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two nights ago, I exchanged phone messages with a friend about the desire (veiled child permanently postponed) to break from the urban concrete and cynicism to flee to western landscapes nice. If I am to be honest, my position in the conversation was that of Europe was delighted with the fact of his birth away random landscapes "Natural" in Africa. And, really, I'm tempted to escape the civilized world, I'm a drawing and a bigot? I am. Is it insulting my claim? It can be. José Saramago
And die and I remember that in September 1998 when I signed in Santander a book ("The traveler's luggage), just days before being awarded the Nobel Prize. And I remember his black-rimmed glasses and unfashionable at the time, and curly hair that seemed strong and slip through the neck-white strips.
And I realize that I have lost all connection with intellectual Saramago and both admired and even in recent years, the figure is not conveyed to me stoicism, grace and kindness that seduced me strong so long ago. Retain the admiration for the writer Saramago ("Blindness", "The Gospel According to Jesus" ...), but it is not the same. I will not go here to assess the Portuguese political figure. I do not care, that's all.
Anyway, the idea of \u200b\u200breflective old writer, erect as an oak against which nothing can be the siren song of more frivolous cultural center, near the present debate, but also far enough to avoid being dragged the ideological onslaught, married to a woman Young (eternal fantasy not politically correct), living on an island ... It's all part of an ideal life quite appetizing.
And the fortune to work the words, to understand writing as a profession and not a conjuring trick.
But I met years and things have happened. And that distrust secular vocation to holiness and his critical stance against a commercialized world. Utopia creates monsters and creates mass. And there's nothing more dangerous than turned-mass society and convinced to have a historic responsibility. I hate uniforms. And I think in shades of colors after that nothing.

Zankou Chicken Hummus Calories

Ancestral Voices The Eighty Years


Through Ireland Irish and Irish Catholicism, Joyce ancestral voices heard callers. Recognized as the voices of sirens and, as his model, Ulysses, is tied to the mast, not to follow them and drown. It was good for his art to do so. He resisted them, not because they despise, as suggested by some of his modern admirers, but he feared the power that could have on him. After all, they were voices of their ancestors. As are mine.

Conor Cruise O'Brien, "Ancestral Voices. Religion and Nationalism in Ireland", The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1995 (2 nd ed.), P. 49.

Translated and quoted by Jon Juaristi, "The Loop Melancholy. Stories of Basque nationalists." Espasa Calpe, 1997.

(Photograph by Eamonn McCabe.)