/ finally found the good side of watching TV, too bad all they had to bear the blame for the pleasure of quarters against the pump cathode / I get into the park sucking on a candy mixed Mc Donald. It's a sweltering nap late November, which glows green as if about to speak, or is recessed and exhalation of fumes at ground evokes the duration of a vowel. I drink water from the source sectors go around looking for somewhere to lie down to romp, but each floor chaise is a swarm of insects that protest. The stone benches are flooded with rain water it takes to dry the effect of tree canopy that shelters from the sun. Walk the paved path to the end, attracted by a whisper that grows as I go. The vision of the resort packed with children blinds me: with the water rippling bodies scattered like bows to describe rays, with yellow pipe fence protecting the site, with the low murmur of young people standing on the edge of the pools dry exposing Rajant sun. The circular basins converge from highest to lowest in more small, superimposed on all the others, with a stream of range of a whale spout. Hardly distinguishes it, covered as it is by an animated children's film that climb and jump into other pools in which children are jumping and climbing to the edges of others, and so on. I climb a tree to read Rousseau's Reveries. I skipped the venomous lines dictates of resentment because it is a bread that I want to bite, as I be stuck with mine. I focus on the passages in the herbarium wandering through the woods, the office of loneliness and self preached by the oracle of Delphi struggling to incarnate in the pusillanimous and self-centered version of the Enlightenment European Romanticism. As a child he dreamed of becoming an entomologist. I had read a book recounting a wreck of men who ended up in a deserted island where each continued to develop their trade and done composing a perfect society. My favorite character was the entomologist, a young Englishman who spent collecting the strange species of insect to investigate and classify them with instruments carried in a small briefcase. Of course the character of the group was less interested in survival, but also the least affected by ambition when all was again the same crappy as ever and the author, pity, gave them a new (third) chance be rescued by a cruise out of road. By that time I had started high school and biology classes we had asked a team similar to Fred, as they called the romantic naturalist with punches and knives and sheets of cork and glass microscope slide. Imagine the enthusiasm with which I prepared my team for hours soldering small vials of medicine saw the end of a pen, to dissect, needles for driving and drilling, and scraping espatulitas plastic, all thinking beings, of course. But the disappointment came early, when the teacher set out to examine the cells of cork, there should be no more cells innocent and boring than an inert layer of cork. I then had several cockroaches and crickets kept in bottles, in my case, with intent to dissect and study under the microscope of the school. As the class came weekly in the laboratory by injecting I handed them water and other unnecessary salt and vinegar solutions that occurred to me to see if he could speak to my own nature. Obviously the bugs and rot me one morning that I uncovered sneak a bottle in class the rotten smell flooded the area of \u200b\u200bcabinets and had to leave the classroom. If you do not believe me test cricket inject water into a vacuum and store in a jar. After few days the stench exceed that of any human corpse unearthed in decay. The point is that the entomologist of the book was a butterfly extraordinary news that was just for encyclopedias, but in his current situation all his aspirations castaway contribution and recognition by the scientific community were useless, so he decides not to hunt and this find something more exciting way, which is crossed at its daily excursions with the butterfly alive. Chasing the opalus do not know how he discovers a small town located in a nook of brambles between sea and hills inhabited by a wild girl being struck with beauty. This encounter changes the routine entomologist who, from that day, stop hunting and collecting insects to engage with the girl walking by the forest. The show fleeting, elusive, of wild species also helps to free themselves from any sense of ownership with respect to humans and that is how the entomologist finds love in its purest form. Of course in my early age I turned a deaf ear to these morals and metaphysics, as my interest going and try to measure the limits of my power over things, whether living, dead, real or imaginary, in this chaotic magma drives in which I used indiscriminately to all what was within my reach I was very prone to thoughtless destruction, and enjoyment of satisfying my curiosity was emptied of opinion as to the criminal mind that fortunately retain all men. I say fortunately because I believe that evil feeds us and makes us grow beyond the direction that each then give your life learning. I do not know who heard that the good is only a limit to which humans tend to approach, but ultimately the depths of hell that generates steam, pressure, explosions and failures of our soul used to ascend. I am then in the park, cooling with the vision of the boys jumping in spa pools, reading lessons in a random sequence of eighteen slut, not knowing that I left behind me with my whims of the late twentieth. I think. Gradually the atmosphere has been closing in thick and dark clouds lurking from the southwest. I'm tempted to stay until the storm burst and see also exploit the pools, with boys cavalierly jumping the fence and running in all directions. But I have a task for fifteen minutes, so I keep my computer in my bag, I go out I pick the tree and park bordering the pools. Across the avenue, opposite the public hospital, I was stranded by a march of protesters moving cross street by barring my way. I recognize some of the guys I saw earlier today in the source, now heated and burlap shirts and plastic banners. Murga rows and stilts and the image of a politician caught fire over the heads of hundreds of enraged protesters singing a little song that says: He who voted, we screwed up, they fucked in their children and put them all in the grave. What I did and it sucked me and for women (again)'s ass soup. And to the women's ass soup! Answered a chorus of women of varied age. Most musicians are children, as well as the zanquistas. Adults are limited singing, and some, forming a belt meandering through the ranks, ordered the advance. Meanwhile I make a call from the parlor of the hospital. I explain to my friend, I wait, I'm just a few blocks from his home hoping I also dissipate a march to make it. By the way I take the headset out of the car so she can hear the little song. "No need," she says, I have them at the door. Then she pulls the phone out the window and they heard, with milliseconds delay, a stereo pan imperfect singing phrases from one end to another of the march. By the time I arrive, it turns out that my friend went for a swim. It gives me directions, from the shower, that the computer is on. In the fourth, the only light comes from the monitor with a video file paused. Play and I get shot in the chair. The images are very raw, very explosion of orange and pink porn typical Yankee did not want to imitate. But everything else flows very well. The economy of the shots, all of seven minutes, because they are scheduled to occur and occur naturally, without violence, and editing of the soundtrack just ended Liliana is a marvel. And that I'm talking about, for example, explicit cum shots amateur background of old tracks of Piero. What I like about this project is Liliana and Grace we are not friends, but in some ways we deal with a blind trust, like having a guiding spirit that we indicate to everyone the way we should act within the company without arousing sensibilities. And besides that, the weapon hard to grasp, for today I want to call it, works perfect. We are three morons with the power of a truck engine when we put in front of the camera quickly we forget everything and leave us pleasure without limits. It is amazing how the money, the promise of doing, can make you sexually aroused. Nearly as good as love, though less complicated, because no other objects, even ideal, in your looks, the more Beyond color papers, tickets, right? to do with them whatever you want. When we started this Liliana and I barely knew us, but he had something, or maybe a lot, trust planted on a mutual recognition for our work. She had read my stories on the net, never missed a recital of Imam, even those terrible nights where I had to sing in front of no less than twenty empty tables. And I, for one, always concurred with amazement to their calls, it was as he had baptized his strange artistic events. Shredded green curtain made of a fuzzy rubber stamped on a world map, blackboard, school, providing access to tingling mazes synesthetes, in the underground of a bank, and between light and white wisps of smoke machine rotten rock, and a soundtrack of old rock records, when not at the fair Munro (I mean the winter of 2066) were achieved , anachronistic references exploiting the meaning family without hurting the order of their own texts, printed tablecloths with floral motifs overprinted with animal connotation vinyl figures, almost flesh, if we talk about red, almost blood if torrents of black precipitates to reach latex of the dance floor where we moved. Graciela, a neighborhood transformer film of astonishing erudition, had always been haunting our projects. Al Initially I just knew that she was Liliana model, but one night after listening to singing a capella, in a nearly empty club, a version of The final countdown from Europe, began to worship her and repeatedly encouraged them to us to prepare a radio talk-fiction, in the end, we could never realize (and now tend to believe that because of a strange paradox that often conspire against perfection). I remember some things in the script I wrote for her at that time. It was a leader of "X" Tamagotchi Protection Society which claimed that children neglect, bored, greedy while crammed with information, would die, with the consent of their parents, their virtual pets. His speech parodically recreated the myth of the creature monster Frankenstein (and in some ways, also Pinocchio), the victim of excessive ambition of scientific man, only our version was a pseudo-moral nonsense for a humor segment that I produced FM in a program I remember now that Liliana was present in many of those trials, which were almost all in squares. Whenever by chance, she spent walking the dog or running errands in the car. Buy Coca Cola and candy and threw quite coy on the grass to see us rehearse. For the most swearing with your pet. And when it looked like he was just paying attention, as any idle to put the TV to keep his mind blank, hang out, take care of himself with such precise ideas, flying, daring, yes, but very wise and full of grace, than any other, I'm sure, much more knowing, as I know, the so-called deaf pride of many authors on my location, have tended to overlook. We first suggested the idea to sell a cable channel and then thereafter we reconvene at home. All meetings were recorded in open chamber and this required us to clear the ideas spontaneously but with a minimum production rigor to have a record as clear as possible. At the third meeting Grace tried masturbation in front of the camera while we encouraged us from the outside so you do not lose confidence. What the Tamagotchi was sold out in two or three episodes and never talk about it again. The idea was the origin of dampening Colt was a group masturbation outdoors in the backyard of Liliana. The camera took from a window, so we made a good climate, relaxed and warm, well suited to the type of person we were in until then: a guild of repressed promiscuous aspiring artists. Of course, the first record ever use it for the film because it was a disaster, but from then on ideas for the script did not stop emerge and the movie stopped filming with PC Ideally a 16 mm camera, said, and sold the team Liliana, or rather, change it to a film student by his old team and cakes camera film lights and editing console. The guy thought he went out winning, but we still receive checks internet sites where it is distributed Colt ... With the money we earn to buy a better PC first, equipped to digitize analog records and no longer had to pay for the work to third parties to denounce extortion us if we paid the money they asked for, it was an outrage, and above stayed with copies to masturbate, she neither I was going to sell them or how. But, basically, ours was not, well, is strictly porn, whatever they say, and producers also know and care for us because they know we invented a new genre of documentary, autobiography, which is gaining more followers in the network and we are so far the only experts. But I am coming now to Liliana to fix my part because I'm leaving. I go out, as they say, because I had what I wanted with it and I dread the thought of getting stuck with what to sell my picture for people to rave, learn and have fun, being that I did not learn anything else. I make movies seriously, or at least write and sell books and scripts, but far from here. When I say all this to Liliana long to mourn. She also spends the same, with the difference that can not think of anything right now. Keeps up all the investment in equipment worth a fortune and it will never be reused if re-called (but I'm sure you do). This tells me and I say: No. Your agency was always and now more than ever in motion. Something's going to happen. And I keep my big check and go. And crossed the spa park now empty because it was dark and I go jumping the fence. I leave my bag on the edge of the large pool and I get dressed to swim. My God. This check was uncollectible.
