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Wittgenstein umbrella

THE UMBRELLA OF WITTGENSTEIN




1. As people know or do not know ever, but sometimes falls total, suppose that the rain will meet with a woman under an umbrella. You say: I? and she was hesitant and surprised, weighing the pros and cons you says no, that umbrella is yours and you go. Suppose you obey and walk away and jumping puddles after a street, two blocks, three blocks to find a little roof guarecerte and there, precisely there, hiding the murderer was written would have to kill you and you come to meet with that of the money or your life, and you respond to life, because you feel wet and cold and wanted to die or to order a cup of hot coffee, but as in this hall there is a cafeteria, for you with huge knife through and from the ground towards your murderer lost your watch and your wallet behind the curtain of rain that leaves the girl who loved you no harbor under its umbrella, and when it happens: you die.

1.1 Suppose that heaven exists and that you come to die at six in the evening or, better, that your murderer will have killed at that time or, if you will, that time everything has synchronized coordinates with great precision timepieces for you to die for your country at six in the evening without you nor your murderer walked concerned about punctuality. If heaven exists, a quarter past six doors would towed by the smoke of a chimney next to where your body would have been. The doors are wide open, you walk, walk, looking for either side, but there is nothing anyone can not find: The sky is an infinite hangar, you think and enters the consciousness the image of women in the middle of the rain refused you dry shade of her umbrella.

1.1.1 Suppose that in addition to heaven, no God, your ascent and arrival are the same, only now are a counter and behind the counter, a green coat Butler beckons with benzine torch you approach. Das few steps and immediately discover the bright green of the coat that the sky is not the place for you, you're entitled to other hobbies: Death decoding the reasons why that woman refused to share with you his umbrella , and other matters of that sort. 1.1.1.1

Suppose there is a God and you're waiting, you cross the eternity and infinity that are not nothing but an endless stream of waiting room, waiting rooms and lobbies, and in the end, or you consider the end, you find some furniture like a coffee shop with comfortable chairs, blue plastic, imitation leather, and you take seat convinced that if God waits for you: you must get together Palpate him there with blue lining of the chair and your old habits do you want a milkshake, but God, even if you are waiting, fails and instead, associated with the shake and desire, what comes to you is the memory of the woman in the rain I said: No.

1.1.1.2 Suppose that God comes: travel advance may be identical except, of course, the color of the coat of the butler, because if God comes coat color must be bishop. You're sitting in blue plastic chair looking a milkshake and then God comes disguised as a waiter brings a tray of just such a shake that you want, comes with tie toilet bow and a bonnet on her head. You get up respectful and invites you to be, God will grant and invited him a sip of your milk, but he declines and tells you just eat, but thanks you have no appetite. You step back sorry: that was improper understand how confianzuda with which you offered the sip and, afraid of having committed an imprudence, questions whether you can smoke. I answered yes and even you accept a cigarette. Your hand trembles lighting matches to be human in the face of God. However, God wants and says: They are good cigars, snuff "blonde? No, you answer without realizing that fixes no less than God, are dark snuff. Is less processed, Is not it, says he, you answer yes, it is cheap cigars. As they are gorgeous, sure you breathe the smoke him and think they are not as good, but you dare not speak. God looks around and makes a commentary on blue plastic seats, something about that seems to leather. You give the reason, God finishes his cigarette and says: Well I, you know, I have to go, has been a pleasure. You could not manage to say anything and when God moves away from between the chairs that lined blue leather look, remember the way your murderer walked down the street in the rain and the face of the woman who refused to accept you under its umbrella.

1.2 Suppose also that there is nothing that you die at six in the afternoon as rain forces you to find where the hospitable roof to protect you and you seemed harmless hid the criminal who would kill a result of that there was a woman who declined to share her umbrella with you. The chimney would loose their breath dirty air, the rain cut through the smoke and soot would fall to the floor again, very fine powder that water wet drag with your last breath into the sewer. The next day your body washed by rain would be found: One dead, scream, but you would not hear anything, not even the sound of rain, or the footsteps of your murderer, nor the women not excluded you his umbrella, would not hear or you would see or would know nothing: no milkshakes, or conversations with God, and stewards of coat, or chairs that look like leather. There would be nothing.

2. Now suppose that down the umbrella she will answer: Yes, of course, come with me. And you, hesitant and surprised to have reviewed some of their earlier negative consequences, you begin to tell you that the "no" you said in another story throws you into the hands of a murderer and a chat with God and a number of assumptions that she celebrates laughing, just as they pass in front of the door where the murderer who expects you to get streaming to kill; long pass, and as the evening is for dogs and are just six, she proposes to enter the cafeteria is on the next street, which, of course, has the blue chairs. Enter, they shake the rain clothes pearl, and she asks you a milk shake and a coffee.

Story taken from my book God does play dice .

Is Mild Reversal Of Cervical Lordosis Normal

The Kabbalistic Language Manifesto Uchronics

Kabbalistic Language

write because I have not found a better way to touch you, or another avenue that this road of words from which I can show you a planetary system that I still have a deep estimate . How ensure that the day is sunk without object into irregular streets of the city? How to prevent escapes, you disappear to turn a corner? Here you get a buzz and your breath is the vapor of the ink to dry, this is the place to go off or where you expect me to sleep. Here it's always night when I come back after getting lost in routine, or after the chase, along with other crows, objects whose brightness was false. I acquire here that background that I carry, because it is not only your sex, or the magnet of your breasts overwhelmed in the table, not your stomach that ends in a black oasis. I write because it's not just your body and I nervous walking the suicide on the roof nor only time. It is rather a way for rolling vowels and sweat for your labios.Tú come here to collect what you need that depth, the following without which the months turn to no avail. But finding your own will not leave you: you think you are not completely, that is not yours you move your arm from the door when you say goodbye, that hand too interested in digging my papers can not be yours and your face little has to do with the line that will extend through the channel of these lines. And it is true, this certainly does not belong to you and this disagreement. Nothing here is like nothing, but each image is your image and every smile out of you. This is where I write a longer course a glance or a gesture path. Here, the smoke and calligraphy, make you lower eyelids and extend your body. Because in the end no good is elusive: neither mutilated flock of angels that flutter in the dream, or the days you do not remember a week going over and over again, not your mouth that seeks to escape through the left side of this page where you appear stretched free will. Are that hill momentarily as the waves of the paper, when my hand felt hindered by your appearance go back surface or placing dots and accents. And as you read these words, without being able to avoid, but you lower your voice, vibrating your lips and the sound travels you will piel.Después silence the streets that stretch until dawn and sleep for solitary lamps till morning, and will, no doubt about it, the endless drip of the alphabet with his phrases. After these words, let's see where my fingers turned into syllables they move over and get wet. Then there will be anything: at most a fingerprint to be deleted in your neck or on your waist. But now, understand, and not words you hear: the sound of the pen to draw your consonants, is the score that moves through your legs and spelling moons brand: your body is finally gasped.

Text taken from my book God does play dice.

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Tired of silence. Tired of keeping silence that serves as a vice and injustice becomes bearable. Against the treacherous and wrong, the unwitting accomplices and executioners of vocation. Against all those who through ignorance or naivete, or your thought and scientific backing his irresponsible provide support to disaster. And also against those who channel the protest to outline their Infiernito or distracted by minutiae critical to the widespread dissatisfaction, we raise this Manifesto.
We moved to it any recent event, even the repeated and brazen indifference and inefficiency that characterize the decisions of this time, but the shameful confirmation, repeated as a delusion, that in all peoples, geographically and historically-dominant reviewed subjection, subjugation and repression. It would appear that a single design rules the world since its inception: to oppress the man, bound as the geese are nailed to the floor to honk and we grow the liver, or folded like a letter sent to the life and must pass through the narrow slit in the mailbox.
therefore deem it necessary, we feel compelled, we recognize the imperative to suspend the production of foie gras pate and stamped lives flowing in the direction of death without another sender that the absurdity or nothing. For though the chorus of official orthodoxy has begun to recognize the crisis, and the lackeys of dissent by emphasizing shout themselves hoarse, yet the voice is heard to hit the target of the disaster. The voice signal, without equivocation or shades, the real reason for the protest, because until now the metaphysical dissatisfaction has been capitalized on by political factions miserable ideologies, by not providing successive horizons to infinity, but mediocre goals beyond which opens the cliff of despair, frustrated by the rebels and transform their anger into listlessness and dreams in pessimism.
This is the reason of breaking the silence of the dormant or boisterous noise of political stridency, and the justification it gives us the right to speak for those who, like us, rip the belly with a knife Japanese will raise the cap of the scalp with a bullet, thrown into the precipice of a bridge, tabletting with cyanide, a stone tied around his neck blooming in waves on the surface of a lake fright thrown in the bed of a room perfumed with gas, sawing the wrists in a public bathroom, sprayed gasoline on a forest where the fires are prohibited or open up a diversion to the open landscape of the canyon, or jump to the bottom of alcohol or opium fund or fund of a memory or the merits of a book that is worth more than that is wasted daily.
acquire the right to speak, and our motives "of the mountain of pots where they have accumulated acts without deployment of the fearful, the actions that leave the repentant, broken promises and, in general, all actions cut short by conspiracy vitaltraidores because beyond them, beyond the narrow conditions prevented real or meanness of those who did not know, refused or failed to carry their wishes to the bottom, further: in that mountain where knelt offal our right to speak, germinating power of these acts orphans claiming that embodies a player, someone willing to stand before the runaway bull in the historic march, a new movement capable of derailing the human inertia and cause it to crash in mirror of their blunders. A movement committed, nothing more, enduring limbo of unfulfilled hopes and dreams of man.
Our opposition, therefore, can not be partial. Critics partial, partisan (and there have been no other), play a functional role: they generate the amendments, patches, blobs that used to restructure the companies, are pivotal to escape to postpone the explosion; are reformers who only attack a law or seek a different system, or whether the law or the system were simple pieces of a more complex reality, a whole completely unbearable.
We are against the ordinance stupid, harmful decree, but also against the provision of accurate, correct order, as the essence of the mandate is repression.
We are against public gorillas from murder and burn to dissent, and against private gorillas in an alley to rob the true and only spends his wealth: life. But also against the death as natural law accredited harvest each year and month to month regardless millions even in the personal nature of those crushes. We are against the law intended to show off her blindness and fair equality is nothing but the worst of the dirty tricks and the greatest injustice. We are against death and against its most powerful tools: the dictators that enhance its ability to annihilation from power.
disapprove the unjust social inequality, because not only condemned to hunger for more than three-quarters of the world's population, but worsened by the defects of the anemia of a biological imbalance per se arbitrary to assign each individual a psychobiological inequitable allocation. Disapprove the genetic order because, beyond all efforts of establishing justice and any attempt at equitable distribution, has always uneven human possibilities. We also declare enemies of racism, racism to which is attacked all those who are discriminated against for any reason, since the exclusion is universal contempt in which exercises its outrages against the weak are either black or white, copper or yellow, minority or majority endless. Our anti-racism absolute proposes the inclusion because it is not possible for the universe being infinite space does not fit all in a pitcher knowing respect.
We are therefore against the pain and death, limited opportunities and lack of freedom to have many different lives and not be suffocated by none. Disagreement with us having to carry our past and can not change as one moves from clothing or choose another toothpaste. Why not everyone can do and live as he pleases, rather than having to do that to force him and most of the time what can? Why do we only have this semblance of life sufficient to ignite the pyre immoral livelihood?
challenges to the shameful political reasons or have not proven ineptitude led to the society to the world that suggest the utopian sighs. Impeach
Scientists have not applied all his knowledge to repair the serious flaws of the cosmos.
We challenge artists and intellectuals with his genius or even have been able to propose a world to which we might have to turn.
objected to sellers not to sell the keys to life or at least lasting satisfaction.
challenges to the engineers who make houses where you can fit all people, no bridges to cross humanity to the other side. We challenge
doctors are not the final remedy against flu and death.
challenges to the sweepers to sweep no such indignity and decay.
challenges to the workers who have not built the lever arm or catapult that could arise and, in short,
We challenge all humans by their resemblance to ancient taxi drivers, for they are able to go to the site are ordered by most who choose the longer route, the rodeo err awkward and useless.
has built an ominous world against which there are only two responses: cutting it to the ground and sink to the bottom of the roots of memory or leave it: take the exodus to the World Uchronics: exile en masse to immeasurable dream space that is to gather the islets of our individual dreams. Let's start
flight. Only if we desert of the real world universally will create a movement able to render inoperable the inertia of a historical process that is directed at this time and so fatal to the disaster. Not a crazy call, although exasperated. In the world has choked the possibility of living and, therefore, the rational choice, the healthy alternative, the possible alternative lies, by strict qualifying in a fantastic solution: move en bloc to the ucronia to found there a different civilization. No one can cross off
utopian in which output has not committed all his forces.
For the triumph of life and extension of hope!
for the establishment of a new world! Because of the possibility
total impossible!
for the destruction of reality! PROHIBITED
DIE!

Text taken from my book How to destroy reality.