Proyectos Muertos

Despues de mucho tiempo

Despues de mucho tiempo he decidido retomar mis blogs. Como no me alcanza con dos que no atiendo he decidido terminar de armar un tercero con temas relacionados a lo que hago todos los dias: administrar tecnologia.

Proyectos Muertos

Debo confesar que me costo mucho encontrar la expresion proyectos muertos. Uno tradicionalmente tiende a pensar en proyectos fracasados y creo que uno exclusivamente fracasa cuando no aprende. Debo reconocer que ultimamente estan apareciendo en mi cabeza frases que parecen aforismos, cargados  de obviedad y de falsa poesia, lo cual, no parece a simple vista completamente compatible con una persona como yo, asi que me he dedicado a buscarme excusas para mi mismo de por que lo hacia. La que mas me convence de todas es creerme que yo veo en la expresion un significado mas completo que el obvio; esperemos sea cierto.

Hace un tiempo atras, en uno de mis tantos viajes, donde muchas veces no me queda mas remedio que reflexionar, me puse a hacer un raconto de mi vida profesional. El disparador fue un mail del NIC de argentina recordandome renovar uno de los tantos dominios que registre durante la epoca de mediopixel y aun conservo. Mientras hacia el tramite mi primer pensamiento fue “pucha, cuantas veces pense que algo era la clave del exito y no salio”, pensamiento el cual, debo reconocer, me molesto bastante conmigo mismo por esa insiciva question que uno tiene de “algo habre hecho mal” asi que me enfoque en dividir en dos, que fue lo malo del proyecto y que fue lo bueno; claramente en muchos casos las cosas malas por suerte superaron a las buenas y digo por suerte, porque pude cablear la mayoria de las cosas que salieron mal a cosas que despues me salieron muy bien.

De nuevo asoma mi faceta aforistica, pero no se dejen engañar. Si ustedes tienen la suerte de tener una carrera profesional como la mia, tomense el trabajo de generar  una imagen mental para identificar cada tramo de la misma (lo pueden dividir por empleadores, proyectos, cargos, etc. y es lo mismo) como “generaciones” anteriores a la actual, con esta imagen en mente, tomen el concepto de “La muerte y sus ventajas” de Marcelino Cereijido (fundamental para poner esto en perspectiva) y se van a dar cuenta de que si no hubieran muerto todos esas generaciones, hoy no harian lo que hacen hoy, no estarian donde estan y, sobre todas las cosas, cuando el tramo en el que esten se muera, va a contribuir a que el siguiente sea mejor.

En una linea: Sin Muerte no hay Evolucion

El mas querido de todos

De todos los proyectos muertos, el mas querido de todos es sin duda MedioPixel. MedioPixel fue el terecero de mis emprendimientos en el que llegamos a ser doce felices desarrolladores, con nuestros viernes de musica disco y aportando dos frameworks mas a la comunidad; algunos novedosos, otros reivento de la rueda. El mas relevante Capucino, un pretencioso framework de cuarta generacion basado en Java con su propio motor de persistencia. Sobre Capuchino se desarrollo Mirzam (CCTV sobre IP), Sirius (ERP), Thuban (un POC para gestion de imagenes documentales) y algunos mas. Para todos ellos reserve un dominio que algun dia apuntare, probablemente a este post.

MedioPixel fue un intento de crear lo que despues tuve la suerte de encontrar en mi trabajo actual que no prospero, fundamentalmente, porque me “asocie” con gente que no compartio la vision, que no entendio el ideal. MedioPixel fue tambien muchas cosas mas, pero sobre todo fue la madre todas mis “generaciones” laborales. Ahi aprendi lo importante de un vision, lo espectacular que es capacitar gente y empujar sus carreras, a sentarme en la mesa de grandes clientes y sobre todas las cosas, el olor de la mediocridad. Si, es fuerte, pero es algo que nunca mas me va a confundir.

Un pequeño homenaje

Hace unos meses atras, tambien durante un viaje, estabamos hablando de bueyes perdidos con un colega de la competencia (recordemos que la competencia es efimera, el vinculo con colegas puede ser eterno) y tocamos el tema de que importantes que son los blogs para que uno tenga su curriculum “en linea” asi que decidi comenzara escribir sobre mi experiencia laboral, mis generaciones pasadas, y, de la misma manera que algunos llevamos el nombre de nuestros abuelos muertos a nombre de homenaje, me parecio correcto bautizar este blog “MedioPixel”, el cual pueden encontrar en http://www.mediopixel.com.ar/blog

Sin mas, recuerden que esto es solo Esta Version.



La muerte mas hermosa

“No podemos elegir como nacer, elijamos al menos como morir”

Aldus Huxley es un persona de la cual me queda mucho por leer (sobre el y su obra). Lo que mas me atrae es todo su esfuerzo por investigar, precisamente la percepcion como fenomeno. Hace unos dias buscando algun material me encontre con esto que me parecio por demas interesante y que queria compartir con ustedes. Esta es la carta que la mujer de Huxley le envia al hermano mayor (de Huxley) sobre el ultimo dia de Huxley.

Sin mas, recuerden que esto es solo Esta Version

6233 Mulholland Highway
Los Angeles 28, California
December 8, 1963

Dearest Julian and Juliette:

There is so much I want to tell you about the last week of Aldous’ life and particularly the last day. What happened is important not only for us close and loving but it is almost a conclusion, better, a continuation of his own work, and therefore it has importance for people in general.

First of all I must confirm to you with complete subjective certainty that Aldous had not consciously looked at the fact that he might die until the day he died. Subconsciously it was all there, and you will be able to see this for yourselves because beginning from November 15th until November 22nd I have much of Aldous’ remarks on tape, For these tapes I know we shall all be immensely grateful. Aldous was never quite willing to give up his writing and dictate or makes notes on a recorder. He used a Dictograph, only to read poetry or passages of literature; he would listen to these in his quite moments in the evening as he was going to sleep. I have had a tape recorder for years, and I tried to use it with him sometimes, but it was too bulky, and particularly now when we were always in the bedroom and the bed had so much hospital equipment around it. (We had spoken about buying a small one, but the market here is flooded with transister tape recorders, and most of them are very bad. I didn’t have time to look into it, and this remained just one of those things like many others that we were going to do.) In the beginning of November, when Aldous was in the hospital, my birthday occurred, so Jinny looked carefully into all the machines, and presented me with the best of them – a small thing, easy manageable and practically unnoticeable. After having practiced with it myself a few days, I showed it to Aldous, who was very pleased with it, and from the 15th on we used it a little every day recording his dreams and notes for future writing.

The period from the 15th to the 22nd marked, it seems to me, a period of intense mental activity for Aldous. We had diminished little by little the tranquillizers he had been taking four times a day a drug called Sperine which is akin, I understand, to Thorazin. We diminished it practically to nothing only used painkillers like Percodon a little Amitol , and something for nausea. He took also a few injections of 1/2 cc of Dilaudid, which is a derivative of morphine, and which gave him many dreams, some of which you will hear on the tape. The doctor says this is a small intake of morphine.

Now to pick up my point again, in these dreams as well as sometimes in his conversation, it seemed obvious and transparent that subconsciously he knew that he was going to die. But not once consciously did he speak of it. This had nothing to do with the idea that some of his friends put forward, that he wanted to spare me. It wasn’t this, because Aldous had never been able to play a part, to say a single lie; he was constitutionall unable to lie, and if he wanted to spare me, he could certainly have spoken to Jinny.

During the last two months I gave him almost daily an opportunity, an opening for speaking about death, but of course this opening was always one that could have been taken in two ways – either towards life or towards death, and he always took it towards life. We read the entire manual of Dr. Leary extracted from The Book of the Dead. He could have, even jokingly said don’t forget to remind me his comment instead was only directed to the way Dr. Leary conducted his LSD sessions, and how he would bring people, who were not dead, back here to this life after the session. It is true he said sometimes phrases like, “If I get out of this,” in connection to his new ideas for writing, and wondered when and if he would have the strength to work. His mind was very active and it seems that this Dilaudid had stirred some new layer which had not often been stirred in him.

The night before he died, (Thursday night) about eight o’clock, suddenly an idea occurred to him. “Darling,” he said, “it just occurs to me that I am imposing on Jinny having somebody as sick as this in the house with the two children, this is really an imposition.” Jinny was out of the house at the moment, and so I said, “Good, when she comes back I will tell her this. It will be a nice laugh.” “No,” he said with unusual insistence, “we should do something about it.” “Well,” I replied, keeping it light, “all right, get up. Let’s go on a trip.” “No”, he said, “It is serious. We must think about it. All these nurses in the house. What we could do, we could take an apartment for this period. Just for this period.” It was very clear what he meant. It was unmistakeably clear. He thought he might be so sick for another three of four weeks, and then he could come back and start his normal life again. This fact of starting his normal life occurred quite often. In the last three or four weeks he was several times appalled by his weakness, when he realized how much he had lost, and how long it would take to be normal again. Now this Thursday night he had remarked about taking an apartment with an unusual energy, but a few minutes later and all that evening I felt that he was going down, he was losing ground quickly. Eating was almost out of the question. He had just taken a few spoonsful of liquid and puree, in fact every time that he took something, this would start the cough. Thursday night I called Dr. Bernstein, and told him the pulse was very high – 140, he had a little bit of fever and whole feeling was one of immanence of death. But both the nurse and the doctor said they didn’t think this was the case, but that if I wanted him the doctor would come up to see him that night. Then I returned to Aldous’ room and we decided to give him an injection of Dilaudid. It was about nine o’clock, and he went to sleep and I told the doctor to come the next morning. Aldous slept until about two a.m. and then he got another shot, and I saw him again at six-thirty. Again I felt that life was leaving, something was more wrong than usual, although I didn’t know exactly what, and a little later I sent you and Matthew and Ellen and my sister a wire. Then about nine a.m. Aldous began to be so agitated, so uncomfortable, so desperate really. He wanted to be moved all the time. Nothing was right. Dr. Bernstein came about that time and decided to give him a shot which he had given him once before, something that you give intravenously, very slowly – it takes five minutes to give the shot, and it is a drug that dilates the bronchial tubes, so that respiration is easier.

This drug made him uncomfortable the time before, it must have been three Fridays before, when he had that crisis I wrote you about. But then it helped him. This time it was quite terrible. He couldn’t express himself but he was feeling dreadul, nothing was right, no position was right. I tried to ask him what was occurring. He had difficulty in speaking, but he managed to say, “Just trying to tell you makes it worse.” He wanted to be moved all the time – “Move me.” “Move my legs.” “Move my arms.” “Move my bed.” I had one of those push-button beds, which moved up and down both from the head and the feet, and incessantly, at times, I would have him go up and down, up and down by pushing buttons. We did this again, and somehow it seemed to give him a little relief. but it was very, very little.

All of a sudden, it must have been then ten o’clock, he could hardly speak, and he said he wanted a tablet to write on, and for the first time he wrote – “If I die,” and gave a direction for his will. I knew what he meant. He had signed his will as I told you about a week before, and in this will there was a transfer of a life insurance policy from me to Matthew. We had spoken of getting these papers of transfer, which the insurance company had just sent, and that actually arrived special delivery just a few minutes before. Writing was very, very difficult for him. Rosalind and Dr. Bernstein were there trying also to understand what he wanted. I said to him, “Do you mean that you want to make sure that the life insurance is transferred from me to Matthew?” He said, “Yes.” I said, “The papers for the transfer have just arrived, if you want to sign them you can sign them, but it is not necessary because you already made it legal in your will. He heaved a sigh of relief in not having to sign. I had asked him the day before even, to sign some important papers, and he had said, “Let’s wait a little while,” this, by the way, was his way now, for him to say that he couldn’t do something. If he was asked to eat, he would say, “Let’s wait a little while,” and when I asked him to do some signing that was rather important on Thursday he said, “Let’s wait a little while” He wanted to write you a letter – “and especially about Juliette’s book, is lovely,” he had said several times. And when I proposed to do it, he would say, “Yes, just in a little while” in such a tired voice, so totally different from his normal way of being. So when I told him that the signing was not necessary and that all was in order, he had a sigh of relief.

“If I die.” This was the first time that he had said that with reference to NOW. He wrote it. I knew and felt that for the first time he was looking at this. About a half an hour before I had called up Sidney Cohen, a psychiatrist who has been one of the leaders in the use of LSD. I had asked him if he had ever given LSD to a man in this condition. He said he had only done it twice actually, and in one case it had brought up a sort of reconciliation with Death, and in the other case it did not make any difference. I asked him if he would advise me to give it to Aldous in his condition. I told him how I had offered it several times during the last two months, but he always said that he would wait until he was better. Then Dr. Cohen said, “I don’t know. I don’t think so. What do you think?” I said, “I don’t know. Shall I offer it to him?” He said, “I would offer it to him in a very oblique way, just say ‘what do you think about taking LSD [sometime again]?'” This vague response had been common to the few workers in this field to whom I had asked, “Do you give LSD in extremes?” ISLAND is the only definite reference that I know of. I must have spoken to Sidney Cohen about nine-thirty. Aldous’ condition had become so physically painful and obscure, and he was so agitated he couldn’t say what he wanted, and I couldn’t understand. At a certain point he said something which no one here has been able to explain to me, he said, “Who is eating out of my bowl?” And I didn’t know what this meant and I yet don’t know. And I asked him. He managed a faint whimsical smile and said, “Oh, never mind, it is only a joke.” And later on, feeling my need to know a little so I could do something, he said in an agonizing way, “At this point there is so little to share.” Then I knew that he knew that he was going. However, this inability to express himself was only muscular – his brain was clear and in fact, I feel, at a pitch of activity.

Then I don’t know exactly what time it was, he asked for his tablet and wrote, “Try LSD 100 intramuscular.” Although as you see from this photostatic copy it is not very clear, I know that this is what he meant. I asked him to confirm it. Suddenly something became very clear to me. I knew that we were together again after this torturous talking of the last two months. I knew then, I knew what was to be done. I went quickly into the cupboard in the other room where Dr. Bernstein was, and the TV which had just announced the shooting of Kennedy. I took the LSD and said, “I am going to give him a shot of LSD, he asked for it.” The doctor had a moment of agitation because you know very well the uneasiness about this drug in the medical mind. Then he said, “All right, at this point what is the difference.” Whatever he had said, no “authority,” not even an army of authorities could have stopped me then. I went into Aldous’ room with the vial of LSD and prepared a syringe. The doctor asked me if I wanted him to give him the shot – maybe because he saw that my hands were trembling. His asking me that made me conscious of my hands, and I said, “No I must do this.” I quieted myself, and when I gave him the shot my hands were very firm. Then, somehow, a great relief came to us both. I believe it was 11:20 when I gave him his first shot of 100 microgrammes. I sat near his bed and I said, “Darling, maybe in a little while I will take it with you. Would you like me to take it also in a little while?” I said a little while because I had no idea of when I should or could take it, in fact I have not been able to take it to this writing because of the condition around me. And he indicated “yes.” We must keep in mind that by now he was speaking very, very little. Then I said, “Would you like Matthew to take it with you also? And he said, “Yes.” “What about Ellen?” He said, “Yes.” Then I mentioned two or three people who had been working with LSD and he said, “No, no, basta, basta.” Then I said, “What about Jinny?” And he said, “Yes,” with emphasis. Then we were quiet. I just sat there without speaking for a while. Aldous was not so agitated physically. He seemed – somehow I felt he knew, we both knew what we were doing, and this has always been a great relief to Aldous. I have seen him at times during his illness very upset until he knew what he was going to do, then even if it was an operation or X-ray, he would make a total change. This enormous feeling of relief would come to him, and he wouldn’t be worried at all about it, he would say let’s do it, and we would go to it and he was like a liberated man. And now I had the same feeling – a decision had been made, he made the decision again very quickly. Suddenly he had accepted the fact of death; he had taken this moksha medicine in which he believed. He was doing what he had written in ISLAND, and I had the feeling that he was interested and relieved and quiet.

After half an hour, the expression on his face began to change a little, and I asked him if he felt the effect of LSD, and he indicated no. Yet, I think that a something had taken place already. This was one of Aldous’ characteristics. He would always delay acknowledging the effect of any medicine, even when the effect was quite certainly there, unless the effect was very, very stong he would say no. Now, the expression of his face was beginning to look as it did every time that he had the moksha medicine, when this immense expression of complete bliss and love would come over him. This was not the case now, but there was a change in comparison to what his face had been two hours ago. I let another half hour pass, and then I decided to give him another 100 mg. I told him I was going to do it, and he acquiesced. I gave him another shot, and then I began to talk to him. He was very quiet now; he was very quiet and his legs were getting colder; higher and higher I could see purple areas of cynosis. Then I began to talk to him, saying, “Light and free,” Some of these thing I told him at night in these last few weeks before he would go to sleep, and now I said it more convincingly, more intensely – “go, go, let go, darling; forward and up. You are going forward and up; you are going towards the light. Willing and consciously you are going, willingly and consciously, and you are doing this beautifully; you are doing this so beautifully – you are going towards the light; you are going towards a greater love; you are going forward and up. It is so easy; it is so beautiful. You are doing it so beautifully, so easily. Light and free. Forward and up. You are going towards Maria’s love with my love. You are going towards a greater love than you have ever known. You are going towards the best, the greatest love, and it is easy, it is so easy, and you are doing it so beautifully.” I believe I started to talk to him – it must have been about one or two o’clock. It was very difficult for me to keep track of time. The nurse was in the room and Rosalind and Jinny and two doctors – Dr. Knight and Dr. Cutler. They were sort of far away from the bed. I was very, very near his ears, and I hope I spoke clearly and understandingly. Once I asked him, “Do you hear me?” He squeezed my hand. He was hearing me. I was tempted to ask more questions, but in the morning he had begged me not to ask any more question, and the entire feeling was that things were right. I didn’t dare to inquire, to disturb, and that was the only question that I asked, “Do you hear me?” Maybe I should have asked more questions, but I didn’t.

Later on I asked the same question, but the hand didn’t move any more. Now from two o’clock until the time he died, which was five-twenty, there was complete peace except for once. That must have been about three-thirty or four, when I saw the beginning of struggle in his lower lip. His lower lip began to move as if it were going to be a struggle for air. Then I gave the direction even more forcefully. “It is easy, and you are doing this beautifully and willingly and consciously, in full awareness, in full awareness, darling, you are going towards the light.” I repeated these or similar words for the last three or four hours. Once in a while my own emotion would overcome me, but if it did I immediately would leave the bed for two or three minutes, and would come back only when I could dismiss my emotion. The twitching of the lower lip lasted only a little bit, and it seemed to respond completely to what I was saying. “Easy, easy, and you are doing this willingly and consciously and beautifully – going forward and up, light anf free, forward and up towards the light, into the light, into complete love.” The twitching stopped, the breating became slower and slower, and there was absolutely not the slightest indication of contraction, of struggle. it was just that the breathing became slower – and slower – and slower, and at five-twenty the breathing stopped.

I had been warned in the morning that there might be some up-setting convulsions towards the end, or some sort of contraction of the lungs, and noises. People had been trying to prepare me for some horrible physical reaction that would probably occur. None of this happened, actually the ceasing of the breathing was not a drama at all, because it was done so slowly, so gently, like a piece of music just finishing in a sempre piu piano dolcemente. I had the feeling actually that the last hour of breathing was only the conditioned reflex of the body that had been used to doing this for 69 years, millions and millions of times. There was not the feeling that with the last breath, the spirit left. It had just been gently leaving for the last four hours. In the room the last four hours were two doctors, Jinny, the nurse, Rosalind Roger Gopal – you know she is the great friend of Krishnamurti, and the directress of the school in Ojai for which Aldous did so much. They didn’t seem to hear what I was saying. I thought I was speaking loud enough, but they said they didn’t hear it. Rosalind and Jinny once in a while came near the bed and held Aldous’ hand. These five people all said that this was the most serene, the most beautiful death. Both doctors and nurse said they had never seen a person in similar physical condition going off so completely without pain and without struggle.

We will never know if all this is only our wishful thinking, or if it is real, but certainly all outward signs and the inner feeling gave indication that it was beautiful and peaceful and easy.

And now, after I have been alone these few days, and less bombarded by other people’s feelings, the meaning of this last day becomes clearer and clearer to me and more and more important. Aldous was, I think (and certainly I am) appalled at the fact that what he wrote in ISLAND was not taken seriously. It was treated as a work of science fiction, when it was not fiction because each one of the ways of living he described in ISLAND was not a product of his fantasy, but something that had been tried in one place or another and some of them in our own everyday life. If the way Aldous died were known, it might awaken people to the awareness that not only this, but many other facts described in ISLAND are possible here and now. Aldous’asking for moksha medicine while dying is a confirmation of his work, and as such is of importance not only to us, but to the world. It is true we will have some people saying that he was a drug addict all his life and that he ended as one, but it is history that Huxleys stop ignorance before ignorance can stop Huxleys.

Even after our correspondence on the subject, I had many doubts about keeping Aldous in the dark regarding his condition. It seemed not just that, after all he had written and spoken about death, he should be let to go into it unaware. And he had such complete confidence in me – he might have taken it for granted that had death been near I certainly would have told him and helped him. So my relief at his sudden awakening at his quick adjusting is immense. Don’t you feel this also.

Now, is his way of dying to remain our, and only our relief and consolation, or should others also benefit from it? What do you feel?

Aqui tienen la fuente original:

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2010/03/most-beautiful-death.html

Watching TV

Mirando Television

En estos dias donde hay un Tinelli que todos miran, un Tinelli que nadie mira pero todos saben que hace, un Tinelli que hace un programa que alimenta a cientos de programas a lo largo del dia y un Tinelli que esta destrozando el nivel cultural de Argentina a base de enseñarnos que, mostrar el culo en un “baile” semi-porno, es uno de los significados de trinufar, junto con un multimillonario tan artificial como su imagen misma, pagandose un “exito” que de otro modo no tendria, me vino a la mente esta cancion de Roger Waters de la cual queria compartir la letra con ustedes hoy, en el ingles original. Tambien les dejo aqui un video para que puedan escucharla si lo desean.

Sin mas, recuerden que esto es solo Esta Version.

Watching TV

We were watching TV
In Tiananmen Square
Lost my baby there
My yellow rose
In her bloodstained clothes
She was a short order pastry chef
In a Dim Sum dive on the Yangtze tideway
She had a shiny hair
She was a daughter of an engineer
Won’t you shed a tear
For my yellow rose
My yellow rose
In her bloodstained clothes
She had a perfect breasts
She had high hopes
She had almond eyes
She had yellow thighs
She was a student of philosophy
Won’t you grieve with me
For my yellow rose
Shed a tear
For her bloodstained clothes
She had shiny hair
She had perfect breasts
She had almond eyes
She had yellow thighs
She was a daughter af an engineer
So get out your pistols
Get out your stones
Get out your knives
Cut them to the bone
They are the lackeys of the grocer’s machine
They built the dark satanic mills
That manufacture hell on earth
They bought the front row seats on Calvary
They are irrelevant to me
And I grieve for my sister
People of China
Do not forget do not forget
The children who died for you
Long live the Republic
Did we do anything after this
I’ve feeling we did
We were watching TV
Watching TV
We were watching TV
Watching TV
She wore a white bandanna that said
Freedom now
She thought the Great Wall of China
Would come tumbling down
She was a student
Her father was an engineer
Won’t you shed a tear
For my yellow rose
My yellow rose
In her bloodstained clothes
Her grandpa fought old Chiang Kai-shek
That no-good low-down dirty rat
Who used to order his troops
To fire on women and children
Imagine that imagine that
And in the spring of’48
Mao Tse-tung got quite irate
And he kicked that old dictator Chiang
Out of the state of China
Chiang Kai-shek came down in Formosa
And they armed the island of Quemoy
And the shells were flying across the China Sea
And they turned Formosa into a shoe factory
Called Taiwan
And she is different from Cro-Magnon man
She’s different from Anne Boleyn
She is different from the Rosenbergs
And from the unknown Jew
She is different from the unknown Nicaraguan
Half superstar half victim
She’s a victor star conceptually new
And she is different from the Dodo
And from the Kankabono
She is different from the Aztec
And from the Cherokee
She’s everybody’s sister
She’s a symbolic of our failure
She’s the one in fifty million
Who can help us to be free
Because she died on TV
And I grieve for my sister

Coherencia

Sobre lo que uno quiere

Hoy queria poner mi punto de vista sobre un tema que para mi es critico: La coherencia. En estos tiempos de la modernidad liquida donde la sociedad carece de formas y de compromisos escurriendose a travez de todo, la coherencia es un raro valor perdido; vivimos en una sociedad que ha olvidado completamente el concepto de “bien comun” y el concepto de “respeto” asociado a el, a causa de esto, no hemos vueltos virtuosos en el arte de la hipocrecia a la cual le hemos encontrado terminos tecnicos tales como “politicamente correcto”.

Ahora bien, por que la hipocrecia? la respuesta es en realidad muy simple, una de las principales razones es que la mayoria de las cosas que queremos estan en su mayoria por fuera de lo que es el bien comun y si por ahi no lo estan, la manera en que pretendemos conseguirlo lo esta. Un ejemplo de esto? hay varios, hoy en la argentina hay mucha gente en situacion de miseria que la pasa realmente mal, que duerme en la calle o simplemente esta en el medio de una selva olvidada; tal vez empujada a los bordes del conurbano por la codicia de la soja y a muy pocos se les ocurre realmente hacer algo por esa gente y no es por falta de capacidad por que un plan para cambiar el auto tenemos todos, y digo auto como ejemplo pero podemos usar una vacaciones, ampliar la casa o lo que sea.

Sobre lo que uno dice

Que es lo mas curiosos de todo esto? que de alguna manera todos estamos demasiados pendientes de nuestra imagen, hemos hecho de la hipocrecia un “second life” donde todos vivimos una vida coherente, somos gente recta que nos preocupamos por todo y por todos y estamos siempre atentos y dispuestos a colaborar con los que nos rodean. Basura

Hoy en dia un tipo que dice lo que realmente quiere  puede llegar a ser exonerado del universo y sus alrededores. Se imaginan si Cobos hubiera dicho “Voy a votar en contra de las 125 porque es la unica oportunidad que tengo de ser popular” la gente le hubiera comido el higado asi que el tipo dijo “vote asi porque mi hija me lo pidio”. Carajo, cuando votemos a alguien veamos quienes son hijos porque ellos van a gobernar. Podemos seguir y, ojo, lo estoy mencionando a Cobos porque es para mi uno de los casos de incoherencia mas notables de estos tiempos que con Alfonsin recien muerto pretendio hacernos creer a todos que en su lecho de muerte el mismo Alfonsin le pidio que vuelva al partido.

Siguiendo en la misma linea lo podemos mencionar a Sola quien ahora entendio el verdadero mensaje de Kirchner que hace unos dias repudiaba abiertamente; que hubiera pasado si hubiera sido honesto “Me di cuenta que estos tipos tienen mucho apoyo y si quiero llegar a algo me conviene ser amigo”?

Sobre lo que uno hace

Uno realmente hace lo que se le da la gana y los limites se los pone uno mismo, dependiendo de la sociedad en la que se encuentre y su situacion politico economica esta mas o menos expuesto a las concecuencias, pero la verdad es que uno hace lo que quiere y todos, absolutamente todos vivimos todos los dias situaciones de ilegalidad aunque por lo menos no sea por no respetar las normas de transito.

En la sociedad argentina acutal la falta de consecuencias es realmente notable en varios aspectos y la sociedad esta tomando una faceta anarquica bastante peligrosa que nos cuesta, por ejemplo, unos 7000 muertos por año en accidentes de transito. Se dan cuenta de lo que les digo? 7000 seres humanos menos por año en accidentes de transito, eso si, sin importar a quien le pregunten todos manejan bien, sabran que no respetar las normas de transito es manejar mal?

Como Salvamos la brecha?

Dentro de este escenario tan partido, donde es frecuente que nuestras acciones queden tan lejos de nuestros dichos tienen que haber, por necesidad, una manera de vivir en paz con nuestras “conciencias”; alguna manera de auto engañarnos para sentir que no estamos tan desconectados de la realidad y estar en paz con el “lo que queremos” versus “lo que decimos” y esa manera es en la mayoria de los casos la simplificacion del modelo para que solo tenga aquellos elementos que inclinan la balanza a a favor de lo que queremos de modo que suene como una decision natural y justa cuando en realidad pensar en el asunto tres minutos nos va a mostrar que nuestra decision es bastante egoista y que solo se fundamenta en el hecho de que queremos algo sin importar lo que pase.

Donde quedo la Coherencia

A modo de cierre queria mencionar que cuando lo que hacemos coincide con lo que decimos ocurre un fenomeno llamado coherencia. La coherencia es muy escasa estos dias y si todos nos enfocaramos en ser lo mas coherentes que podemos todos los dias nos iria un poco mejor a todos. Agrego una nota, cuando uno se vuelve mas coherente, se vuelve ademas mas justo y mas honesto, aunque sea una mala persona.

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Mi Pais

El Contexto

Ayer en Argentina celebramos que se cumplían los 200 años de la culminación de la revolución de mayo, con la asunción de la primera junta. 200 años no son poco; tampoco lo son 190, 198 o 199, pero por alguna razon aprendimos a celebrar los cambios de digitos en base 10. asi que 10 años es mas importante que 11, 100 es mas importante que 102, etc. por lo que al cumplir 200 se hizo una gran celebracion.

También hace poco celebramos que se cumplían 100 años de la inauguración del Teatro Colón, también un 25 de mayo. Con motivo de celebrar el aniversario, se decidió restaurarlo totalmente para el año 2008 pero lamentablemente la torpeza política retraso las obras 2 años así que tuvimos que celebrar un numero un poco menos importante, el 102 con la excusa de que coincidieran con los 200 de la revolución de mayo.

La celebracion

La celebracion del “bicentenario” como se dio en llamar a la ocasión se distribuyo a lo largo de 5 dias, empezando el viernes 21 y culminando ayer 25 con una gran obra de teatro en forma de desfile, creada por Diqui James, director del grupo Fuerza Bruta; Esta celebracion, organizada por el gobierno nacional, fue complementada por el gobierno de la ciudad que decidió celebrar la reinaguracion del teatro Colon el dia 24 de mayo.

La “cultura” neoliberal

No simpatizo con ningun politico en general y con cualquiera de tendencia neoliberal en particular; tal es el caso del actual Jefe de Gobierno de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires. No hay mucho que pueda agregar al brillante analisis que hizo uno de los mas lucidos periodistas que tiene la radio argentina respecto a la torpe reinauguracion de un lugar tan honorable como el Teatro Colón, por lo que solo quiero decir que me produce mucho malestar ver insignes representantes de la degradación cultural argentina tales como Susana Gimenez y Ricardo Fort formando parte de la celebración.

La torpeza

Cualquiera que haya seguido las noticias de Argentina se habra percatado de las innumerables torpezas politicas que ocurrieron estos dias: presidentes no siendo invitados a un evento pero si a otro, cartas y declaraciones publicas sin el mas minimo respeto a las formas, brabuconadas, etc.

Vivimos momentos politicos muy “idiotas” donde uno de los referentes de la oposicion es el vicepresidente y uno de los personajes mas criminales que dio a luz la politica argentina tiene el voto decisivo para que la oposicion, que clama a gritos la falta de busqueda de consenso por parte del oficialismo, le imponga al oficialismo sin concenso la composicion de las distintas comisiones del senado. Podria seguir mencionando hechos bochornosos de la politica argentina, pero no es mi intencion aqui.

Sigo eligiendo ser Argentino.

Ayer repasando las distintas novedades de mis amigos a travéz de Facebook encontre que un amigo mio habia escrito en su muro:

Ayer canté el himno en el Obelisco y fue una mezcla rara entre el enojo que tengo con el país y un “bueno, pero esto es lo que somos, qué le vamos a hacer”.

Y me quede pensando. Me quede pensando que en este país hubo un tipo llamado San Martín que se recorrio todo un continente para liberarlo con un regimiento llamado “Granaderos a Caballo” sin que obtuviera nada a cambio, y que me produjo mucha emocion verlos defilar tocando la marcha de San Lorenzo junto a toda la gente que la cantaba a coro. Pensando me acorde que en el terremoto de Haiti el unico hospital que siguio funcionando y salvando gente fue el hospital reubicable argentino; tambien me acorde todo lo que se hizo por la zona de chile desvastada por el terremoto desde Argentina; que cuando el primer mundo hace detener a un juez totalmente respetable por querer investigar los crimenes de una dictadura militar, nosotros llevamos mas de 17 años investigando la nuestra y estamos llevando a prision a cada uno de los responsables y restituyendo la identidad de cada uno de los niños robados por ellos.

Con todo esto dicho, solo quiero decir que concuerdo conque todo esto “es lo que somos” pero que tenemos mucha fuerza para ser algo mas; que me siento orgulloso cada vez que canto el himno nacional, la marcha de San Lorenzo , Aurora y la marcha de Malvinas; y que, sobre todo, que ningun gobernate, por pobre que sea su manera de representarme, va a lograr que yo deje de sentirme orgulloso de ser argentino.

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Gente al Pedo

El contexto:

Toda la infraestructura de mis proyectos personales, esta soportada por una empresa llamada Dreamhost, por medio un paquete que mi amigo (y mejor diria hermano) Pablo comparte generosamente conmigo desde hace algun tiempo. Estos proyectos personales incluyen un club de cocina (www.garchoffkitchenclub.com.ar), mi version de los hechos en esta vida (www.estaversion.com.ar) y un blog sobre mi experiencia profesional (todavia postergado).

Algunas aclaraciones:

1.- En este post voy a romper mi regla de no escribir insultos.

2.- Yo provengo de una familia catolica apostolica romana, es una larga historia que no viene al hecho ahora, pero desde hace ya varios años, mi vision del asunto religioso tomo un giro bastante critico y trace una linea muy clara entre el concepto de ‘Dios’ que yo tengo y cualquier grupo de personas que se organice para venerar a cualquier concepto de ‘Dios’ que ellos tengan, alias, las religiones.

3.- Soy una persona totalmente respetuosa de las creencias agenas y totalmente conciente de la necesidad de todos de creer en algo, como modo ireemplazable de que no se nos ‘queme la cabeza’ y soy MUY cuidadoso de no cuestionar la Fe de los demas y MUY cuidadoso de no ofender la fe de los demas.

4.- Dentro de estos preceptos, reconozco que me es mucho mas facil respetar la religion catolica por la simple razon de que fui educado en ella; tambien reconozco que hay muchas cosas que mas alla de las creencias de uno, se han filtrado en el lenguaje de todos los dias como por ejemplo ‘por Dios’ o ‘si Dios quiere’, pero no puedo perdonar frases del tipo ‘me cago en Dios’ y me ‘cago en la Hostia’, estoy convencido que cualquier persona que uses esas frases a diario y que se sienta muy orgulloso de despreciar a la religion catolica no es mas que un pobre infeliz que compensa alguna faceta insignificante de su vida (o varias) insultando la fe de los demas. sepanlo, ni el papa ni los obispos ni nadie los escucha, lo unico que logran es insultar a la persona que tienen cerca, creyente de la fe catolica.

5.- No quiero eximir en esto a algunos catolicos (notese que no dije ‘los catolicos’) que en nombre de su fe y creencias vulneran abiertamente los preceptos de esta; arrancando en las cruzadas y terminando en Israel y Palestima matandose mutuamente (que no son catolicos pero operan de la misma manera).

Vamos al punto

Pablo hace muchos años tomo el camino de la wicca, esta desicion mas alla de los detalles de la historia, vino acompañada de muchos enojos y odios por parte de personas que profesaban otras creencias. El punto maximo de este enojo se manifesto cuando una persona presuntamente de origen aleman, inicio una secuencia de ataques, tanto a sus cuentas de correo personales, cuentas de correo profesionaels, dominios de internet, etc. escondiendose COBARDEMENTE en el anonimato. y dejando una proclama de orgulloso catolico. Este ataque lamentablemente me afecto tambien a mi ya que causo algunas disrupciones en los sitios / blogs de mis proyectos personales los cuales han sido en su mayoria subsanados.

Conclusiones:

1.- La persona que hizo esto no es un Catolico, es un CRIMINAL

2.- Si realmente es un catolico, y su fe resulta ser realmente cierta, debe prepararse para TERMINAR EN EL INFIERNO

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Sincericidio y realidad acordada

Ser una persona frontal no es una tarea trivial. El exceso de informacion daña a la mayoria de las personas que generan las practicas mas sofisticadas para generar abstracciones lo suficientemente “de alto nivel” que les permita evadirse de la mayor cantidad de informacion posible. No quiero ahondar en mucho detalle sobre mi punto de vista aca pero creo que las religiones (sin nombrar ninguna en lo particular) son un claro ejemplo de esta practica; mas alla de su uso como herramientas modeladoras del moderno estado y milenario instrumento de control, la mayoria de las personas en algun momento de nuestras vidas necesitamos “rezarle a algo” para que nuestros problemas se resuelvan sin que tengamos que entenderlos.

Dentro de este esquema de cosas que no queremos saber, se inscribe lo que yo considero la “realidad acordada”, en la cual nadie tira demasiado de la soga porque sabe que lo que esta abajo esta podrido y no nos queremos tomar el trabajo de limpiarlo, suena tonto, pero cada dia me sorprendo mas de cuanta tension se acumula en estos esquemas, que en nada favorecen a nosotros los sincericidas.

Para entender a un sincericida es necesario entender un par de conceptos: primero que nada creo que la mayoria de los sincericidas tenemos, o nos gusta creer que tenemos una cierto nivel de inteligencia, el cual nos permite tener cierto nivel de claridad de como son las cosas, el mal absoluto no existe, y las princesas de los cuentos tambien van al baño. Se que dicho asi suena trivial pero estoy cansado de escuchar que “tal es una mala persona porque hizo esto” o “dijo aquello de tal” y la realidad es que si nos ponemos a pensar y a ver nuestras vidas con un poco de perspectiva, todos somos el hijo de puta de alguien o hablamos mal de alguien o jodemos a alguien; y, lo que es peor, mas de una vez sabiamos que los estabamos haciendo. Otro gran motivador del sincericidio que viene asociado a esta percepcion mas detallada de la realidad son los secretos a voces y la negacion de los hechos; negar los hechos implica en mi entender, fundamentalmente no hacerse cargo de todo lo que implica aceptarlos: dejar de ver personas, separarse, enfrentar una adiccion, etc.

El segundo elemento necesario para la compresion de un sincericida es que somos personas que nos gusta tener un modelo lo mas claro posible de la realidad, detallado y sobre todo preciso, asi que cuando detectamos que la realidad esta distorsionada nos sentimos muy incomodos, nos molesta, nos hace ruido y lo que es peor, es que esa realidad distorsionada es sensible al hecho de que percibimos su distorsion y se empecina en fortalecer su distorcion en un vano empeño por que no se note con lo cual se conforma un circulo vicioso. Durante la ejecucion de este circulo vicioso, la gente implicada en esta realidad distorcionada o, como yo la llamo, acordada tiende a generar situaciones (o participar de ellas) en las cuales tarde o temprano nos alteramos lo suficiente para “gritarles” “por dios, no ves que esto es asi?” y ahi es donde todo se desfigura.

Lo mas duro es que este tipo de reacciones no suelen realmente eliminar estas realidades acordadas y lo que es peor, nos suelen alejar de las personas; es muy complicado, sobre todo porque en mi caso particular, me es muy dificil hacer un “rol play” sobre esta realidad falsa y hablar y charlar como si fuera la posta, me hace mucho ruido y me siento mal conmigo mismo porque siento que no estoy siendo honesto, algun dia supongo que aprendere.

Es oportuno, a los fines de ser purista, tener en claro el tema de “que es la realidad”, pero es un tema demasiado vasto y completamente inseparable de la palabra percepcion (en mi opinion son sinonimos) y creo que en estos casos que menciono, sea cual sea la perecepcion que uno tenga de la situacion como expectador externo, queda claro que hay una distorcion o anomalia, percibida incluso por los participantes.

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El Derecho a la Muerte

Hace unas semanas atras fallecio mi suegra. Quiero dejar al margen de todos los chistes tipicos que caben estas circunstancias, haciendo incapie en la relacion yerno / suegra ya que mi suegra, a pesar de ser bastante obstinada a veces, era una buena persona que tuvo una vida muy dificil; trabajo mucho desde  muy chica, el marido fallecio muy temprano lo cual la hizo trabajar aun mas y crio a una persona maravillosa que es mi mujer. Nos ayudo siempre que pudo y aun cuando no pudo nos ayudo igual.

Mi suegra se jubilo para estar con sus nietas (mis hijas) a lo cual se dedico con mucha intensidad durante el poco tiempo que tuvo, que no fue mucho, solo cinco años ya que los años de trabajo se habian llevado su salud y, lo que es peor, la mayoria de los tratamientos clasicos en estos casos no le dieron mayores resultados por lo que solo se pudo prolongar un poco lo inevitable.

Mi suegra conto con un grupo de excelentes medicos que se enfocaron en su calidad de vida y no en prolongar su vida inecesariamente; hago mencion a esto porque es algo muy poco comun, aun en estos dias y porque cuesta creer el nivel de atencion que recibio en un hospital tan destrozado como el Clinicas.

Mi suegra fallecio rodeada de un monton de gente que la acompaño los ultimos momentos y la ayudo en todo lo que era posible ayudarla, que no era mucho. Tambien murio con la claridad indiscutible de que se estaba muriendo y protegio a todos los que pudo de la claridad que ella tenia de que se estaba muriendo.

A mi no me pudo proteger, porque ella sabia, que yo sabia que ella sabia, asi que charlamos del tema en un par de ocasiones, y hablamos de la bronca que le daba haber trabajado tanto para no disfrutar, y del miedo que tenia porque sabia que se estaba muriendo; tambien hablamos de que estaba cansada de que le dolieran las piernas, y de caminar dos metros y cansarse, y de no poder arreglarse sola y tantas cosas mas para las cuales ya no estaba capacitada, y digo capacitada porque perdio la capacidad de ser independiente, la traiciono su cuerpo; o en realidad no, cuando lo necesito lo tuvo y a pesar de los problemas cardiacos de toda su familia llego a conocer a sus nietas y a ver a su hija establecida; creo que aca es cuestion de ver el vaso medio vacio o medio lleno, aunque no sea de mucho consuelo.

A mi todo esto me llego mucho, no solo porque la apreciaba sino tambien porque esta es la primera vez que tengo un contacto palpable a mi edad madura con la muerte; cuando yo era chico la gente se moria, era triste pero las cosas sucedian solas de alguno modo. Esta Vez no; hice los tramites en el hospital, fui a la funeraria a arreglar todo, fui a retirar el cuerpo de la morgue del clinicas que es realmente deprimente; ocuparme de varios detalles mas y lo que es mas importante aunque tambien duro, es que pude hablar con una persona en plena conciencia de que se estaba muriendo.

El otro dia llego a mi un artículo en clarin en el cual hablaban de una persona que habia estado muchos años en lo que se creia era un estado “vegetativo” hasta que una nueva tecnologia descubrio que no, que el tipo estuvo completamente preso en su cabeza por 23 años, se lo pueden imaginar? 23 años percibiendo la realidad sin posibilidad de hacer nada que le permitiera a los demas darse cuenta, Eso es peor que la muerte misma y de algun modo volvi a repasar algunas conversaciones con mi suegra y a pensar en mi propia muerte y en mi propia vida, y a caer en un monton de lugares comunes y enseñansas obvias que no lo son, etc.

Lamentablemente no hay mucho ya que se pueda hacer, ni por mi suegra, ni por este señor que pudo por fin empezar a comunicarse, pero creo que algo hay que aprender de todo esto, ya vere como mi cerebro lo va desenrrollando.

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Imagenes Sensoriales

Hoy fue una mañana bastante particular; no se si fue por la particular combinacion de luz y sombra propia del dia o tal vez porque por primera vez en bastante tiempo me pegue una caminada para ir a comprar algunos accesorios para mis mascotas.

Tanto a la mañana cuando iba en el auto como a lo largo del trayecto que hice sobre la avenida cabildo, fui percibiendo olores, temperaturas, luminosidades, etc. que me fueron trayendo imagenes sensoriales muy nitidas de mi infancia. Recorde el cafe (instantaneo) con leche (instantanea) que me preparaba mi abuela, tuve la sensacion de estar de vuelta en el departamento de la calle Gascon y otras imagenes bastante agradables.

No soy una persona particularmente memoriosa, peco incluso de cierta “desconexion” en algunas facetas de mi persona, pero si hay algo que realmente aprecio y valoro, es la capacidad de que un olor, un color una emocion me transporte tan facil en el espacio y el tiempo hacia puntos de mi infancia, mi juventud, etc

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