Bali High Clove Ciggaet

prefer the sound of the Cantabrian Sea # 1 (San Sebastian)

There is a white wire as the foam of the waves of the Cantabrian Sea crash against the rocks when combining the salt, humidity and melancholy work of many artists in northern Spain . From San Sebastian in Vigo, via Bilbao, Santander, Gijon, follow each city lashed by rain eternal, gray skies pierced by afternoon sun blinding the boys sitting on the Paseo Maritimo, who die in the mountains, sea, ports (post) industrial seem a reflection of neighboring coast of England, transforming it from a geographical mirage real cultural influence. The north of Spain is the most that can exist other than Spain and that is why over the last fifteen years has created a musical movement independent of English has nothing, but instead looks-with a mixture of defiance and admiration-Channel, when not directly overseas. Just to make namedropping, from east to west marked (and many continue to mark) the reality scene as Tulsa, The buena vida, Family, El tenant Communist McEnroe, Single, Brian Hunt, Mus, Nosoträsh, Manta Ray, Nacho Vegas, Migala, Abraham Boba, a phenomenology of music with several points in common that if you really want to draw a line of continuity with the English indie movement exploded in the nineties, rather than compete with the ambient pop of Madrid or Barcelona seems to look directly at Andalusia who was anxious to New Order to The Smiths or with groups like Los Planetas or Sr. Chinarro. Sooner or later we must speak of all this, but not now.

Now there is a city that is the more cheerful side of northern Spain, with its endless beach, its film festival, its bar with the pinball machine in front of the Kursaal, the type Loreak Mendian cool shops around the cathedral, with the English tourists who enjoy the Bataplan leggings, yet it is a city that can not shake off his anxiety even when he laughs, because the waves never cease to break against the wind combs Chillida, Igeldo fall down the mountain fog on the beach of Ondarreta, the Real Sociedad has slipped in series B, Basque girls cry, the dark clouds as a backdrop, and the summer becomes winter in the space of a song. That city is always out of season San Sebastian and in a book iper-bel di qualche anno fa romantic, "Winter in Lisbon" (Seix Barral, 1987)-but-ambientato nella capitale proprio Guipuzcoa, Antonio Muñoz Molina descriveva così:

" I guess there are cities that always gets like no other in which everything ends, and San Sebastian is the first, although when one sees the mouth of the river since the last bridge on winter nights, when watching the waters recede and the vigor of the white waves as they move from the dark mane, holds Sensación de en el fin del mundo hallarse .

San Sebastian is a lifestyle as well as a final city, the most fascinating of the whole country, to go back and come back and come back another Once again, to recover, because he's right Muñoz Molina, seems to be the end of the world, and instead does not stop anything, because it is full of life. At the same time, it is a place to play to feel Tonio Kröger ("I'm between two worlds, none of which is mine, and so my life is a bit 'difficult'), which try to escape from themselves, in indulge in the contemplation of the white wall in the form of choppy sea forever, that you always feel the thrill. Some years ago a friend of mine who has a house there five minutes from the beach sent me the disc that most of all it embodies a certain spirit Donostiarra, "A soplo en el Corazon" of Family, a duo that in the middle of the absurd nineties decided, more for fun than for passion, a record key for an entire generation and then disappear forever. A soplo en el corazon is hard to hear when you miss winter just passed the summer and looks forward to the summer to come, because she sews quelle più belle e più Tristian succedono only in Quei tre mesi, e il tempo sono rest of esercizi only spirituali per giovani adolescenti, in cui imparare the nobile art and dell'illusione rimpianto, come ne "The beautiful summer "

" I have wanted to party, the end of winter, return to swimming in the sea. In summer dream in which we were engaged and so that we can change the end [..] Your face sad, my love of silver, we can start again. We will live dolphins and blue whales in the sea . "

Perchè San Sebastian, così come l'estate, or adolescenza l'or il north, as the second law Savigny, have no empirical existence for themselves, but their essence is rather the life of man covered by a special viewpoint. A disc that comes to San Sebastian is then necessarily an imperfect record, naive, imaginative, but at the same time a disc in and nothing is missing and nothing is too much, "my friend described him as Basque, so why is the city it represents. The same friend who, in a recent letter, he complained to his inability to grasp the details of his surroundings, because "I think I come to things, I understand, however, remain there, no I go over, I stop at the surface, and so does not elaborate on what little I learn I can not send "when instead he just gave me the sweet pleasure of sitting for hours on the wall of the beach most extreme of the city, that of Gros with a botellìn of beer in hand after another, until the sun sets behind the island of Santa Clara, the most daring surfers swarm to the bars of the waterfront, the autumn wind blows stronger, and you the time of the projection of the next pallosissimo Argentine film at the festival;

or shelter in some cold winter afternoons behind the windows of Branka, the bar under the house of Chillida and to the side of the tennis club, with a mentapoleo steaming between his hands, the girls who casually pass by and open to the sports newspaper Formica table, in one case and another, still staring at the sea, facing the waves that come from nowhere to die on the beach, thinking of the missed summers of our lives and trusting in what will be, remembering the friends of the sea-I wonder why the rest of the year-do not exist, sinking into the nostalgia of certain strains of most popular band ever come out of San Sebastian, La buena vida , that just happened, just in a song called "Verano " hopes that "Tal vez sea el mejor verano el que hoy das me. "

Toilet Paper Roll Versus Penis Girth

1999, or the year in which the world has changed

It 'hard to get away from 1999, the last album of Catalan Love of Lesbian , which more than one disk is actually a short novel of formation, the very literary guide-of-a key year in the post-adolescent love story between two boys from Barcelona. It 'hard to come off because it is a hard driving, nostalgic, exciting, as exciting is the voice of Santi Balmes, singer and songwriter, who with his words as if we show the solid wall of Polaroids of his room a decade ago. It 'hard to come off because everyone has experienced its 1999, and then to hear some stories of screams, concerts, fringes, records, family issues, gaps and Rotte finestre vengono in mente altre storie, vissute questa volte che but 'non hanno avuto nemmeno della Consolazione in a disk memory così bello. In un'intervista to domanda banale ("How autobiographical is the record?"), Balmes risponde da campione: I would say that 70 percent is autobiographical and the rest is fantasy, as I would have liked things were at one time right? . It ragione: per quanto può essere felici if in a moment certo storico, non si perde mai di poterlo the consapevolezza di essere ancora più, e allora anche il passato, soprattutto in a disco è remember looking in part for what it was and in part to what might have been.

Santi Balmes The past of the universe opens with the image of an eternal return impacting on the crime scene sentimental. Alli whence solìamos grita is the return, ten years later, the benches above the industrial port of Barcelona, \u200b\u200bBalmes was going to cry with his girlfriend when they felt uneasy. Those cries are still felt, as well as those benches again retain all the verses of Heroes , who had recorded the dark and without thinking, "with a Chaval de las Faltas." Twelve and twelve songs polaroid later, the disc closes with 2009. Voy a break Las Ventanas, which is the realization that as time passed, it is useless to try to forget, because so much has not changed anything, it is still early to give up, because, as says a friend of mine from Pamplona, \u200b\u200bmelancholy is the happiness of being sad, and above all, compared to those years, we have never grown up, and we have not balanced (and hopefully, we will not ever). The last image is then the pair with the first appearance: they are no longer cries that cut the air, but stones that break windows, glass raining down, remember that back:

"Voy a break Las Ventanas

para que lluevan Cristales,

Fri break at Las Ventanas,

Ven a grita como antes,

Ven a break Las Ventanas

y hacer a chaos of art,

voy a break tus Ventanas

enter como el y voy a aire .. "

Ten years ago there were very specific windows that I wanted to break, to be able to enter as the air. Bedrooms clearly defined, with the carpet on the floor and vocabularies of greek and latin on the shelves. Worlds of freckles to explore. Without the visual force in the disk of Lesbian Love, I described my 1999 (that year!) in a book that could be called-will not be offended-Cortazar's "fantastic realism", because it tells a true story that actually never existed, or rather, perhaps a fictional story that in reality, for me, yes that had existed. What then, when someone tells a story, especially if their story is really so important to know if it really happened? There are always things that you can not tell, and others that it is better to add. The same Santi Balmes, responding to a completely different question, offers a reading on this Sincerità della issue. Siccome ha scritto i primi tre dischi in inglese e gli ultimi tre in inglese (the scelta di cantare Rinnegan in un'altra lingua che nessun errore eat a gruppo dovrebbe commettere) has ruolo che gli chiedono per lui il Catalan, di fatto la sua lingua vera mother

" Catalan is our mother tongue, is what we speak in the van. I learned to speak Castilian five years. The problem that I have with Catalan, it should perhaps be overcome, is that because my home language, I get more serious. With your mother did not talk about what you did Anoche ... I change the mucho cuando hablo en configuración psíquica a u otra lengua, es pasada a .

There are languages \u200b\u200bin which it is easier to talk about themselves, because they are not our language. There are stories in which it is easier to identify, why do not they talk about us. There are memories in which it is easier to recognize because they are not ours, but the ones we wanted to live. I told a friend that the girl which ten years ago I wanted to cry she got married last week. I told him that, then, last week has finally ended an era. That era began in 1999, which was to be the last year in the world and now I understand-but-for me, as for Santi Balmes, it was just the last year of a certain world, and now nothing remains except the certainty of having lived. Better so, if tomorrow come back, I would not know how to live it.

Chaining Shiny Pokemon In Heart Gold

not arrived vultures, because they too were dead

It is not uncommon nor lazy to stop and observe, from time to time, the small library or collection record or set of pictures on the walls of the room and wonder what binds together those names, those faces and those titles that, as he wrote the Mexican writer and philosopher (but born in Florence) Alejandro Rossi, for themselves are nothing more than "objetos sin historia, que nos de soledad Rodean. It is not uncommon nor free open dusty boxes full of items that you brought with them from a distant city and wonder what, beyond the individual objects, it was actually taken, and learned, in that other world, now slipped away like orange juice in his hands. It is not uncommon nor nostalgic to think of the carcasses were scattered in other countries, other lives, in its past and wonder what he thought when Antonio Luque in the inside page of his first record ( Sr. Chinarro ) wrote "no acudieron Buitres, pues también habìan muerto," and if he was right.

What is rare and, ultimately, useless, and give definite answers to these questions. Better, much better, let the anxiety trace-back, merely to accompany the steps as the hand-clapping accompanied by a flamenco Gaditano. Better, much better, leave that little by little confusing clues, and chance associations fleeting existential suggest our boundaries, drawing lines plausible, melancholic and without too many ambitions of the many things that have gone to his head and hands. Always Alejandro Rossi, in his Manual of missed distraìdo (publisher Anagrama, 1980), talking about how to deal with his own book, offers us a key to much more general, applicable not only to literature, but travel, meetings, to life itself: "Leela, you es posible, como yo escriba him: sin planes since pretensiones còsmicas, with love to Detalle. Moreover, to think that behind all that surrounds us must necessarily be a precise sense, that our intelligence is called upon to disarm, or face a terrible and helpless ignorance, is not a natural trait of any character, indeed, is more than legitimate to assign no deep meaning to their gestures and the interpretation of the gestures of others. However, where the latent unrest there, it forces us to question critically about every aspect of their lives, from the movie just seen on the silence of a girl far from the recipe salmorejo bench player apparently more talented team. This disease, of which Rossi-who left us just a few months ago-confessed happy victim ("Pero que Piensa que soy a person, it puedo jurar. Todo el día, desde que me despierto, think a actividad es que practico with desesperaciòn desgano y "), the same author expresses it through the reflections of Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, scientist, writer and philosopher of the eighteenth century German:

"One de los rasgos de mi carácter es Màs singulares ciertamente the supersticiòn extraño que me de llevar a extraer significaciòn a fall thing Un dia en y objetos en cien Transform oràculos otros tantos.

Scrolls underground therefore the recognition that objects and people that attract us and which we appropriate at different stages of life, it reflects on us, and their influence to help move towards a certain direction, which apparently seems to us you have chosen. Approach a certain style is no more, after so many thoughts, that the result of the collection of things and people we could find and, over time, left on the street, hoping to have found left and right. In this regard, he explained to his interviewer Julio Cortazar during a long episode of 1977 to fund , the legendary program of TVE in those years that opened the doors of the most influential television writers in English of this century, If one has things to say and not say in the way he feels the only way to tell, then it's like not having spoken or said them wrong. This is important to seek and find their own style, for immunization in the face of fear can not live all that interesting happens in the way you would want to live it, to dismiss the concern that raffiora when one realizes that it is not as happy as could be, and encourages others to start four books when what you are reading, in fact, is not to be so boring.

However, this eagerness to learn, to accumulate, to experience, both in the library as the bar is the only way to train their sensibilities, while accepting the premise from the beginning that life, warns Nacho Vegas punishment or nada , "es buscar part placer, y dolor a lobby", although between nothing and the pain is always preferable the second. Because if a few things we have at hand, others are with us as memories and many more are just carcasses, on which not even the circling vultures, because they too are dead. But all this serves to give us a style, which can not mutate and evolve to changing the world around us. Not surprisingly, ends with these words one of the many short chapters that make up Nocilla Dream , the astonishing debut novel, distinctly postmodern, which Agustín Fernández Mallo, physicist and poet Galician di spiccato Aspettando indie has pubblicato nel 2006:

" Hence the" I "consists of a scenario set in stone at birth and that we are assigned to the ultimately unsuccessful attempt to demonstrate ."

Non-case basis, perch Nocilla Dream, "Coraggio- pubblicato da Neri Pozza in Italy with Il sogno il titolo della Nutella (ovvero, l'inglese autarchica Nutella), a romanzo non è a ma insieme di stralci, iniziali soprattutto, di storie e storie vere Invent realtà e fantasia in cui spesso if intrecciano, permettendo a volte di loro i ricostruire before or to imagine their following, and sometimes not. That is, nothing but the same phenomenology of experience that happens in life. Captures well the spirit of this bizarre article Unit, according to which the reader "sees, lost amused suspicion that the world is not stable but the meanings of things that are given from time to time to the things ". And in fact, "it's really impossible to summarize The dream of Nocilla , because many stories that make sense only in Hull tells a group in which the story of the prostitute who is in a brothel on the edge of the Nevada desert, and that of the seller designs for sewers, and the man who builds Las Vegas is a monument, perhaps brilliant, perhaps incomprehensible to Borges, fit together just as stories torn, literally torn to pieces as to have a sense have to join to other pieces of life, other fragments of the world. "The conclusion is that Nocilla dream is "a desperate act of love and euphoria towards the landscape of shining ruins of post-modern, a place with no name yet but we already live without knowing it all".

The circle closes, because Fernandez Mallo, in concise biography that accompanies the lapel of his book, he is "fan de Sr. Chinarro" as I am. Indeed, in a maggio dello scorso articolo dal Quotidiano Dedicato ai Público "Musicisti scrivono che come poeti" , what ritiene the autore stesso che riguardo, sebbene if Possano will save Frammenti di varie canzoni, non manca qualche esempio di canzone che può considerarsi interest eats' authentic poetry: "not many, but a song that I think it works all of it as a poem is Dawn Escapes, Sr. Chinarro" proseguendo poi che l'articolo "curiously, almost all respondents have mentioned poets Antonio Luque, the real name of Mr. Chinarro, as one of the songwriters-some call it leading poet today. " Il Cerchio if CHIUDE, perch Escapa amanecer , one of the lesser known songs and more painful to Mr. Chinarro and at the same time, one of my favorites, just happened is part of their first album of the group of Antonio Luque, one of the "vultures did not arrive, because they too were dead. " I thought many times about what this phrase means, by observing the sun-scorched cactus pictured on the cover of the album, listening to the story "ripped" the niño calamar , and fortunately I have not yet understood.