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Murakami on the subway

The poster girl wore around his neck read: "No bother, please, I'm reading." I was reading a book Murakami. Tokyo Blues. I had read, what we had read more than two weeks. As I was on page 260, just when the father dies Midori, I figured more or less, for two trips of six stops per day, he still had one week to complete. I took over a month putting his hand on the subway, a little behind and diagonally to read every word that fell from his eyes and share. There were times I could hear in his mind the echo of the same word I just read and then, yes, a tiny moment I was happy. Before Murakami had read a tiny booklet on Camilleri Caravaggio, we only lasted two days, and before this we were both excited and to excite us with "The passenger of the century" , a such Neuman. I never read and I liked the beginning of knowing just watched. Every day I put a different lineup for repair not much in the haggard face could not take her eyes off him. I loved to watch her dive into the book to take, feel your breath in time with what suddenly lived in it, with commas and periods that marked his thought, his pulse and every beat of my heart waiting for each of the minimal gestures that history replacing its history caused him, invisible to anyone, but recorded in my mind with a chisel, I also scratched the soul.

that day, between the third and fourth stop on page 272, when Hatsumi Watanabe question if the love of it is illegal, the girl suddenly closed the book on his two thumbs, turned and stayed for a long time looking at my poster. A convulsive tremor I bathed in sweat and panic. The girl read the poster, I also hear this sound with a very slow movement of his right hand raised his sunglasses and his eyes at me. Eyes were blue and green at the same time, looking cleaner than it had ever seen, with hundreds and thousands of letters floating in it, projecting each of the stories I had read that he had lived, in my desire to live them I with it. I smiled sweetly and froze for a moment his hand infinite his eyes and his soul so that I could read it, then stroked my sign and read it aloud: "I have no words." After that, he opened the book and continued reading. During

two days I did not dare get on the subway with her, so I missed much of what was left of Tokyo Blues . I just go to the store where she worked. There I hide behind the window and tried to follow with his eyes without her suspecting it. In the shop selling posters. Of all types and all kinds of legends. People came and went with a new sign with a new legend, around the neck. Each legend was a new life, or a different style for the wearer. Some were completely abstract: "Illusion", "I continually"; other incomprehensible: "God of the blue" "Tenet Opera Rotas Sator Arepo" and many, most were simple and repeated nominations: "postman", "Speaker" and even "Thinker." Every thing, or be thought to exist in this world was reflected in a legend. People constantly changing lineup and a legend in the hope of one day finding a life that will truly worthwhile, but still did not know of anyone who had found the appropriate legend. For my part, it made my own legends, but knew that only an approved cartel could take effect, but it was also true that in general had long I am not interested in anything my life or any life except that of the woman with the rare moments that I could live every day as I read over your shoulder.

the third day I could not resist any longer the lack of economic and returned to the subway to read with her the last third of the novel. I was on page 332, when Midori wearing dark sunglasses, as the girl with sunglasses that read it, and wearing a jersey color from wormwood (forever dreamed of seeing her dressed in that color) will not talk to Watanabe and I wondered if she would return to speak, to read with your desired dream slow the legend of my poster smiled at me with those lips that smiled marking the path of life I had wanted to live if he could write the words "give me peace when you look at me" but that day my poster reading "I have no more days" and she I turned and looked long and then looked at my sign and read your voice to sing lullabies to broken men, "I have more days" and stroked my cheek and smiled and said, "Do you want to have lunch in the River "and I took the sign and took off the sign and got off at the sixth stop and went to the river and there I sang a song that said "I do nothing but think of you" and wrote in their poster "I need you to hold me" and we hugged and were so all our lives for a minute or two and I think one of her tears came to my lips and then both laughed and she said I have not the sign that says "I love you" and kissed my lips and in the distance I saw his life, his daughter, and I was glad to be happy without signs and the sun was , Murakami went, and she turned and asked me not to come back, and I promised I would not read again after his shoulder anymore, not rise any more in the metro or go to look after crystals and wrote in my lineup a legend that said: "The echoes of your words were my voice" and ran to buy Tokyo Blues, paperback, and started writing in the recesses of your pages the life I would have liked to live with it.

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HILL ARCHAEOLOGICAL COMPLEX ARENA - ATTACK

few years ago in times of Easter, I go to watch some archaeological sites in the region, as is customary at this time established that the population goes on " Huaquan "because the" huacas " open in Easter tradition says ... How ironic, in the same faith with which the offender Francisco Pizarro founded the city and killed there by the Andean s. XVI, today is taken as an excuse this time sacred - for some, to plunder the memory of our identity. Is that not enough with the lies taught in the education system with regard to our history? So I go out to ride around in those archaeological sites where the state, under the pretext of budget fails.

On April 1, 2010, while many take advantage of the long holiday to travel, go hiking and camping, others go by the churches for liturgical events, others measure the earnings impact generated by this long holiday either in the number of visitors to museums, archeological sites placed on value (better read tourists) ... I went to take a look at the areas along the Canal Irrigation Project Chavimochic. For it is there that there are still archaeological sites of national interest (Cerro Oreja, Quebrada Santo Domingo, Santo Domingo Arenas, Cerro Arena) (i) Now minimize risk as was the case Archeological Quebrada Santo Domingo (ii). What has not managed to destroy latent risk is now in the siege of looters and heavy equipment that makes theirs where no LL INC arrives.

Nobody loves what he does not know and the loss or destruction of what one loves is deeply sad, a feeling that you tear the soul. When you arrive at Cerro Arena (iii) a dangerous silence was brought to the arena of strong wind. A continuous trace of heavy equipment now occupies the space where once there were structures for domestic and administrative Cerro Arena. These structures have been systematically studied by specialists. This sector of Cerro Arena is located exactly on the side of the road Chavimochic Special Project in the top panel is located INC announcing that LL is an archaeological complex (Cerro Arena). Years ago and notified the LL an attack INC in the same sector (iv).

The attack carried out against Cerro Arena, has been erased from the ground one of the important links of urbanism in the north coast and even more, vital information is completely erased from cultural memory of this country. The INC LL has every moral and legal duty to initiate comprehensive investigations of the case and punish all the law those responsible for this attack. The destruction has been deliberately, even with the panel mentioned the sanctity of the area has been perpetrated the act. What has been plundered is not replicated as in the case of the friezes of Huaca Arco Iris / The Dragon by unscrupulous students who hung their online video, are authentic structures a period even more ancient than the Chimu culture. What now remains is to register information studies "in situ" by specialists, and some photographs as shown in this blog. Has deleted a page in our history, under what goals and interests? Will it be low for economic development and fighting poverty as the politicians in office touting? How long will we wait to act and stop these attacks on our roots, our origins? When the authorities began to do its job and work for this country and not their pockets? How much longer will the interests of a few making at the expense of our cultural memory? Many questions and perhaps many likely answers ... If we all do our part to minimize events like this, but the authorities and individual institutions have been created under many purposes. The pretext of the budget is no longer a justification to carry out their work gentlemen. A fee of firmness and dignity would be sufficient to perform the duties that the Peruvian people entrusted to them.

I lost hope that the authorities will do something about it, but I published this post to make it as a reference for what goes on in these latitudes, and that some day someone with interest and will deign to do something and need help here I am to continue. I have not approached LL INC offices to file a complaint in writing and signed, as this information at the time it will also come to read e mail from the authorities and the press. With the experiences of non-operation, LL INC as my liver can not stand, was recent mention one fact.

Here are some pictures of Google Earth and photo files that sector was the victim of the attack and pictures of what is now.

Yours: Víctor Corcuera Cueva
.

Trujillo, April 6, 2010.

_____________________________________________

(i) All archaeological sites are parallel to the Project Chavimochic were altered significantly and were exposed and vulnerable to systematic destruction.

(ii) On March 3, 2004 were identified that heavy machinery was Chavimochic Project which used the complex as a quarry to extract archaeological material stated for maintenance of the road parallel to the irrigation canal. LL INC far has not sanctioned in any form to the Special Project for Irrigation Chavimochic systematic predation Archaeological Complex Quebrada Santo Domingo. Where Geoglifos and structures of different archaeological periods were destroyed by them.

(iii) Before Huaca de la Luna, Chan Chan and Machu Picchu were built, there were other cultures with their architectural manifestations. And is that Cerro Arena is one of the best examples of elite neighborhoods and housing settlements.
Cerro Arena is an archaeological complex of stone located on the left bank of the Moche Valley, just 4 miles south east of Huaca de la Luna. Cerro Arena as the group of archeological sites associated with Salinar Culture (400 BC - 100 AD), which was developed between the Chicama valley, Moche, Viru and Santa. This culture was the transition from the great temples of the training period (Chavin culture) and the emergence of Regional Development (Moche Culture). Cerro Arena in 2000, there are more architectural structures clustered within a radius of 2 km. square. This agglomeration is exceptional housing that escapes the settlement pattern of this culture, which was characterized by scattered settlements and isolated defensive in nature. The structures are of various kinds which denotes the well-marked social stratification of this culture. Cerro Arena for some specialists would be the beginning of urbanism in the North Coast, as well as the advent of the Moche culture.

(iv) six years ago informed the LL INC heavy machinery was moved into a section of Sand Hill Archeological Site. I do not know that they have taken measures against such attack.

Photo: Victor Corcuera All except those in Google Earth.

location
Sand Hill Archeological Image: Google Earth 2009


agglomerated structures Archeological Cerro Arena, is also the incursion of heavy equipment made it more than six years.
Image: Google Earth 2009

the south and east of the archaeological complex is the Canal Road Project Chavimochic special.
Image: Google Earth 2009

Archeological Cerro Arena.

Another view of Canal Road and Special Project Chavimochic. The radius of the archaeological complex: 2 km. Square.
Image: Google Earth 2009

Cerro Arena, note and move the areas of culture, invading the archaeological complex.
Image: Google Earth 2009

Archeological Cerro Arena.

stone structures before the attack, denoted Chavimochic Highway Project.
Photo: Víctor Corcuera

Archeological Cerro Arena.

White Mountain in the background. It clearly shows the architectural spaces.
Photo: Víctor Corcuera

Complex archaeological Cerro Arena.

Another view of the same structures.
Photo: Víctor Corcuera

Archeological Cerro Arena.

Where once were stone structures now this is what has made heavy machinery.
Photo: Víctor Corcuera

Sand Hill Archeological

In the top panel indicating INC LL intangible area, down like a mockery of our history the traces of " progress. "
Photo: Víctor Corcuera

Archeological Cerro Arena.

The images speak for themselves.
Photo: Víctor Corcuera

Archeological Cerro Arena. So gentlemen
officials, do they need more pictures or videos on the Internet?
Photo: Víctor Corcuera

Average Lamp Lifespan Projector Sony

The man in the mirror and endless days

day in this country lasted twenty four hours and never repeated. Never happened again because no new day had nothing to do with the old. Each and every living thing left to feel at the time 24 and was reborn in the zero point without having the slightest recollection of having been or being. The winters were not going or coming summer, happiness is not missed, only felt. When she felt. Everything happened as the first and last time no one really cared if he had passed or failed. People do not recognize the street and the windows reflect the profiles accustomed strange faces.

No one came to ask how, but things worked so well, at least twenty-four hours. There was no bitterness or love, destinations and the flights would always end at the same time and longer hours always stopped in the afternoon.

time in that country did not last long enough to enable him and lives in the bodies piled up without coming to stumble. One day one was one and the next day it was different, but everything is happening and nobody would think could happen again.

The first time it was always difficult for everyone. At dawn it looked like we had to do something, but those early impulses were being gradually calming down, minute by minute, without more understanding than the intuition that experience was like the false memory of a member amputee. When the sun began to heat the entire world and was used to being himself and wanted nothing more than wander around and look and look and a few began to dream and stay quiet, very quiet, like a frightened little known dream.

That night was the man in the mirror and stretched with the sound of bones before approaching the machinery of the clock and gently pat with fingertips the only arrow. With precision and care moved the knob a second for his life a second cut and the new day crushed the old days and the men went to what they were doing and other men being and doing other things than those they were doing and began again, it all started again unless the life of man in the mirror he was further sentenced to life day after day without forgetting the fate of the peace or not known.

In this country nothing but time stopped and silence. All still different and strange, everything was equal and unrecognizable, everything was nothing and no use but to be nothing. Everything was good and kept man in the mirror each day with his little trap a second life ahead for the sentence was not so long to get to one day in which there were no more days or countries, nor all that sad to see their love hate or street underground, unaccounted for and love, shaggy gray hair and looks of disdain and boredom, with not much longer, to both be something else, every twenty-four hours, which was not that other thing.

man go to Sete-Luas clock in the subway station, as every day, and goes to her, as every day, and says that while there is time no longer wants him as though she is no longer that and everything is dirty to the memory of that touch on the cheek down the subway stairs at that time in that country in that life when life seemed exist. And Sete-Luas tells me not say anything, do not know who you are, just want to be here alone with my grief and my face shock of white hair, my lips sealed and not see no more man in the mirror to see me every day and I am looking for every day I'm another one dead than you forgotten since then. I do not care who you are man, "do I have to explain or want me to die?

And the man in the mirror knows that Sete-Luas and not have to explain anything because we is not there any word has already occurred or hint even voice, but hears it and it spends a moment in his eyes and wants see those blue clouds but there is only emptiness and madness not knowing more days, more time to remember to forget the past. Nothing exists, only the day and the metro station and contempt and not wanting to have lived.

The man walks away and continues to mirror each day and watching the clock hand moves so that all end soon.

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