was full, these dreadful-looking creatures came and stole everything but the container.

Finally, in the story, the dog begins to imagine that one day the men who collect the garbage people eat at home, eat your food well. And of course, the dog is wrong about this, we all know they do not eat people. But extrapolation of the dog in a sense it was logical, given the facts before it. The story was about a real dog, watching and trying to get into your head and imagine and saw the world. Certainly, I decided, that dog sees the world quite differently to how I or any human being does. And then I started thinking, maybe every human lives in one world, private, a different world from those who experience and live the rest of humanity. And this led me to wonder if the reality differs from person to person, can we speak of a singular reality, or we should not really be talking about plural realities? And if there are plural realities, are some more true (more real) than others? And the world of a schizophrenic? Perhaps it is as real as ours. Maybe we can not say we are in touch with reality and he did not, but we should say that their reality is so different from ours that can not explaining it, and we can not tell us ours. The problem then is that if subjective worlds are perceived too different, there occurs a breakdown in communication ... and there is the real disease.

once wrote a story about a man who was wounded and taken to a hospital. When they started to do surgery, they discovered he was an android, not a human, but he did not know. Had to tell the news. Almost immediately, Mr. Garson Poole discovered that his reality consisted of a tape with holes in reel passing reel in his chest. Fascinated, he began to fill some holes and add others. Immediately, his world changed. A flock of ducks flew through the room when poked a new hole in the tape. Finally cut the tape entirely, bringing the world disappeared. However, it also disappeared for the rest of the characters in the story ... it makes no sense if you think about. Unless the other characters were figments of his imagination punched tape. That is what I imagine they were.

was always my hope, to write novels and stories which asked the question "What is reality?" Find an answer someday. This was the hope, too, most of my readers. Years passed. I wrote about thirty novels and a hundred stories, and had not yet been able to find out what was real. One day a high school student in Canada asked me to define what was actually for a job that was writing in philosophy class. Wanted an answer in one sentence. I thought about it and I finally said, "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, not away." That's all I could think of. That was in 1972. Since then I have not been able to define reality with more clarity.

But the problem is real, not just an intellectual game. Because today we live in a society where the media made spurious realities, governments, large corporations, religious groups, politicians, ... and there are electronic means to deliver these pseudo-worlds durectamente in the minds of those who read it, I see it, hear. Sometimes when I watch my eleven year old daughter watching TV, I wonder what you are teaching. Or the wrong time, consider this: a TV program produced for adults is viewed by young children. Probably half of what is said is misinterpreted by the child. Maybe everything. And the question is, how authentic is the information in any case, even if the child correctly understood? What is the ratio of standard television situation comedy and reality? What about police programs? Cars are continually losing control, crashing and burning. The police is always good and always wins. Do not ignore this, the police always win. What a lesson that is. You should not fight authority, and even if you do, you lose. The message here is, Be passive, and Cooperation. If Officer Baretta asks you for information, give it, because Officer Baretta is a good man and you have to trust him. Loves you, and you should do the same.

So I wonder what I write, what is real? Because we are constantly bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms. No suspicious of their motives, wary of his power. They have a lot of that. It is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind. Should know. I do the same. My job is to create universes, as the basis for a novel after another. And I have to build in a way not to fall two days later. Or at least that's what my editors hope. However, I will tell you a secret: I like to build universes that collapse. I like to see deconstructed, and I like to see how the characters in the novels deal with this problem. I have a secret love of chaos. There should be more thereof. Do not believe-and I am absolutely serious when I say this, "do not assume that the order and stability are always good, in a society or in the universe. The old, the ossified, must always give way to new life and birth of new things. Before the new things are born the old must perish. This understanding is dangerous, because it tells us that we must eventually part with much of what is familiar. And that hurts. But the script is part of life. Unless we can psychologically accommodate change, we ourselves begin to die inside. What I am saying is that objects, customs, habits and ways of life must perish so that the authentic human being can live. And authentic human being who matters most, the viable organism, elastic, that can bounce back, absorb, and deal with the new.

Of course, I say this because I live near Disneyland, and are always adding new rides and destroying old ones. Disneyland is an organism that evolves. For years they had the Lincoln Simulacrum, like Lincoln that was only a temporary form which matter and energy were taken and eventually disappear. The same is true of every one of us, like it or not.

The pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Parmenides taught that the only things that are real are those that never change ... and the Greek philosopher pre-Socratic Heraclitus taught that everything changes. If flaps both views, you get this result: Nothing is real. There is a fascinating next step to this line of thinking: Parmenides could never have existed because he grew old and died and disappeared, which, according to his own philosophy, never existed. And Heraclitus may have been right, do not forget this, so if Heraclitus was right, then Parmenides did exist, and therefore, according to Heraclitus' philosophy, perhaps Parmenides was right, since Parmenides fulfilled the conditions, criteria, by which Heraclitus real judged things.

offer this merely to show that once you start to wonder what is definitely real, you start talking nonsense. Zeno provide that the motion was impossible (well, just figured I had done, what he lacked was what technically is called the "theory of limits"). David Hume, the biggest skeptic of all, once said that following a meeting of skeptics met to proclaim the veracity of skepticism as a philosophy, there was the odd fact that all members of the meeting went through the door instead of the window. I see the sense of what counts Hume, was all talk. The solemn philosophers were not taking seriously what they said.

But I think the question of defining what is real, this is serious, even vital. And that somewhere there is another issue, the definition of authentic humanity. Due to the bombardment of pseudo-reality, humans are rapidly produced, authentic, spurious, as fake as the data pressing on all fronts. My two topics are really one; come together at this point. The human false create false realities. Or, fake humans will generate fake realities and then the human traffic with other false. It is simply a very long version of Disneyland. You can have the Pirate Ride or the Lincoln Simulacrum or Mr.Toad Wild Ride, you can have them all, but neither is true.

Writing interested me so much for the fakes that I finally got the concept of fake fakes. For example, in Disneyland there are fake birds driven by electric motors which emit caws and shrieks as you pass. Suppose that one night we sneak into the park with real birds and replaced the artificial. Imagine the horror that owners feel when they discovered the cruel joke. Birds of truth! And perhaps someday even real hippos and lions. Consternation. The park being cunningly transmuted by sinister forces from the unreal to the real. For example say, what if the Matterhorn turned into a genuine snow-covered mountain? What if the entire place, by a miracle of God's power and wisdom, was changed in a moment, with the wink of an eye, into something incorruptible? Would shut down.

In Plato's Timaeus, God created the universe, as does the Christian God, just find it a day. Is in a state of total chaos. God is put to work to transform chaos into order. That idea appeals to me, and I have adapted to my intellectual needs: What if our universe started out as unrealistic, a kind of illusion as the Hindu religion teaches, and God, love and kindness toward us, what was slowly and secretly transmuting into something real?

We would not be aware of this transformation, and we were not aware at first that our world was an illusion. This is technically a Gnostic idea. Gnosticism is a religion which embraced Jews, Christians and pagans for several centuries. I have been accused of holding Gnostic ideas. I guess I do. At some point I would have burned. But some of his ideas intrigue me. Once when I was researching Gnosticism in the Britannica, I came across a mention of a Gnostic codex called The Unreal God and the aspects of his universe does not exist, an idea that reduced me to a desperate laughter. What kind of person would write about something he knows does not exist, and how can something that does not exist have aspects? But then I realized I'd been writing about these issues for twenty years. I guess you could say a lot when you write about a topic that does not exist. A friend of mine once published a book called Snakes of Hawaii. Several libraries wrote him asking for copies. Well, there are no snakes in Hawaii. All pages of his book were blank.

course in science fiction there is no pretense that the worlds described are real. So we call it fiction. The reader is warned in advance that does not believe in what is going to read. Similarly, visitors to Disneyland understand that Mr.Toad not really exist and that the pirates are moved by motors and servo-assisted, relays, and electronic circuits. Thus there is no deception.

And yet the strange thing is, that somehow, in a real way, much of what appears under the title "science fiction" is real. It may not be literally true, I guess. We've never really been invaded by creatures from another solar system, as described in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. The producers of that film never intended that to believe it. Does it?

More importantly, if they had tried to say this, would really true?. That is the question, not whether the author or producer believe it, but is it true?. Because, by an accident while chasing a good story, a science fiction writer or a producer or screenwriter could come up with the truth, ... and realize later.

The most basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use words. George Orwell made this clear in his novel 1984. But another way to control the minds of the people is to control their perceptions. If you can see the world as you do, think as you think. Understanding follows perception. How do you see the reality you see? After all, is only one reality among many. The images are a basic constituent, for this is what the power of TV to influence young minds is so brutally vast. Words and images are synchronized. The possibility of total control of the viewer exists, especially in the young. Watching TV is a kind of apprenticeship in the dream. An EEG of a person watching TV shows shows that after half an hour the brain decides that nothing is happening, and becomes a hypnotic state by emitting alpha waves. This is because there is very little eye movement. Moreover, much of the information is graphic, and therefore goes to the right brain instead of being processed by the left, where the conscious personality. Recent experiments indicate that much of what we see on the TV screen is received subliminally. Just imagine that we consciously what is there. The bulk of the messages they avoid our attention, literally within hours of watching TV, do not know what we have seen. Our memories are spurious, such as dreams, the voids are filled retrospectively. And counterfeited. We have participated unknowingly in the creation of a spurious reality, and we have to feed her. Have conspired against us to our own condemnation.

And I say this as a professional fiction writer-producers, writing scripts, and directors who create these worlds of audio / video, do not know how much of it is true. In other words, they are victims of their own product, along with us. Speaking for myself, I do not know how much of what I write is true, or which parts (if any) is true. This is potentially lethal. We have fiction mimicking truth, and truth mimicking fiction. We have a dangerous overlap, a dangerous blurring area. And probably not deliberate. In fact, that's part of the problem. You can not legislate an author correctly label their product, like a can of pudding whose ingredients are listed on the label ... can not declare him how much is truth and what part is not when he ignores it.

is an eerie experience to write something in a novel, believing it is pure fiction, and learned later, perhaps years later, it's true. I would give you an example. It's something I do not understand. Podais perhaps give me a theory. I can not.

In 1970 I wrote a novel called Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said. " One of the characters is a nineteen year old girl named Kathy. Her husband's name is Jack. Kathy appears to work for the criminal underground, but later, as we move into the novel, we discover that is working for the police. Is having an affair with a police inspector. The character is pure fiction. Or at least I think it was.

Anyway, on Christmas Day 1970, I met a girl named Kathy-this was after finishing the novel, it is understood. Was nineteen. Her boyfriend named Jack. I soon learned that Kathy dealing drugs. I spent months trying to make it to traffic stop, the time and again warned that they could catch it. Then one evening as we walked together to a restaurant, Kathy stopped short and said, "I can not enter." Sitting in the restaurant was a police inspector who knew. "I have to tell the truth, "Kathy said," I have a relationship with him. "

Certainly, these coincidences. He might have precognition. mistero But it gets even weirder, the next stage totally baffles me. He has done for four years.

In 1974 the novel was published by Doubleday. One afternoon I was talking to my priest, I am Episcopalian, "and I mentioned was an important scene near the end of the novel in which the character Felix Buckman meets a black guy at a gas station open 24 hours and start talking. As described in the scene more and more detail, my priest became progressively more agitated. At last he said, "this is a scene from the Book of Acts, the Bible! The person who finds the black man on the road is called Philip, like you." Father Rasch was so upset by the resemblance that he could not even locate the scene in the Bible. "Read Acts," he instructed, "and you'll agree. It's the same up on specific details."

I went home and read the scene in Acts. Yes, Father Rasch was right, the scene in my novel again obviously was narrating the scene in Acts ... and had never read Acts, I must admit. But again the puzzle became deeper. In Acts, the high Roman official who arrests and interrogates Saint Paul is named Felix, the same my character name. And my character Felix Buckman is a high-ranking police, in fact, in my novel has the same role as Felix in the Book of Acts, the final authority. There is a conversation in my novel is much like a conversation between Felix and Paul.

Well, I decided to try and see other portraits. The main character in my novel is named Jason. I took an index to the Bible and looked to see if anyone named Jason appeared somewhere in the Bible. I could not remember any. Well, a man named Jason appears once (and only one) in the Bible. It's in the Book of Acts. And like a plague with more matches, in my novel Jason is fleeing from the authorities and takes refuge in the house of a person, and in Acts the man named Jason harbor a fugitive in his house, an exact inversion of the situation in my novel, as if the mysterious Spirit responsible for all this was somehow laughing the whole thing.

Felix, Jason, and the encounter on the road with the black man who is a stranger. In Acts, the disciple Philip baptizes the black man, who then start rejoicing. In my novel, Felix Buckman unknown black man looking for emotional support, because Felix Buckman's sister just died and he is falling apart psychologically. The black man helps the mood of Buckman, and although Buckman does not go away rejoicing, at least his tears have stopped falling. He has been flying home, mourning the death of his sister, and had to be with someone, anyone, even a complete stranger. It is an encounter between two strangers in the way that changes the life of one of them, both in my novel and in Acts. And one final quirk of mysterious spirit: the name Felix is \u200b\u200bthe Latin word for "happy." Which I did not know until I wrote the novel.

A careful study of my novel shows that for reasons I can not even begin to explain there was rewritten several of the basic incidents of a particular book of the Bible, even with the appropriate names. How could explain this? Was four years ago I discovered this. For four years I have tried to devise a theory and have not succeeded. I doubt they ever will.

But the mystery is not over here, as I thought. Two months ago she was walking to the mailbox to send a letter late at night, also to enjoy the view of the Church of Saint Joseph, which is on the opposite side of my apartment building. I saw a man loitering suspiciously around a parked car. It seemed to go to steal the car, or something of him as I returned from the mailbox, the man hid behind a tree. On impulse I walked up to him and asked, "Is something wrong?"

"I have no gasoline," said the man, "and I have no money."

Incredibly, he had never done this before, I took out my wallet, took all her money and gave him the money. Then I hit my hand and asked where I lived, so he could return it later. I returned to my apartment, and then I realized that money would not do any good, because it was not gas stations nearby. So I went back in my car. The man had a can of gasoline in the trunk of the car, and together, we drove my car to a gas station. Soon we were there, two strangers, while the rate of the station filled the can. I suddenly realized that this was the scene of my novel, the novel I had written eight years earlier. The gas station was exactly as I had vimaginado when I wrote the scene, the filling rate, the dazzling white light ... and now I saw something I had not seen before. The stranger who was helping was black.

drove back to his car with gasoline, we shook hands, and then returned to my apartment building. I never saw him again. I could not have returned the money because he had not told which of the many apartments was mine or what my name was. I was terribly shaken by this experience. He had lived literally a scene completely as it had appeared in my novel. Which is to say, having lived a kind of replica of the scene in which Philip Instruments is the black man on the road.

What could explain this?

The answer occurred to me might not be correct, but the only one I have. It's about time. My theory is this: in some important sense, time is not real. Or maybe it is real, but not as we experience or imagine it. His acute certainty, irrepressible (and even I have) that despite the change we see, a specific permanent landscape underlies the world of change, and that this invisible underlying landscape is that of the Bible, specifically, is the period immediately following the death and resurrection of Christ is, in other words, the time period of the Book of Acts.

Parmenides would be proud of me. I looked at a changing world and have declared that under him is the eternal, unchanging, the absolutely real. But how did this happen? If real time is 50 AD, why do we see the 1978 DC? And if we are really living in the Roman Empire, somewhere in Syria, why do we see the United States?

During the Middle Ages came a strange theory, I present now for what it's worth. It is the theory that the Evil-Satan-is the "Monkey God." Creates spurious imitations of creation, the real creation of God, and then interleaved with the real creation. Need help weird theory to explain my experience? Are we to believe that we are confused, misled, this is not 1978, but the 50 ... and Satan has created a fake reality to stunt our faith in Christ's return?

I can imagine being examined by a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist says, "what year is it?" And I say, "50 AD". The psychiatrist blinks and then asks, "And where are you?", And answering, "in Judea." "Where the hell is that?" Asks the psychiatrist. "It's part of the Roman Empire, would have to respond. "Do you know who is the President?" Ask the psychiatrist, and I reply, "The Procurator Felix." "Are you really sure about this?" ask the psychiatrist, while giving a signal to sneak a couple of very large staff. "Yes" answer. "Unless Felix has been demoted and replaced by the Procurator Festus. In other words, St. Paul was held by para-Felix." "Who told you this?" the psychiatrist would break the conversation irritated, and I reply, "The Holy Spirit." And after that would be in a padded room, looking out, and knowing no doubt how I got here.

Everything in that conversation would be true in some sense, although palpably not true in another. I am aware that the date is 1978 and that the president is Jimmy Carter and I live in Santa Ana, California, United States. I even know how to go from my apartment to Disneyland, a fact that does not seem to be able to forget. And surely no Disneyland had the time of St. Paul.

So, if I force myself to be very rational and reasonable and all that good stuff, I must admit that the existence of Disneyland (which I know is real) proves that we are not living in Judea in 50 AD The idea of \u200b\u200bSt. Paul going around in giant teacups while composing Corinthians, while Paris TV films him, yes that can not be. San Pablo never go to Disneyland. Only children, tourists and senior Soviet officials ever go to Disneyland. Saints do not.

But somehow that biblical material caught my unconscious and crept into my novel, and equally true, for some reason in 1978 I relived a scene that was described in 1970. What I mean is this: there is internal evidence in at least one of my novels that another reality, that does not change, exactly as Parmenides and Plato suspected, underlies the visible phenomenal world of change, and somehow, perhaps to our surprise , we through and reach it. Or some mysterious spirit can get in touch with her, if you want to see this permanent other landscape. Time passes, thousands of years pass, but at the moment we see this contemporary world, the world antigo, the world of the Bible, is concealed behind him, still there and still real. Forever.

Should I take a chance and tell the rest of this particular story? I will, having come so far already. My novel Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said was published by Doubleday in February 1974. The week after it was published, I took two wisdom teeth, and gave me pentatol sodium. Later that day I found with severe pain. My wife phoned the dentist and called to a pharmacy. Half an hour later there was a call on my door, the person bringing the package with the medication. Although he was bleeding and sick and weak, I felt the need to respond to the call at the door myself. When I opened the door, I found myself facing a young woman wearing a shiny gold necklace in the center of which was a gleaming gold fish. For some reason I was hypnotized by the goldfish, I forgot my pain and medication, I forgot that the girl was there. I stared at the fish symbol.

"What is that?" I asked. She touched

bright golden fish with her hand and said, "This is a symbol worn by the early Christians." Then I got the package with the medication.

At that moment, while watching the fish sign and heard his words, suddenly experienced what I later understood as history, the Greek word that literally means "loss of forgetfulness." I remembered who he was and where I was. In an instant, in the wink of an eye, everything came back to me. And not only him but could remember. The girl was a secret Christian, and I was. We lived in fear of being caught by the Romans. We had to communicate with cryptic signs. She had just told me everything this was true.

For a short time, however difficult it is to believe or explain, I saw the image of a black contours of hateful Rome prison. But, more importantly, remembered Jesus, who had been with us recently, and had gone temporarily, and return soon. My emotion was joy. We were secretly preparing his welcome back. It would not be much. And the Romans did not know. Thought he was dead, dead forever. That was our great secret, our joyous knowledge. Despite appearances, Christ would return, and our enjoyment and anticipation knew no boundaries.

Not is odd that this strange event, this recovery of a lost memory, occurred only a week after the publication of "Flow My Tears"? What is Flow My Tears which contains the reply of the people and events of the Book of Acts, which is located at the precise moment in time, just after the death and resurrection of Jesus, which had been reminded, through symbol of the goldfish, just what had just happened?

If you were me, and this will have happened, I'm sure you could not leave it alone. Look to find a theory that could account for it. For four years now, I've been trying one theory after another: time circular, frozen time, timeless time, what time is called "sacred" about the "worldly" ... I can not count the theories I've tried. One constant has prevailed, however, through all the theories. There must be some mysterious Holy Spirit which has a precise and intimate relationship with Christ, who can inhabit human minds, to guide and inform, and even express itself through those humans, even without being aware of it.

In writing of Flow My Tears, in 1970, there was an unusual event that I realized at that moment that it was not normal, was not a part of the normal process of writing. I had a dream one night, a dream especially vivid. And then I woke up and found myself under the compulsion-the absolute need-to translate the dream into the text of the novel as we had dreamed. To move the dream correctly, I had to do eleven drafts of the final part of the manuscript, until I was satisfied.

I will now quote the novel, as it appeared the final published form. See if this dream reminds you of something.


field, brown and dry in summer, where she had lived as a child. He rode a horse, and going to his left a squad of horses slowly approaching. On the horses rode men in shining robes, each with a color other, each wearing a helmet peak finish sparkled with sunlight Knights ahead will slow and solemn, and noticed while riding one's face, an ancient marble face, a terribly old man with wavy waterfalls white beard. How strong nose he had. What noble features. So tired, so serious, so far beyond ordinary men. Evidently he was a king. Felix Buckman

let him pass, not spoke to them, or they did to him. Together, all moved into the house from which he had come. A man was locked inside the house, a man alone, Jason Taverner, in the silence and darkness, without windows, for yourself from now until eternity. And then he heard behind him one dreadful shriek. They had killed Taverner, and seeing them go, feeling his alrededos leftovers, knowing what I intended to do with him, Taverner had shrieked.

Felix Buckman felt a complete and utter desolate grief. But sleep would not go back and look back. You could not do anything. Nobody could have stopped the gang of men in colorful robes, they could not be convinced. In any case, was over. Taverner was dead.



This passage probably does not suggest anything in particular you, except a gang that judges and applies the law on anyone either guilty or considered clpable. It is not clear whether Taverner has in fact committed a crime or merely think you've done. I have the impression that he was guilty, but it was a tragedy that had to be killed, a terribly sad tragedy. In the novel, this dream makes Felix Buckman begins to mourn, so look for the black man at the pump 24 hours.

Months after the novel was published, I found the section in the Bible that referred to this dream. It is Daniel, 7:9:


"They stood in place thrones and an elder in years took place. His robe was white as snow and hair of his head like cleanest wool. His throne was flames of fire, and his wheel flares, a fire was flowing river in front of him. Miles served and crowds attending his presence. The court sat, and the book was opened. "

The white-haired old man appears again in Revelation 1:13:

" Vi ... One like the Son of man, with a gown to her then, with a golden sash around his chest. The hair of his head was white as snow-white wool, and his eyes were like flaming fire, his feet gleamed like burnished brass refined in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing water. "And then 1

: 17:

"When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he put his right hand on me and said, "Fear not. I am the first and last, and I'm living, because I was dead and I am alive forever, and took the keys of death and their domains. Write for so what you saw, which is now, and what will from now on. "

And, as John of Patmos, wrote faithfully what he saw and put it in my novel. And it was true, although at the time did not know what he meant this description:

"... and while traveling noticed the face of one, an ancient marble face, a terribly old man with wavy white beard cascades . How strong nose he had. What noble features. So tired, so serious, so far beyond ordinary men. Evidently he was a king. "

In fact it was a king. It is Christ returned to judge. And this is what he does in my novel, judge the man trapped in darkness. The man locked up in darkness must be the Prince of Evil Force of Darkness. Call it what you want, its time had come. He was tried and convicted. Felix Buckman could complain to the sadness of it, but knew that the verdict could not be disputed. So I rode on, without turning around or looking back, hearing only the shriek of fear and defeat: the cry of evil destroyed.


So

my novel contained material from other parts of the Bible, as well as sections of Acts. Decoded, my novel tells a story quite different from the surface (which need not discuss here). The real story is simply this: the return of Christ, now king rather than suffering servant. Judge rather than victim of an unfair trial. All wrong. The core message of my novel, without my knowing it was a warning to the powerful: you will soon be tried and convicted. Who I was referring specifically? Well, I can not really say, or maybe he'd rather not. I have no certainty, only an intuition. And that's not enough to continue, so I will keep my thoughts. But you could ask what political events took place in this country between February and August 1974. Who was tried and convicted, and fell like a shooting star into ruin and disgrace. The most powerful man in the world. And I regret it now as it was when I dreamed that dream. "That poor man," I once told my wife, with tears in his eyes. "Locked in the dark, playing the piano at night for himself, alone and afraid, knowing what's to come." For the love of God, perdonemosle the end. But what was asked of him and all his men - "The President's Men" as they say, should be done. But it's over, and should be left to see the sunlight again, any creature or person should be locked up forever in the dark with fear. It's not human.

Just as the Supreme Court was deciding that the recordings of Nixon were taken to the special prosecutor, was eating at a Chinese restaurant in Yorba Linda, the people of California where Nixon went to school, where he grew up, where he worked in a supermarket where there is a park that bears his name, and of course the Nixon house, simple strips of wood and all that. In my fortune cookie, the paper read:

ACTS DONE IN SECRET HAVE A WAY TO
be ascertained


I mailed the paper to the White House, noting that the Chinese restaurant was located within a radius of one mile over the original home of Nixon, and said, "I think there has been a mistake, by accident I received a cookie fate of Mr. Nixon. Is it mine? ". The White House did not respond.

Well, as I said before, the author of a work of alleged fiction might write the truth without knowing it. To quote Xenophanes, another pre-Socratic, "Even if a man had the opportunity to speak the full truth, he does not know, all things are wrapped in appearances" (fragemento 34). And Heraclitus added to this: "Nature of things is the habit of hiding "(fragment 54). WSGilbert, Gilbert and Sullivan, the proposed well:" Things are seldom what they seem, skim milk masquerades as cream. "The important thing is that we can not trust our senses and probably even our a priori reasoning. As to our senses, I understand that people who had been blind since birth and suddenly obtain from view is shocked to discover that objects appear smaller and smaller as moving away. Logically, no reason for this. We, of course, we have learned to accept this because we have become accustomed. We see objects get smaller, but we know actually remain the same size. So even the people in their everyday pragmatic uses a certain extent the process of discarding things which your eyes and ears tell him. Little

that Heraclitus wrote has survived, and what we have is obscure, but Fragment 54 is lucid and important: "The deep structure is master of obvious structure." This means that Heraclitus believed that there was a veil over the real landscape. It might also have suspected that time was somehow not what it seems, because in Fragment 52 he said: "Time is a child playing checkers: a child is the kingdom." This is indeed cryptic. But he also said, in Fragment 18: "If you do not expect, you do not find the unexpected, since it is undiscoverable and no way we can take it." Edward Hussey, in his scholarly book The Presocratics, says

"If Heraclitus is so insistent on the lack of understanding shown by most men, it seems reasonable to offer instruction to penetrate deeper truth. The chatter puzzle suggests that some kind of revelation, beyond human control, is needed ... true wisdom, as has been seen, is closely associated with God, which emphasizes the suggestion that for the advancement of knowledge a man becomes as, or part of, God.

This appointment is not a religious book or theology, it is an analysis of the earliest philosophers by a former philosophy professor at the University of Oxford. Hussey explained that for these early philosophers there was no distinction between philosophy and religion. The first quantum leap in Greek theology was by Xenophanes of Colophon, born in the middle of the sixth century BC. Xenophanes, without resorting to any authority except that of his own mind, says

there a god, certainly not as deadly creatures in flesh or in the thoughts of their minds. The whole of him sees, thinks, listen. Always remains motionless in the same place is not appropriate that it should now move this way, after that another.

This is a subtle and advanced concept of God, evidently without precedent among the Greek thinkers. "The arguments of Parmenides seemed to show that all reality must indeed be a mind," Hussey writes, "or the thought in mind." Specifically about Heraclitus says, "In Heraclitus is difficult to say how far the designs in a divine mind is distinguished from its implementation in the world, or indeed how far God's mind differs from the world." Next hop Anaxagoras has always fascinated me. "Anaxagoras was born a theory of the microstructure of the material that was, to some extent mysterious to human reason. "Anaxagoras believed that everything was determined by the mind. These were not children or primitive thinkers. They were debating serious issues and studied one points of view of another business intuition. It was not until Aristotle that their views were reduced to what can be classified neatly-but wrongly-as primitive. The sum of many pre-Socratic theology and philosophy can be stated as follows: the cosmos is not what it seems, and what is probably the deepest level, is exactly what the human being is in its deepest level, be it mind or soul, is something unitary which lives and thinks, and that only appears to be plural and material. In large part, this view reaches us through the Logos doctrine regarding Christ. The Logos was both that which thought, and the thing I thought: thinker and thought together. The universe, then, is thinker and thought, and because we are part of it, the final analysis, human being and thinkers are thinking these thoughts.

Thus if God thinks about Rome around 50 AD, then Rome around 50 AD is. The universe is not winding watch and God's hand that string. There is a battery-powered clock with God as a battery. Spinoza believed that the universe is the body of God extensive in space. But long before Spinoza-two thousand years earlier, Xenophanes had said, "without effort, he wields all things by the thought of his mind" (Fragment 25)

If anyone have read my novel Ubik, you know that the mysterious body or mind or force called Ubik starts out as a series of cheap and vulgar commercials and winds up saying:

am Ubik. Before the universe was me. I made the suns. I made the worlds. I created the lives and the places they inhabit, they move here, I put there. Marchan as I say, do as I say. I am the word and my name is never spoken, the name that nobody knows. I am called Ubik but that's not my name. Am. Always be.

here is obvious who and what Ubik, specifically says that is the word, which is to say, the Logos. In the German translation, was one of the most wonderful lapses regarding the correct understanding that I have ever found, God help us if the man who translated my novel Ubik into German would have had to translate the New Testament Koine Greek into German. He did everything right until he reached the phrase "I am the word." That puzzled him. What can the author mean by that?, Must have asked himself, obviously never encountered the absence of the doctrine of the Logos. So he made the best translation I could. In the edition Germany, the Absolute Entity which made the suns, created the worlds, created the lives and the places they inhabit, says of herself: I'm

trademark (N. of T. English "brand name", name- -la-mark)

Had translated the Gospel of John, I guess I would have gone something like

When all things began, it was the trademark. The brand name dwelt with God, and God was, the brand was.

would seem that not only bring you greetings from Disneyland but from Mortimer Snerd. Such is the fate of an author who had hoped to include theological themes in his writings. "The brand name was then with God at the beginning, and through him all things came to be, not a single thing was created without him. "So there are noble ambitions. We hope God has a sense of humor.

Or should I say, hopefully that the trademark has a sense of humor.


As I told you before, my two concerns in writing, are "What is reality?" and "What constitutes the authentic human being?". They sure as you can see I have not been able to answer the first question. I have a permanent intuition that somehow the world of the Bible were literally real but veiled landscape, never changing, hidden from view, but available to us through revelation. That's all I'm capable of devising, a mixture of mystical experience, reasoning, and faith. I would still say something about the characteristics of authentic human in this quest I had a plausible answer to the other.

The real human is one of us who instinctively knows what you should not do and which in addition will be obstacles to do so. Refuse to do so, even if this brings awesome consequences for her and those she loves. This, to me, is the ultimate heroic feature of normal people say no to the tyrant and calmly take the consequences of resistance. Their deeds may be small, and often unnoticed, without picking up the story. Their names are not remembered, nor human authentic expected these names will be remembered. I see the authenticity of an odd way: not available to accomplish great heroic deeds but in their quiet negative. In essence, can not be forced to be what they are not.

The power of spurious realities that hit us today-these deliberately manufactured lies, "never penetrate to the heart of true human beings. I see kids watching TV, and first I have fear of what they are teaching, then I realize that can not be corrupted or destroyed. Observe, listen, understand, and then, when and where necessary, reject. There is something enormously powerful in a child's ability to resist fraudulent. A child has the clearest, the steadiest hand. Unscrupulous sellers, developers are trying to attract the loyalty of the small people in vain. True, the cereal companies may be able to place large quantities of junk breakfasts; chains burgers and hot dogs may sell endless numbers of unreal fast food to children, but the deep heart beats firmly, or reached or understood. A child of today can detect a lie quicker than the wisest adult two decades ago. When I want to know what is true, ask my kids. Do not ask me, I turn to them.

One day while my son Christopher, who is four years old, was playing in front of me and his mother, the two adults began discussing the figure of Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels. Christopher turned to us for a moment and said, "I am a fisherman. Pesco fish." I was playing with a metal lantern that someone had given me, and had never used, ... and suddenly I realized that the lantern was shaped like a fish. I wonder what thoughts were being placed in the soul of my little child at the time, and not by grain merchants or dealers of candy. "I am a fisherman, fish fish." Christopher, at four years, had found the symbol that I did not find until it was forty-five years.

Time speeds up, and to what end? Perhaps we were told two thousand years ago. Or maybe it was not long ago, maybe it is a delusion that has been so long. Perhaps it was a week ago, or was today, early. Perhaps time is not only accelerating, perhaps, by the way, is to end.

And if it does, the rides at Disneyland are not coming back to the same thing again. Because when time runs out, the birds and hippos and lions and deer at Disneyland will no longer be simulations, and for the first time a real bird will sing.

Thanks.


Text taken from:
http://www.13t.org/decondicionamiento/forum/leemas.php?p=1799&t=417


Image taken from: http://
www.geocities.com/area51/crater/4909/ucdick.jpg