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knowledge advantages Ukiyo-e *

"Just live for the moment to admire the splendor of the moonlight, the snow, the cherry blossom-colored leaves maple. We enjoyed the day excited about the wine, without being disappointed human poverty eyes stare. We got carried away, like a pumpkin pulled by the current of the river without losing heart for an instant. This is what we call the floating world, the passing world. "


(Asai Ryoi, Legends of the Floating World, writer and Buddhist monk of the Edo period, ca. 1661)

* "UKIYO - E is a Buddhist stem term, which refers to the concept of transience, impermanence. And this is the concept will then be used to describe the art of Japanese period covering the years 1602 to 1867 and reflects the everyday pleasures ephemeral, fluctuating in the city of Edo (now Tokyo). The art of Ukiyo-e shows the Japanese people in their daily lives by attending the theater or KABUKI popular neighborhoods Yoshiwara red lamps (called "houses of pleasure forbidden") established in the city since 1657. "

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is no point living like a king next to useless
this still hearth, among barren rocks,
the consort of an old, inventing and deciding
Unequal laws unto a savage,
it accumulates, and sleeps and eats, and does not know who I am.
not not rest from travel: I drink
life to the lees. I've always enjoyed
much, I have suffered greatly, with whom
loved me alone, on the coast and when
with swift currents of the rain constellations
Vext the dim sea. I have become famous;
For always, driven by a hungry heart
've seen and know many cities
men and manners, climates, councils, governments,
them not being ignored, but always honored at all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
am part of everything I've seen;
and yet all experience is an arch through which
foresee an unknown world, whose horizon
flee again and again when I move.
How dull it is to stop, terminate,
rust free, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life Were all too
, and the only one I have
me Little remains: but every hour rescues
of eternal silence, something more,
brings something new, and would be negligible
time care and custody of three soles, and restrain this spirit
ya viejo, pero que arde en el deseo
de seguir aprendiendo, como se sigue a una estrella que cae,
más allá del límite más extremo del pensamiento humano.

Éste es mi hijo, mi propio Telémaco,
a quien dejo el cetro y esta isla.
Lo quiero mucho; tiene el criterio para triunfar
en esta labor, para civilizar con prudente paciencia
a un pueblo rudo, y para llevarlos lentamente
a que se sometan a lo que es útil y bueno.
Es del todo impecable, dedicado completamente
a los intereses comunes, y se puede confiar
en que sea compasivo y cumpla los ritos
con que se adora a los dioses tutelares
cuando me haya ido. Él hace lo suyo, yo, mine.

There lies the port, the vessel puffs her sail: There gloom
the broad, dark sea. You, my sailors,
souls who have worked and suffered and thought with me,
and always
a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, receiving free
with hearts and free minds, you and I aged.
Old age hath yet his honor and his work.
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
Stars begin to shine on the rocks:
the long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans
many voices. Come, my friends.
not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in the resounding beat the computer
grooves, as I intend
sail beyond the sunset, and the bathing
that all the western stars, until I die.
streams may sink and destroy us;
is possible that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
and see the great Achilles, whom we met.
Though much is taken, much abides; and
despite that we are not now that strength which once moved
the earth and the heavens, what we are, we are:
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
weakened by time and fate, but with a determined will
to strive, to seek, find, and not surrender.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

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Because I wrote Ulysses


and Angelica Cristina


Now that maybe in a year of quiet,
think: poetry helped me to this:
could not be happier, this was denied me, but I wrote
.

wrote: I was the victim
of begging and mixed pride and executed
also a few readers;
lay his hand on doors that never, ever seen;
a girl fell in another world at my feet.

But I wrote: I had this strange certainty,
the illusion of having the world in his hands
- what more perfect illusion! as a Baroque Christ in all its cruelty
unnecessarily
wrote, my writing was like weeds flower
unleavened but flowers in short,
the daily bread of uncultivated land:
a shell of thorns and roots
De
Life took these words as a child
tinsel pebbles by the river:
things magic, perfectly useless
but always return to renew their charm.

The kind of madness with an old flying pigeons
behind
imitating them was given to me instead of being used for something.
condemned I hesitate writing to all of my real existence
,
(days of my writing, solar abroad.)
all who served and those who were served
will say and do because I wrote
death means working closely
, steal a few secrets. Originally
the river is a vein of water
-there, for a moment, even in that high-
then at the end, no one sees a sea of \u200b\u200bthose
Brace life.
Because I wrote I hate embarrassing, but the sea
part of my writing itself:
surf line where a verse I can reiterate I
foam poetry.

I was sick, no doubt
and not just insomnia,
also fixed ideas that made me read
with obscene attention to a few psychologists,
but I wrote and crime was lower, I paid
line by line until write,
because a word that fits into the abyss
comes a little dark and that light intelligence
many monsters are executed.

Because I wrote was not the executioner
home or I got carried away by the love of God
and accepted that men were gods
did not want me as a clerk
seemed to me neither poverty nor power atrocious
a desirable thing
and washed my hands and I fouled
nor were my best friends
virgin or had as a Pharisee
friend or anger despite
wanted to disrupt my enemy.

But I wrote and I'm by myself, because I wrote because I wrote
'm alive.

Enrique Lihn

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I fear I have. Signing Chavez

feel a strange morbid terror ... definitely.

From a while back here I've been searching online for information about why we produce so much pleasure to place ourselves in situations where the terror is the incentive, the reason for the search, rather than an unhealthy personal curiosity or a complex psychological research, is much easier and even disturbing, as I, without me sorry to say, I went through and even happened to my 25 years of age, many sleepless nights, rather than by concerns specific to the life of an adult, not sleep because I have a fear of it a pair of hands appear under the bed I crawl into the unknown or that I leave the toilet in the spirit of a dead woman.

This kind of thing, beyond to highlight the double-edged sword that represents the imagination, but that does not dissuade me from sources closer to the frightening stimuli that abound in the world, made me increasingly seek new ways of life experiences that make me want to sleep with a knife and a scapular in her hand. Total

that regardless of whether the reasons why I love the terror are the "complex morbid" my twisted mind (terms which I took to my friend Andrew), or that I am a crazy shit I found a way to satisfy my hunger for terror like a zombie baby is involved.

I refer specifically video games, in my personal experience, I played a modest amount of games called genre "survival horror" which translated into English would be something like "survival horror" to the layman on the subject and for those who think that vampires are the Twiligth, this genre quoting Wikipedia, "uses different elements to create an atmosphere of psychological terror in the player, trying to instill terror. Such elements can be: carefully crafted scenarios and concrete, soft lighting, opaque and discolored causing a mixture of terror and anguish and music, usually instrumental and classical influences, which the player achieves a concentration effect, but is disturbed by the sudden sound effects and vehement that aim to scare. "

remember spending sleepless mornings thanks to titles like Silent Hill , Resident Evil, Alone in the Dark, the series FEAR, etc. And have had the most terrible nightmares of my life after having spent a couple of hours with these games, once I get to mourn almost sleeping after playing silent hill 4 (are allowed to say at this point but as aaaaayyyyy mockery of pity no shit!) and have scared more than a girlfriend passing the night when I heard reciting passages of the Necronomicon while dreaming.

Given this, and while adding crabs full of these evenings, I found a page of online games to Exmortis, a kind of adventure game where you must escape a haunted house (which comes in the image of the beginning of this article) and where you discover a series of strange phenomena such as voices that whisper unintelligible but macabre things, shadows and figures that appear from nowhere and a lot of amputees, torso cut in half and blood gallons, say no more to not damage the experience for those who wish to play but I notice that at first ask you to turn off the lights and upload it to the horns to make the experience more interesting game (cynical bastards).

However, after spending some of these games, especially those with a happy ending that leaves you feeling is not less than having an orgasm or espadazo killing an army one integer, that no matter how much sleep you lose, like you always have the satisfaction of having escaped the haunted house, though you can not escape your own mind ...

To illustrate my point, I'm posting a video of the famous Lord Dross playing Exmortis and his wise words of incitement to expect a little more long nights.

source: wikipedia , Dross play Exmortis

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Why did you contemplate? Why do you play? What do I look at you,
woman
What I should to be with you again? Why should I
sound once you anything Nether
And draw nothing but pain? Steady
, watery eyes I stare at you, but I am more convinced

now than ever before,
That they are only two mirrors that reflect light from the sky
,
That and nothing else.
And I press my body against your body as if he expected to open up a gap

directly to another area;
And I try to talk to you with words beyond me
word
In which all things are clear,
Until exhausted again I drown in your nothingness And the cold abyssal
anything about me:
laughing and weeping in this ridiculous room
With your hand on my knee crying because I think
perverse and unhappy, and laughing
To find our love so strange;
With eyes fixed on each other one last hope, blind
desperate
That the whole world changes.

Conrad Aiken

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empty


climate suspicious and candles rise and fall together
the dead continue to live as shadows
the spirit and the compass
are lost in a one-way street
the square of the day, the spring night
the right wing of the night settles in
lights, left wing
sinks into the sewers

long hair into an abyss of questions
the sailor and his love of old memories of home
questions and boats stranded
negative
of photography
graying hair, the gap emerges
thoughtful

a Saturday sailing to the empty city




Bei Dao ( pseudonym of Zhao Zhenkai, born in Beijing in 1949)

by Fernando Pérez Villalón