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Clean

My father has a habit that I never could understood at my infancy. As many of habits, was presented to my in the form of a law, a law that I had to obey by force. So, obviously, wasn't a major concern to me. "Do not throw that to the floor", "Pick up that garbage", "keep it in your pocket". The opposite to fun for a kid. But now I have another perspective, I like see the things clean: clean mountain, clean beach, clean street, clean market. If not all is a general mess. Of course, we can mess our personal lives at all, nobody cares -our own houses, our own becoming- but the common space, the physical and interpersonal, has to be clean,or it will be all a confusion.

Now I'm a clean people. I learned the lessons from my father and now I care about the dirtiness that I provoke. I don't do recycling, but I have a clean bike. I'm not registered in a eco-organisations, but I don't use the products of big companies that cause the most contamination of the world. My carbon footprint is low because of my vegetarianism, that allow me to evade the industries that emit the most of the carbon footprint in the world.

In general terms, I'm a clean person. I don't have big hopes in this planet, surely there are better ones. But I don't accept personal interests -as laziness, or profit- as an argument to justify the general contamination.

Houellebecq and Al-Qaeda, stars of the XXI century

Two years ago, at 2011, was published in Europe "The Map and the Territory", the latest book of the enfant terrible of french literature, considered by the critics -and by himself- the France's greatest living novelist, "the first literary star since Sartre": Michel Houellebecq. So when he vanished from his own promotional book tour for a week, in which nobody could assure exactly where he was, nobody was alarmed, it was not a big surprise, surely a bad marketing strategy. As the journalist refers, it was considered "as a mere quirk", an extravagance.

Houellebecq never explained a thing about it.

But this year, "in a twist worthy of one of his books", report the news, a filmmaker announced the premiere of a film based on a couple of lightly rumors that circulated about his disappearance: he was kidnapped by Al-Qaeda.

There are reason to believe that. He is openly close to islamophobe ideas and he has received many dead menaces because of the critics to Islam written in his novels. But in contrast to this, the film director is very ambiguous on his declaration about the veracity of the history. A detail to regard: the own Houellebecq is the protagonist of the film. 

This perfectly can be a fiction, in fact we all would bet that option, is the most probable end. But at this moment there are not a clear answer, there are not trues and there are no lies. Maybe we never know if is truth or not, but if there are rebels in this century, clearly two of them are Houellebecq and Al-Qaeda. It will be a pleasure see it together.

original new: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/jul/15/michel-houellebecq-film-book-disappear-kidnap 

My first bike (web cam work)

At the age of eleven, an unfortunate series of event forced me to leave my childhood behind. It’s a long story and I will not going into all the details, but one of this events it’s directly related to a gift that I received as a child.

I’m talking about my first bike, a beautiful red bike, surely the best present that any child can received, a wonderfull gift that my parents gave my for christmas, but which I couldn’t enjoy for much time.

The first days of January, just a few weeks after christmas, I decided to go out on a short ride with my Little brother. It was a beautiful scene. My younger brother in his little bike, and I, as a guardian, the child in charge, beside him, in my big red bike, my precious mountain bike.

The dogs barked nonsense in the villa, the birds sang his melodies, my brother and I with the wind in our child faces, and, suddenly, an unexpected situation brought us down, direct to reality: a stranger old man came from behind me and put a knife in my neck.

I was petrified. Obviously I gave him my bike at the moment and he escaped riding my beloved red mountain bike for the thin street. I still remember his way of pedalling and the crying eyes of my little brother.

After that, I returned to my home frustrated but assuming the adversity with courage, without crying, trying to look strong to my brother. But my mother, without knowing the details and thinking that I made a foolishness, gave me a long sermon. And the tears arrived.