Talk of places. Or talk about how I have fallen without realizing at places. Security policy. A couple of weeks ago I finished reading Composition of place John Martini and a couple of months ago I meet with people in college to talk about locations and movements. We talk about the hackneyed Marc Augé, for example, its non-places. We talked about liminality Turner and . Turner brings to me a childhood memory, inevitably. Is automatic: I say Turner and I head forms the image of one of my piano books a thousand years ago. Was that the name of the author. I was mad to reach that book because it was beginning to play with both hands simultaneously . Now that I think of the other Turner liminality in the background also is this: play with both hands at the same time, but look at what the one or the other, not wanting to move from one point to another, but to stay the melody suspended between the two hands. Remain suspended. Of the 60 to this part all the authors of philosophy and cultural studies talk about the same, but they put different names: diferrance, transversality, liminality, hybridity, etc. . So now the old Turner of my piano book had told them first. The two hands, but they do not separate but that abstraction left in the half.
is true: I am exceeding and especially digress ....
So back to the first place. Composition of place is a novel in which the place, of course, not composed. While looking for a family history, the main character, John Minelli, comes only with the inability to recover the place of origin. A fragmentary novel in which the hero jumps from place to place even within the same paragraph. A wandering between stories, cities, countries, times, which in turn is a textual wandering. It sounds like a truism an erratic history is told in an erratic, but believe me: not always. Many novels that address the issue of migration and nomadic are more neat than a tour guide. Eventually the story is suspended and I think it's perfect.
was 1984 and while the colleges and to read the Postboom Boom, John Martini wrote this apology to the fragmentation, the meaninglessness, identity diffused or multiple, non-places, to life itself lived in a transit site. While most notorious perpetrators of the day reveled in Latin American villages full of flying nuns and jukeboxes, Martini was in the zero locus of forgetfulness, exile, overmodernity. The space of novel is so blurred that it is difficult to distinguish from one city to another. A fourth disconnected from the world. A moving train. A long wait to cross a river. The body of a woman who can be anyone. The places and people are blurred in these pages is passed from one to another without preamble or indications.
The language from which you are told is also misplaced and is terribly beautiful. A language that also tells the uprooting through metastatic syntax, I think. Not in vain Martini says: " The language is knowledge and the error of this knowledge. Writing is to delve into the language as a mistake, make that error that poetics and poetic policy "
Speaking of language as an error and the second place I am" out of place ", despite the redundancy. I do not know in the midst of a multidisciplinary group which speaks Passageways . step locations. Someone would think that is true, that all airports are alike. So I tell myself that I can not stand. Until then, I remained silent because I am ashamed of my accent or my survival vocabulary, but can not stand . I open my mouth, drop my r's lenguarada strong and full of jacks too soft, and say, "What? We notice that you have not set foot in Maiquetía. "No one knows what I mean because, of course, have not set foot in Maiquetía. I look, eyelashes strong, say "ahem", I can not think what they think . "Yes" - I insist - "this man, Augé, not left Europe, I think." Do not make me much attention and continue talking about corridors, hallways, not places, fastfood restaurants, anonymity. It is safest to Augé if Europe has left and I do not understand anything. Or maybe that's why they bring to Turner, who spent years in Africa. History will absolve me a few days later when the expert comes to speak of hybridity Ben Gurion Airport, I hope. The expert will say that there are not all equal not all fit in a space of transit, not everyone can move freely. Maiquetia But, of course, is another matter.
is true: I am exceeding and especially digress ....
So back to the first place. Composition of place is a novel in which the place, of course, not composed. While looking for a family history, the main character, John Minelli, comes only with the inability to recover the place of origin. A fragmentary novel in which the hero jumps from place to place even within the same paragraph. A wandering between stories, cities, countries, times, which in turn is a textual wandering. It sounds like a truism an erratic history is told in an erratic, but believe me: not always. Many novels that address the issue of migration and nomadic are more neat than a tour guide. Eventually the story is suspended and I think it's perfect.
was 1984 and while the colleges and to read the Postboom Boom, John Martini wrote this apology to the fragmentation, the meaninglessness, identity diffused or multiple, non-places, to life itself lived in a transit site. While most notorious perpetrators of the day reveled in Latin American villages full of flying nuns and jukeboxes, Martini was in the zero locus of forgetfulness, exile, overmodernity. The space of novel is so blurred that it is difficult to distinguish from one city to another. A fourth disconnected from the world. A moving train. A long wait to cross a river. The body of a woman who can be anyone. The places and people are blurred in these pages is passed from one to another without preamble or indications.
The language from which you are told is also misplaced and is terribly beautiful. A language that also tells the uprooting through metastatic syntax, I think. Not in vain Martini says: " The language is knowledge and the error of this knowledge. Writing is to delve into the language as a mistake, make that error that poetics and poetic policy "
Speaking of language as an error and the second place I am" out of place ", despite the redundancy. I do not know in the midst of a multidisciplinary group which speaks Passageways . step locations. Someone would think that is true, that all airports are alike. So I tell myself that I can not stand. Until then, I remained silent because I am ashamed of my accent or my survival vocabulary, but can not stand . I open my mouth, drop my r's lenguarada strong and full of jacks too soft, and say, "What? We notice that you have not set foot in Maiquetía. "No one knows what I mean because, of course, have not set foot in Maiquetía. I look, eyelashes strong, say "ahem", I can not think what they think . "Yes" - I insist - "this man, Augé, not left Europe, I think." Do not make me much attention and continue talking about corridors, hallways, not places, fastfood restaurants, anonymity. It is safest to Augé if Europe has left and I do not understand anything. Or maybe that's why they bring to Turner, who spent years in Africa. History will absolve me a few days later when the expert comes to speak of hybridity Ben Gurion Airport, I hope. The expert will say that there are not all equal not all fit in a space of transit, not everyone can move freely. Maiquetia But, of course, is another matter.
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