The world is spinning rapidly, shrinks, is a handkerchief. What is here is also there. Mine is not as mine. I can eat the same yogurt here and in Buenos Aires. I keep seeing my favorite show in Caracas and Tel - Aviv. But there are pockets of resistance. Places to speed the world does not, or wires that connect wireless this with that, nor fashion translated into any language. If someone is purist believe that I speak of culture positive places, small temples of the native, wonderful cultural resistance cells. Sorry to disappoint. I mean places governed by fans who would do them much good a little Coke and McDonalds. Or Shakira shaking her hips. Or that they repeat every season of Lost.
through one of those places every time I go to college in Jerusalem. Suddenly it's as if the bus went into another temporary space in another era, a Bermuda Triangle story. People walking the streets are dressed in black suits that seem pulled from the closets of the First World War. Women are the ones that impressed me: black hats, dark pantyhose, shoes of the 20's, languid face without a drop of makeup, covered jackets and blouses, long skirts. The clothing is the same, no matter what time of the year. Are always dragging strollers, or have several children in his hands. Old crossing a street, look at things in the bazaars of stone, dragging bags of food. No matter how fast you can go the world, they always go the opposite direction. Just study and become pregnant every two years. Are filled with children and wrinkles. Must always have their heads covered, but some are covered with wigs. As if synthetic hair is not hair. As if a fiction not arouse lustful thoughts hair. As if fiction were nothing more luxurious than the reality.
Men with loops in their ears and long black coats are ensombrerados. When it rains cover their hats with transparent plastic bags and it is as if they had a bubble over his head. Their heads are inside bubbles. Once a very old climbed on the bus in which I traveled. I drew closer to sit next to me, was the only vacancy they had. I looked furious pig eyes and shouted: "I do not sit next to women." Best for me - I thought - with the black coat at 40 degrees Celsius should be exuding Mr. sulfur vapors.
There strongholds, fortifications, enclaves to which the globalization of culture has not arrived. But what good would a briznita arrived from elsewhere to blush the cheeks these ladies. I wish they were allowed to turn on the television to watch a Mexican telenovela translated with weep holes. A commercial chocolates that were stoked greed. A televised singing contest or dance that would make these ladies could dream anything beyond the service submissive to men, respect to a nameless god and child rearing.
A realityshow sex scenes and crying. A computer plugged into the internet all day. A good rough reggaeton for these gentlemen to see that there is nothing wrong with sitting next to a woman on the bus, there are worse things.
The world spins faster and yet close himself fanaticism is conching, the battleship, are protected from any toll, of any mixture, of all breakage. Refract any crossbreeding. Are protected and reterritorializations deterritorializations. Repel each other. They hate each other, are closed, refuse any exchange.
From the bus window I sometimes see hand-embroidered sheets that have a very round hole in the middle and flags waving as the restraint on clotheslines the paucity ....
But I better not, one should not become a fan of antifanatismo, already illustrious Amos Oz said.
through one of those places every time I go to college in Jerusalem. Suddenly it's as if the bus went into another temporary space in another era, a Bermuda Triangle story. People walking the streets are dressed in black suits that seem pulled from the closets of the First World War. Women are the ones that impressed me: black hats, dark pantyhose, shoes of the 20's, languid face without a drop of makeup, covered jackets and blouses, long skirts. The clothing is the same, no matter what time of the year. Are always dragging strollers, or have several children in his hands. Old crossing a street, look at things in the bazaars of stone, dragging bags of food. No matter how fast you can go the world, they always go the opposite direction. Just study and become pregnant every two years. Are filled with children and wrinkles. Must always have their heads covered, but some are covered with wigs. As if synthetic hair is not hair. As if a fiction not arouse lustful thoughts hair. As if fiction were nothing more luxurious than the reality.
Men with loops in their ears and long black coats are ensombrerados. When it rains cover their hats with transparent plastic bags and it is as if they had a bubble over his head. Their heads are inside bubbles. Once a very old climbed on the bus in which I traveled. I drew closer to sit next to me, was the only vacancy they had. I looked furious pig eyes and shouted: "I do not sit next to women." Best for me - I thought - with the black coat at 40 degrees Celsius should be exuding Mr. sulfur vapors.
There strongholds, fortifications, enclaves to which the globalization of culture has not arrived. But what good would a briznita arrived from elsewhere to blush the cheeks these ladies. I wish they were allowed to turn on the television to watch a Mexican telenovela translated with weep holes. A commercial chocolates that were stoked greed. A televised singing contest or dance that would make these ladies could dream anything beyond the service submissive to men, respect to a nameless god and child rearing.
A realityshow sex scenes and crying. A computer plugged into the internet all day. A good rough reggaeton for these gentlemen to see that there is nothing wrong with sitting next to a woman on the bus, there are worse things.
The world spins faster and yet close himself fanaticism is conching, the battleship, are protected from any toll, of any mixture, of all breakage. Refract any crossbreeding. Are protected and reterritorializations deterritorializations. Repel each other. They hate each other, are closed, refuse any exchange.
From the bus window I sometimes see hand-embroidered sheets that have a very round hole in the middle and flags waving as the restraint on clotheslines the paucity ....
But I better not, one should not become a fan of antifanatismo, already illustrious Amos Oz said.
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