22d entry to the Colonel`s Scrapbook
Born
18th 1811 William Makepeace Thackeray Irish Victorian novelist (Vanity Fair, Barry Lyndon)I learned to write with this guy although I regret what Stanley Kubrick did to him
Died
1374 Francesco Petrarch Italian poet, dies at 69, and his poor favourite cat was embalmed and mummified to accompany him
It doesn`t pay well to be anyone`s favourite, too much harassment, please let me breathe. Don`t smother me!
Events
64 Great Fire of Rome begins (Nero didn't fiddle nor play lute, he was eating grapes)
1936 Spanish Civil War begins, Gen Francisco Franco led uprising for the eternal damage of the already warped Spain
Born on the 19th July
1834 Edgar Degas France, impressionist painter (Bouquet, all those dumb looking ballerinas)
1814 Samuel Colt inventor (colt revolver)Thank you, Sammy, Thank you always thank you
Events
1553 15-year-old Lady Jane Grey deposed as England's Queen after 9 days, she had no business usurping someone `s throne but she learned the lesson the hard way
1848 1st women's rights convention (Seneca Falls, NY)and although this existed, men still think we are their sexual slaves
1979 The people of Nicaragua overthrow the government of Anatasio Somoza Debayle, who has fled two days earlier.But the FSLN assumes power for the headache of everyone.
Supposedly there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, which is one of the most delicious fictions I have ever heard about. After toiling all day as a housewife that I am, I ask myself what is the meaning of this anniversary that some people are celebrating in my country, while many are also deploring it. In 1979, banners with red and black circulated all over, two days earlier Somoza had fled our country promising us that he would be entirely missed by us after he left. What was the pot of gold at he end of the revolutionary rainbow, which had gruesome colors of magenta and blood red at its extremes? I was just out of my teens when my world was turned upside down. It was really the people, not a single political party, who decided they wanted a change. So they got one. How happy are you after a change? Depends what you wanted, what you expected. And nothing else. Every time we look for someone or something, the possibilities are endless but we end up getting something which we didn`t have before. Every seeker is a finder, said wise king Asoka, one of the best rulers India ever had.
Where are we, you ask me while an ironic shadow marches through your pupils as my most devoted reader, after 29 years? Do I have to give you a quote by the Italian Alessandro Manzoni, who predicts the sad future of all revolutions through the liquids of our body?Were our illiterates taught how to read or write,or were they spoon-fed amateur politics through elementary books? Were our women lifted out of prostitution, or could there be someone who says women are liberated but they became slaves of their sexual destiny? Did so many years of war distribute poverty for all except for those who said there would be no poverty anymore? Mahatma Gandhi used to say that you can get an idea what a civilization is about by noticing the way they treat their elders and animals. We have miserably failed, then, because our elders that get a retirement pension make us weep when we se the long lines waiting for them to be reluctantly given their piddling allowance. Of the way we treat our animals in general I must better not speak or I will continue crying for hours.
The problem with revolutions is that they are made by people but not for the people in general. People fail to keep their word, even when it was written on paper. Anyways, paper also burns. What happened to so much song and enthusiasm?The problem is that honeymoons seldom last, and one day the princess(the people) wake up to discover that she was bedding a frog(the politicians who led the movement) and they realize it was just another fairy tale, only this one will not have a happy ending. So much disillusion spilling over the remains of the hangover. After coition, feet must return to their place and get walking, said the Japanese unifier Oda Nobunaga is his writings. He knew so well what he was talking about, as if he could predict his own violent end in a flaming temple, being assassinated while he prayed. Did praying help, I even ask myself.
Has praying ever helped? After being blatantly atheists for so many years during the eighties, the same people who persecuted the church now are so devoutly Catholic. The selfsame inept dictator-whose wife is much smarter than he is but as ugly as he shows himself-now claims that god has guided all his performances in life. I f god does exist, can he or she be so warped and wicked so as to guide anyone like this pathetic pale photocopy of Fidel Castro? Some dictators have been great. Even Stalin managed to industrialize ther then Soviet Union, even though he sent the rest of the people-even workers-to the death purges. How could I ever forget the lovely blond Ataturk, who was called by kismet in 1919 to pick up the sharp pieces of what was left of the Ottoman Empire to forge and meld what we know now as Turkey? What about the inmensely beautiful and talented Josip Broz Tito of Yugoslavia, who maybe shouldn`t have put all those ethnias to live together by force, but whose womanizing and star status can be forgiven due to the stability that he gave to what we now remember as Yugoslavia? How to discard from history the fabulous and robust Jomo Kenyatta, so sexy in his lion skin, the man who went from witch to leader and forge Kenya? We have had great dictators, and great monsters. Sadly, in Nicaragua our present president is in neither of these categories. He is simply an ugly, decrepit and henpecked husband who has failed to even know where his balls once used to live.
Where should I save the shadow of the bullet that entered my left knee in 1984 while on mission in Jalapa? Should I weep over spilled milk? Do I cry for my sad, interrupted and broken column, split hi half while in La Penca? Do I have any right to demand anything, even when you know that if you are a patriot, you do whatever you do out of love, not seeking a reward, recognition, medals or applause? Love, when freely given and freely returned, leaves no scars. Just the wrinkles of wisdom, the first crow `s feet around my hazel eyes ,and they show up when I laugh because I never cry. Never does a war veteran spill tears over yesterday `s blood. As D.H. Lawrence says, a bird will first freeze on a branch in the middle of a blizzard than felt self compassion for itself. That could be the real story behind me. I look at my bi colored hair-a whim of nature and heredity-and the first gray hairs mingle with the auburn that lights up the rest of my black hair. I wold never hide those pale hairs. They are the medals that nature and experience have gloriously but discreetly awarded me. My country has never been red and black for me, or any color that might have been chosen by a political party, but perennially green and loved. Blue and white has always been my flag, and as such it is to be respected and worshipped. Parties, as well as politicians. come and go and may promise any kind of bullshit never to be believed, and of course, never to be fulfilled. Just like a randy, horny knave making absurd promises to the wench he wants to bed, the politician will connive, plot, deceive, promise and do just about anything in order to get the voters` attention, yet at the moment he or she achieves the goal they wanted, they fail to recognize those who were dumb enough to place their trust in him or her. Once the girl is in trouble, the false gallant will most certainly flee, not caring what will become of the person who was as stupid as to believe in him.
Do I sound heartless, too pragmatic or dreamless? Do I have to wear a political color on my sleeve as I would wear my heart, use as my own the colors of any cheap banner that can be used as a dishtowel or something to wipe your ass with after you are done, to prove how much in love I am with this homeland who saw me born? Patriotism is clear, transparent, like a baby`s tear. And as clean and honest. When John F.Kennedy said that you must not ask what your country may do for you but what you can do for your country, he was giving a good guideline for statesmen or stateswomen. But those words can never be understood by mere politicians, peroxide-hair whores who now dress up as benefactresses of the people when we all know that not even the gods can change the past, as wise Greek Agathon said so long ago.
Celebrations? No. I did something better by staying at home and not playing clown by going down to a square to cheer for someone who should have been sent to a firing squad or sat upon an electric chair long ago. I cooked for my family, cleaned up my PC, had my cats fed and watered as well as our two lovely dogs, and wrote this entry to let you know, dearest of readers, that patriotism is not a fashion to be worn on a specific day to show off. Love for our country must be in our own bones, blood and deeds. Otherwise, don`t even bother to celebrate anyting in life.
Born
18th 1811 William Makepeace Thackeray Irish Victorian novelist (Vanity Fair, Barry Lyndon)I learned to write with this guy although I regret what Stanley Kubrick did to him
Died
1374 Francesco Petrarch Italian poet, dies at 69, and his poor favourite cat was embalmed and mummified to accompany him
It doesn`t pay well to be anyone`s favourite, too much harassment, please let me breathe. Don`t smother me!
Events
64 Great Fire of Rome begins (Nero didn't fiddle nor play lute, he was eating grapes)
1936 Spanish Civil War begins, Gen Francisco Franco led uprising for the eternal damage of the already warped Spain
Born on the 19th July
1834 Edgar Degas France, impressionist painter (Bouquet, all those dumb looking ballerinas)
1814 Samuel Colt inventor (colt revolver)Thank you, Sammy, Thank you always thank you
Events
1553 15-year-old Lady Jane Grey deposed as England's Queen after 9 days, she had no business usurping someone `s throne but she learned the lesson the hard way
1848 1st women's rights convention (Seneca Falls, NY)and although this existed, men still think we are their sexual slaves
1979 The people of Nicaragua overthrow the government of Anatasio Somoza Debayle, who has fled two days earlier.But the FSLN assumes power for the headache of everyone.
Supposedly there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, which is one of the most delicious fictions I have ever heard about. After toiling all day as a housewife that I am, I ask myself what is the meaning of this anniversary that some people are celebrating in my country, while many are also deploring it. In 1979, banners with red and black circulated all over, two days earlier Somoza had fled our country promising us that he would be entirely missed by us after he left. What was the pot of gold at he end of the revolutionary rainbow, which had gruesome colors of magenta and blood red at its extremes? I was just out of my teens when my world was turned upside down. It was really the people, not a single political party, who decided they wanted a change. So they got one. How happy are you after a change? Depends what you wanted, what you expected. And nothing else. Every time we look for someone or something, the possibilities are endless but we end up getting something which we didn`t have before. Every seeker is a finder, said wise king Asoka, one of the best rulers India ever had.
Where are we, you ask me while an ironic shadow marches through your pupils as my most devoted reader, after 29 years? Do I have to give you a quote by the Italian Alessandro Manzoni, who predicts the sad future of all revolutions through the liquids of our body?Were our illiterates taught how to read or write,or were they spoon-fed amateur politics through elementary books? Were our women lifted out of prostitution, or could there be someone who says women are liberated but they became slaves of their sexual destiny? Did so many years of war distribute poverty for all except for those who said there would be no poverty anymore? Mahatma Gandhi used to say that you can get an idea what a civilization is about by noticing the way they treat their elders and animals. We have miserably failed, then, because our elders that get a retirement pension make us weep when we se the long lines waiting for them to be reluctantly given their piddling allowance. Of the way we treat our animals in general I must better not speak or I will continue crying for hours.
The problem with revolutions is that they are made by people but not for the people in general. People fail to keep their word, even when it was written on paper. Anyways, paper also burns. What happened to so much song and enthusiasm?The problem is that honeymoons seldom last, and one day the princess(the people) wake up to discover that she was bedding a frog(the politicians who led the movement) and they realize it was just another fairy tale, only this one will not have a happy ending. So much disillusion spilling over the remains of the hangover. After coition, feet must return to their place and get walking, said the Japanese unifier Oda Nobunaga is his writings. He knew so well what he was talking about, as if he could predict his own violent end in a flaming temple, being assassinated while he prayed. Did praying help, I even ask myself.
Has praying ever helped? After being blatantly atheists for so many years during the eighties, the same people who persecuted the church now are so devoutly Catholic. The selfsame inept dictator-whose wife is much smarter than he is but as ugly as he shows himself-now claims that god has guided all his performances in life. I f god does exist, can he or she be so warped and wicked so as to guide anyone like this pathetic pale photocopy of Fidel Castro? Some dictators have been great. Even Stalin managed to industrialize ther then Soviet Union, even though he sent the rest of the people-even workers-to the death purges. How could I ever forget the lovely blond Ataturk, who was called by kismet in 1919 to pick up the sharp pieces of what was left of the Ottoman Empire to forge and meld what we know now as Turkey? What about the inmensely beautiful and talented Josip Broz Tito of Yugoslavia, who maybe shouldn`t have put all those ethnias to live together by force, but whose womanizing and star status can be forgiven due to the stability that he gave to what we now remember as Yugoslavia? How to discard from history the fabulous and robust Jomo Kenyatta, so sexy in his lion skin, the man who went from witch to leader and forge Kenya? We have had great dictators, and great monsters. Sadly, in Nicaragua our present president is in neither of these categories. He is simply an ugly, decrepit and henpecked husband who has failed to even know where his balls once used to live.
Where should I save the shadow of the bullet that entered my left knee in 1984 while on mission in Jalapa? Should I weep over spilled milk? Do I cry for my sad, interrupted and broken column, split hi half while in La Penca? Do I have any right to demand anything, even when you know that if you are a patriot, you do whatever you do out of love, not seeking a reward, recognition, medals or applause? Love, when freely given and freely returned, leaves no scars. Just the wrinkles of wisdom, the first crow `s feet around my hazel eyes ,and they show up when I laugh because I never cry. Never does a war veteran spill tears over yesterday `s blood. As D.H. Lawrence says, a bird will first freeze on a branch in the middle of a blizzard than felt self compassion for itself. That could be the real story behind me. I look at my bi colored hair-a whim of nature and heredity-and the first gray hairs mingle with the auburn that lights up the rest of my black hair. I wold never hide those pale hairs. They are the medals that nature and experience have gloriously but discreetly awarded me. My country has never been red and black for me, or any color that might have been chosen by a political party, but perennially green and loved. Blue and white has always been my flag, and as such it is to be respected and worshipped. Parties, as well as politicians. come and go and may promise any kind of bullshit never to be believed, and of course, never to be fulfilled. Just like a randy, horny knave making absurd promises to the wench he wants to bed, the politician will connive, plot, deceive, promise and do just about anything in order to get the voters` attention, yet at the moment he or she achieves the goal they wanted, they fail to recognize those who were dumb enough to place their trust in him or her. Once the girl is in trouble, the false gallant will most certainly flee, not caring what will become of the person who was as stupid as to believe in him.
Do I sound heartless, too pragmatic or dreamless? Do I have to wear a political color on my sleeve as I would wear my heart, use as my own the colors of any cheap banner that can be used as a dishtowel or something to wipe your ass with after you are done, to prove how much in love I am with this homeland who saw me born? Patriotism is clear, transparent, like a baby`s tear. And as clean and honest. When John F.Kennedy said that you must not ask what your country may do for you but what you can do for your country, he was giving a good guideline for statesmen or stateswomen. But those words can never be understood by mere politicians, peroxide-hair whores who now dress up as benefactresses of the people when we all know that not even the gods can change the past, as wise Greek Agathon said so long ago.
Celebrations? No. I did something better by staying at home and not playing clown by going down to a square to cheer for someone who should have been sent to a firing squad or sat upon an electric chair long ago. I cooked for my family, cleaned up my PC, had my cats fed and watered as well as our two lovely dogs, and wrote this entry to let you know, dearest of readers, that patriotism is not a fashion to be worn on a specific day to show off. Love for our country must be in our own bones, blood and deeds. Otherwise, don`t even bother to celebrate anyting in life.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario