#don custodio

[cskyes]

Y'know how in Kabanata 25 they do a little song and dance to mock Don Custodio? To be honest, if there was a live version of it, it could probably go like:

Pinagpala ang naparirito, Sa ngalan ni Don Custodio! Custodio, Custodio, Custodio sa kanyang opisina! Custodio, Custodio, Custodio sa kanyang opisina!

[localcanadiancreature62]

Fiddlestan au memory tapes quick drabble

@maya-custodios-dionach this one's for you.

"So Mcgucket,are you ready to see your memories?" "I don' know. What if ah don't like what i see?" "You have to,it's your only chance of knowing who you are" Mabel remarks as Mcgucket then nods and watches as the braces girl puts in the memory tapes. A young Mcgucket appears on the TV screen as the twins hear a familiar raspy forced cough. "Fiddlesticks,are ya sure that you wanna do this?." Young Stan asks in the background of the video as he holds onto the camera while Fiddleford glares at him. "Of course i'm sure,darlin'. Now get the darn camera rolling. Anyway. My name is Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket,and i made this new invention so that i can unsee what i just saw. Something terrible. Test 1. Subject name,Fiddleford Mcgucket." Fiddleford remarks as he closes his eyes and blasts the memory gun on himself. The scene then switches to an amazed Fiddleford as the second test comes around. "It worked!. I don't remember a thing!." Fiddleford exclaims as Stan rolls his eyes behind the camera as he does NOT want to do this although he compromised for the sake of his southern nerd. "But ya still remember me,right?." Stan asks as Fiddleford looks at him once more. "Course',Stan sweetheart. Now onto the next test." Fiddleford replied as he left the frame but then before the next tape plays,Mabel gasps in shock from discovering that Stan was actually dating Mcgucket. "GRUNKLE STAN WAS BOYFRIENDS WITH MCGUCKET?!. WHY DIDN'T HE SAY ANYTHING?!." Mabel yells as Fiddleford looks at her confused,as he too doesn't remember being with the con man. "Now i've seen everything. I can't believe it. Grunkle Stan,and the town kook?." Dipper says as he shudders in slight disgust. Fiddleford then expectantly looks at them both. "Look children,ah don' know about me datin' yer uncle either. But before ya start jumping to conclusions,let me see the rest of my memories first " Fiddleford remarks as the twins nod and play the tapes again. A more deranged Young Fiddleford appears onscreen with various crossed out eye symbols in the background. "I made a community where people can use my invention to unsee the things they saw!. The experiment is a success!." Fiddleford exclaims happily as Stan sighs in disbelief in the background. "Fidds,isn't this getting a little out of hand?. This sounds kinda nuts with the whole 'community' thing." Stan asks as he refers to his southerner's cult while worrying for his sanity. "You're nuts!. I'm finally picking up mah life again after that insufferable bastard ruined it and now you're going to get in the way too?!." Fiddleford shouts as the grifter starts to grip the camera harder,if the audible static-y sounds of him playing with the camera are anything to go by. "Jeez. Relax. I'm just worried for ya,y'know?." Stan replied as the southern man ignores his comment and the scene switches to an even more unstable Fiddleford. "I did somethin' bad. This was a mistake,i'm forgettin' my name my job and everything!." Fiddleford says as the scene quickly switches to Day 189.

"I accidentally hit someone with mah car. I feel tegible,t-terrible. Terrible. I've been forgettin' words lately. And Stanley.." Fiddleford remarks as even in his slowly slipping sanity,he holds onto the memory of the grifter whom he has already abandoned at this point. "I seen something!. Something big!." "I realized that i've been losin' mah hair,so i got this hat from a scarecrow!. Get outta here ya darned critters!." Fiddleford says as he tries to shoo various animals away from his place at the dump. Fiddleford then utters incoherent gibberish as he makes a triangle symbol with his fingers over one of his eyes as the tape ends. "Oh, McGucket, I'm so sorry." "Aw, hush. You kids helped me get my memories back, just like you said." "But did you want those memories back?" "After all these years,I finally know who I am. Maybe I messed up in the past, but now that I seen what happened, I can begin to put myself together again." "I won't be able to put MYSELF together again after hearing that you and Grunkle Stan were apparently lovers." Dipper remarks in disgust as Mcgucket and Mabel laugh. The rest of the episode goes exactly as canon,with Mcgucket saving the gang from getting their minds erased by using his own empty mind as a shield as Dipper then erased the Blind Eye Society's memories of their own cult as he and Mabel go home after happily helping the town kook.

[mx-heinous]

El Filibusterismo: Poorly Summarized

Chapter 1: We're on a boat and here are the bad guys! :D

Chapter 2: Eyyyy Basilio! You wanna make a school? (Internally: This will not turn out well)

Chapter 3: Short stories with symbolism. That Ibarra guy? Pffft he's dead. Don't worry about him

Chapter 4: The government ain't shit. Something about crocodiles. Juli would rather be a servant than sell a locket

Chapter 5: Coach Driver Has The Worst Christmas Eve Ever

Chapter 6: Basilio Backstory Time

Chapter 7: Simoun Backstory Time (but you already knew he was Ibarra, didn't you?) + Two weirdos have a philosophical debate in the middle of the woods

Chapter 8: Unmerry Christmas

Chapter 9: People Responsible For Why Juli's Life Sucks

Chapter 10: Simoun sells stuff, and oh yeah, Tales killed 3 people or something idk.

Chapter 11: The government ain't shit pt. 2

Chapter 12: The most relatable guy in the book

Chapter 13: The education system sucks

Chapter 14: Meet the students. You're probably gonna forget about them by the next chapter

Chapter 15: Isagani argues with a guy named Spaghetti or something

Chapter 16: Chinese Guy's in debt

Chapter 17: Woohoo, we're at a fair! Wait a minute, where's Simoun?

Chapter 18: Ah, there he is

Chapter 19: Simoun reveals he's a terrorist to a college drop-out

Chapter 20: Turns out, Don Custodio ain't shit

Chapter 21: The friars make a fuss about a French play, backfires horribly

Chapter 22: Relationship Dramaaaaa. Also, yay! The new school got approved! Nvm, we can't direct it anyway

Chapter 23: Hey kid, wanna be a terrorist? Wait, WDYM MARIA CLARA'S DEAD?!

Chapter 24: Relationship Dramaaaaa pt. 2 (This isn't gonna end well, will it?)

Chapter 25: Eating food and making fun of the government

Chapter 26: The government ain't shit pt. 3

Chapter 27: Wait, a decent priest? No way

Chapter 28: People Are Scared, Tiago kicks the bucket, and oh hey, Placido, there you are

Chapter 29: Tiago's Funeral (that's pretty much it)

Chapter 30: Juli can't catch a break

Chapter 31: Look! A decent government official! Nvm, he resigned

Chapter 32: Literally everyone is out of prison except for Basilio because the government ain't shit pt. 4. Also, Juanito's a girlfriend stealing bitch

Chapter 33: Basilio has an emo arc

Chapter 34: Wedding planning ensues, and look, a pretty lamp that's definitely not a bomb

Chapter 35: Your ex just crashed your wedding but dw, it's a good thing

Chapter 36: Ben-Zayb finally gets his own chapter

Chapter 37: The people finally got some braincells

Chapter 38: Remember Selo? Well, he's dead now

Chapter 39: Simoun finally crokes and Tiburcio's there ig

[sinfonia-relativa]

Todos somos custodios de nuestras peculiaridades internas.

Don Ggatto

[donggatto]

Querido Freud,

A medida que reflexiono sobre las complejidades humanas, no puedo dejar de pensar en cómo cada uno de nosotros abraza y defiende aspectos únicos de nuestra propia existencia. Observo las similitudes entre las personas y cómo, de alguna manera, todos somos custodios de nuestras peculiaridades internas.

Tu determinación para alcanzar la perfección autoimpuesta me recuerda la férrea defensa de un paranoico hacia su constante vigilancia. Admiro cómo cuidas tu espacio personal con la misma intensidad que un introvertido cuida sus fronteras mentales, encontrando en ello un refugio necesario.

La necesidad de orden que abrazas como perfeccionista me hace pensar en aquellos que, de manera delusional, se aferran a interpretaciones fantasiosas de la realidad. Tú, con tu autorreflexión constante, te sumerges en un océano de autoexigencia, recordándome la inmersión emocional de alguien bipolar en sus altibajos.

Es interesante cómo buscas apoyo, casi como un dependiente que abraza su necesidad constante de respaldo, mientras otros, como el esquizotípico, encuentran consuelo en sus pensamientos excéntricos. Y así, continuando este paralelismo, veo tu enredo en tus sentimientos, comparable a la complejidad de alguien que se sumerge en visiones distorsionadas bajo la influencia alucinógena.

En tus esfuerzos por mantener el control, no puedo evitar pensar en cómo sostienes esa necesidad con tenacidad, algo similar a cómo un delirante sostiene su versión alterada de la verdad. Tu protección de la posesividad se asemeja al celoso que resguarda su distancia emocional como si fuera un tesoro.

Al sumergirme en la carta, me doy cuenta de las capas emocionales y las complejidades que compartimos como seres humanos. Cada línea traza paralelos entre mundos internos, creando un tejido de comprensión única.

Con afecto,

Don Ggatto

[eltesorodeleer]

Liriel y el sauce

En un reino encantado, donde los árboles susurraban secretos y los lagos reflejaban sueños, vivía un hada llamada Liriel. Su hogar era un sauce llorón que se inclinaba graciosamente sobre un lago cristalino, habitado por cisnes de plumaje blanco como la nieve.

Liriel, a quien los árboles llamaban hermana, tenía el don de la música. Con su flauta de madera, tocaba melodías que hacían danzar a las hojas y brillar a las estrellas. Cada nota era un tributo a la naturaleza, un canto al poder y la sabiduría de los árboles, guardianes milenarios de la tierra.

Los cisnes, atraídos por la dulce música de Liriel, se reunían cada noche bajo el sauce. Mientras el hada tocaba, los cisnes danzaban en el agua, creando círculos que se expandían como ondas, tocando las orillas del lago en un suave abrazo.

Una noche, el sauce, movido por la magia de la música, comenzó a mecerse suavemente. Sus ramas se inclinaban hacia Liriel, como si quisiera unirse a su canción. El hada, emocionada, tocó con más fervor, y en ese instante, una luz brillante emanó del árbol, envolviendo a todos en un cálido resplandor.

El sauce, que había vivido durante siglos, compartió con Liriel los secretos del bosque, historias de tiempos antiguos cuando los árboles caminaban y hablaban. Liriel escuchó, maravillada, comprendiendo que cada árbol era un ser lleno de sabiduría y vida, un espíritu protector de la naturaleza.

Desde entonces, Liriel y el sauce se convirtieron en custodios del lago y del bosque. Juntos, con la música y la danza de los cisnes, recordaban a todos los seres del bosque la importancia de vivir en armonía con la naturaleza, respetando la voz antigua de los árboles, esos seres majestuosos que sostienen la vida y custodian secretos más allá del tiempo.

[spectaculardistractions]

To José Rubia Barcia Mexico City, 12 December 1947 Dear Mr Barcia (don José Rubia), Is Evita suffering from the cold? Are her feet freezing in Sears? I remember just how cold she got at Big Bear Lake, and with the Christmas chills setting in… I remember that Hollywood era with so much nostalgia. I’m sorry, but I did have a wonderful time. It’s two years now since you and I were immersed in the search for gory details for the infamous Umbral script. I’ll say more about that later. Your letter sounded more optimistic than your previous ones. I think it was absolutely the right thing to accept the teaching position. For all of its shortcomings, it’s more desirable and far more dignified than traipsing around the studios looking for work as an artistic director. For that takes qualities which, fortunately, you lack, such as being a little shameless, very sycophantic, more than a bit pushy, something of a backstabber, and a touch illiterate and dim. Above all, your current occupation is the most favourable for you to write your own things (which you should publish). I am at your service as your Mexican agent. I will take them personally wherever you wish after reading them myself. My respectable family and I are getting along just fine and without work since April. If I’m still surviving it is only thanks to my credit with a few friends and with my mother. The sale of Nazarín, which I arranged to be paid in Spain, brought in 13,000 pesos here, of which I’m still owed 4,000. What incredible unreliability! I live a very frugal life and hardly see any friends. Moreno Villa spends a couple of afternoons a week with us. And I occasionally favour Custodio the ‘great’ critic with my conversation. Juan Larrea, lost as always in his prophetic-theological-poetical dreams, is more difficult to catch up with. He is in New York momentarily. He published a wonderful book over there, in English, called Guernica. Ugarte was fired from CLASA because of the crisis. And as for the family, Jeanne dreaming of France and Spain, Juan Luis pining for Hollywood with a genuinely obsessive passion (he’s 100 per cent gringo). And the little one, of course, has adapted to life here. Dubbing has begun, with Azcárraga in charge of one half and Dancigers in charge of the other; in other words, two each that will add up to 15 each if they pass the test. They have sent a supervisor from Metro and two directors, Ramírez and Ortigosa, for whom the union has arranged a special Dubbing Directors branch. I’ve given two talks on dubbing techniques there, but I’m in no way involved in the work itself. Custodio, whom I recommended to Oscar, is doing a stint as a jobbing writer and seems to be doing OK. Shall I tell you something? If I had to choose between stultifying dubbing work in Mexico and lecturing in Los Angeles, I would definitely choose the latter. No hesitation. Although need may tempt us to stupid things, I’ve declined to make more Gran Casinos. Although to be honest, I was only offered one option to make a series called Soledad, which has just come out. It starts out rather grey and neutral, like the aforementioned film, then turns into a real Salvador or Moraita… I still have some standards. Now, I shall briefly outline my plans and possibilities: 1) Nazarín. Pancho made me wait five months and in the end, he couldn’t raise all the money (600,000 pesos). He’s passed it on to Ramex. The managing director wants to make it with me. We’ll begin in January… if RKO doesn’t slam the door on production over here, which is not impossible. We’ll know by the end of the year. 2) Umbral. Ramex also wants to make this with me, after Nazarín, although they’ll sign contracts for both at the same time. Noriega loves the story. I think I’ll be able to get us $1,500 each. We’ll have to wait until the end of the year. 3) With Dancigers. My mother is going to send me 50,000 pesos I will then use to go into co-production with Oscar. We’re going to make a really commercial film, Los sobrinos del capitán Grant maybe, using a new technique I’m going to introduce over here that will mean I can film the whole thing in seven days. As you can see, a lot of maybes but no certainties. Not even the loan from my mother. How to get 30,000 pesetas out of Spain these days? Without being a businessman or a requin industriel it is very difficult. But we’ll give it a go. To bring this long missive to a close, I’ll tell you that, unfortunately, my attempt to sue Warner Brothers has failed. The only plagiarism we could prove was the beginning of the scene. All the rest, the use of slow motion, the climbing hand, etc., etc., I suggested to Florey after I had written the sequence. Ideas that popped up that I would share with him when we were working together. Regards to all Evita’s hospitable and lovely relatives, particularly her parents, and for her and you, very much love, Buñuel

Jo Evans & Breixo Viejo, Luis Buñuel: A Life in Letters

[davidsoto666]

ORI

La palabra Orí en la lengua Yorùbá significa cabeza.

Dentro de esta cabeza reside Orí inú, que se traduce como la “cabeza interna” o la “persona interior”.

Para Ifá, es Orí quien controla, regula y guía la vida y las actividades de la persona.

Orí es la más grande y la más importante de todas las deidades. Es la extensión de Olódùmarè en la persona. Es también el custodio del destino humano.

Ifá establece que el fracaso o el éxito de cualquier hombre y que depende en gran medida de la elección de Orí que haya hecho en el cielo.

Esta creencia en la predestinación sirve para explicar el éxito o el fracaso de cada hombre en la tierra. Si una persona enriquece repentinamente, Ifá establece que es debido a su Orí. Por otro lado, cuando una persona fracasa en un proyecto importante, que sin descartar el esfuerzo humano, es en gran medida al destino que escogió.

Cuando alguien tiene una vida próspera se le llama Olórí ‘re, que significa, ��aquel que posee un buen destino”; mientras que aquel que tiene una vida desafortunada se le llama Olórí burúkú, que significa “aquel que posee un mal Orí”.

Debemos pedir a Orí que nos ayude a alcanzar nuestro más alto destino, que todo lo bueno que Olódùmarè puso en nosotros, cada don, cada talento, cada sueño, cada deseo se haga realidad.

Para ello, es importante que superemos todos los obstáculos

permitiendo que la semilla interna que todos tenemos en progreso de éxito en ascenso; germine y de frutos a través de la perseverancia y el esfuerzo.

Orí: Es el dios de la buena suerte, el dios personal del individuo el cual, como ser espiritual, eligió frente a Olodumare, antes de encarnar el cuerpo material. Es un Orisha que posee cada individuo desde el momento de su nacimiento.

Entidad

Ori es una entidad de mucha importancia. El Ori de una persona debe ser atendido regularmente mediante inmolaciones y lo que Ori decide, ningún otro Orisha lo puede modificar ni alterar. Hay quienes tienen un Ori tan fuerte que por más brujería que se le haga esto no lo entra, ya que teniendo un Ori fuerte o teniéndolo bien atendido, es la única forma de combatir a los Eniyan o brujos del astral, cuya interferencia solo se combate con Ori haciendo vano el esfuerzo de otros Orisha. Se dice que no se puede hacer nada por el poseedor de una mala cabeza, solo podrán realizar su destino mediante su fuerza de voluntad y su conducta Iwá.

[korrektheiten]

Spanischem Priester drohen drei Jahre Gefängnis wegen Kritik am Islam

katholisches.info: „In Ländern, in denen Muslime die Macht haben, werden Christen brutal verfolgt und getötet“, erklärte der spanische Priester. „Von welchem ​​Dialog reden wir dann?“ Die Staatsanwaltschaft sieht darin ein „Haßverbrechen“ und brachte den Priester vor Gericht. Don Custodio Ballester, ein spanischer Priester, muß sich vor Gericht wegen „Haßverbrechen“ verantworten, weil er in einem Aufsatz den ... http://dlvr.it/T3zRN3

[cskyes]

update about the El Filibusterismo film project thing...

I finally finished it! after a couple of weeks of pain and suffering, I've finally accomplished my goals, but unlike Makaraig and Co. no friars were involved.

An odd detail that happened though is that Donya Victorina and Don(ya) Custodio, due to the absence of Paulita in some scenes, just suddenly has this weird sapphic dynamic...

Like, an unexpected side effect of Donya Custodio's actor catching Paulita's line is making Donya Custodio look like she's in a relationship with both Pepay and Donya Victorina.

[hala2021]

La autopercepción

Tuvimos dos horas interareales entre Inglés, Francés, Música, Lengua y yo, Visuales. El grupo decidió hacer algo sobre identidad; por lo tanto, dentro de eso entra la Esi (Educación Sexual Integral) y la identidad de género. La profesora de Francés mostró un video de una chicas que se preguntaban quiénes eran: «quién soy», decía un cartelito. Las chicas llevaban una máscara en el rostro y eso me hizo pensar en la «marabunta».

Bueno. Repentinamente y sin consultarme, la de Francés dijo: «ahora la profesora nos va a decir de dos personajes de las pinturas que se relacionen con la identidad». Y la verdad..., yo ni sabía ni qué decir, porque nada me había hablado antes y se supone que una clase se planifica y se habla con los pares si es que estos van a intervenir. El de Música se fue por los pasillos, no estaba; la de Inglés, sentada en el fondo, mirando su celular. Entonces, pensé en qué personaje. Y me vino a la mente a Juanito Laguna, de Berni. La pobreza, la humildad, las villas... Una clase disparatada. Después, la profesora hablaba de ser como uno es, de buscar la identidad. Por otro lado, yo hablé de las clases sociales, porque el personaje retratado por Berni se relaciona con una clase social marginal. Y les dije a los alumnos que era importante la autopercepción, que uno podía autopercibirse de otra clase social, no la que uno tiene. ¡Y claro! Si la ideología de género dice que siendo una mujer puedes sentirte un hombre y viceversa; entonces, también si eres un miserable puedes sentirte Rockefeller. ¡Algo ridículo! ¡Juro que me mordí la boca para no largar la carcajada! La pavada más grande hecha realidad. Vivir de sueños. ¡Qué maravilla! No quisiera publicar esta redacción mañana, es decir, dentro de unas diez horas en realidad; puesto que esto es como para contarlo. La clase fue de locos, pero muy divertida. Yo me siento Jackeline Onasis, pero ahorro hasta en bolsas para la basura. ��Sí! Uso las bolsitas del mercado. A veces, cuando compro algunas verduras, guardo las bolsas para los residuos.

¡Ah! Eso sí, yo me siento una modelo top, porque tengo a los custodios que me abren la puerta del auto. Por supuesto, veo al chófer del colectivo, en donde voy sentada. ¡Pero qué importa eso! No interesa si no tienes ni para comprarte papel higiénico, porque lo más importante es cómo uno se siente, la autopercepción. Ahora, con la identidad de género, si quieres ser un pájaro, puedes serlo. Y yo, dando la clase, me sentía la psiquiatra que habla con los locos del nosocomio.

Debo ir a rezar. Digamos que el rezo es para la realeza, ya que uno de mis hermanos de sangre decía que la moral es un lujo que solo pueden dárselo los ricos. Y si yo me siento la hija de Rockefeller, entonces puedo decir que soy musulmana, que creo en Dios.

¡Ay! Eso de los sueños. Creo que ya me está gustando el mundo diseñado por la marabunta: ¡es tan disparatado!

Lo importante es respetar al otro y si el otro está loco, debes observarlo con respeto. Todo es una burla de la marabunta. Terminamos viendo imágenes de Don Quijote y Sancho Panza, uno más loco que el otro. Recuerdo cuando uno peleaba con molinos de viento. Y bueno... Así es la vida, solo un sueño.

[mx-heinous]

Kabanata 11: Live-Posting

So this was actually the first chapter I reread, but then I decided to just reread the whole book

The first paragraph is legit just a comedy

"that he already had his eye on a wretch to be dressed up as a deer"

Did they seriously forget to let Padre Camorra in on the plan to lose on purpose

Ah, the secretary who actually wants to do their job

LMAO CAMORRA THREW HIS CARDS AT IRENE'S HEAD

Ngl, Camorra to me gives off Frat Bro Vibes, even down to the toxic Mountain Dew Gamer energy. His chat logs should NOT be leaked for the safety of his reputation

I love that Irene called Simoun, "Señor Sindbad," knowing that he talks shit about him

This is like one of the chapters where they feel like sorta friends

Irene, why are you still smiling

Simoun wants them to say dumb shit for the funsies lol

Aaaaand here he goes casually betting for the power to commit several human rights violations

The high official, aka one of the few decent people there

Pfft, yet again, Simoun is called An American

Don Custodio, about Simoun in his head: That guy is waaay out of line. He's right, though, but still out of line

“The evil is not,” went on Simoun, “in that there are tulisanes in the mountains and uninhabited parts—the evil lies in the tulisanes in the towns and cities.”

“Like yourself,” put in the Canon with a smile.

I love these lines so much

The Captain General: Do I look like a fucking chicken to you?

Camorra wanting to punch the schoolmaster is further proving my earlier point

I love how their responses to Custodio's suggestion ranged from "Brilliant!" To "What is wrong with you?"

I mean, hey, it's smarter than the duck plan

Sibyla exchanging looks with Simoun

HEY, don't fucking insult Isagani

Again, Camorra's out here proving my point with the fact that he almost fought Isagani on the steamer

How do you even mispronounce "Makaraig?"

Makaraig's one trait: Rich af

That's cause Basi's smarter than you, Irene :)

"Simoun smiled faintly, silently, showing his sharp white teeth." Bitch, tf are you thinking

"Anything before a Jesuit!"

The thing is, Rizal was thought by Jesuits if I remember correctly, so that's why all the priests in the book hate Jesuits

"Ben-Zayb and Padre Camorra shook their fists in each other’s faces, one talking of simpletons and the other of ink-slingers"

They should fist-fight

I'm gonna post a meme about this

"Some one has said that grave matters should be considered at dessert. I’m entirely of that opinion"

“Carambas! Can’t one be left to eat his breakfast in peace?”

At least, Camorra was good for one thing. I still hate him, though

This has been my favorite chapter

[simoouf]

how y'all mfs look like when you're being decieved by the man who you thought was dead 13 years ago

simoun being manipulative to the elite: boo hoo the fools 🤡🤡🤡

edit: there will be a video version soon

[appleflavoredkitkats]

POOR DON CUSTODIO SAYING THAT VILLAGES WOULD BE DESTROYED AND SIMOUNS LIKE and?

[mourningmaybells]

underrated moment in el filibusterismo:

Ben Zayb trying to decide what Simoun’s ethnicity and nationality is and coming to conclusion he’s mixed british, just for Don Custodio to stubbornly insist he’s mixed american because he acts like an entitled bitch and probably takes advantage of poc... despite the fact other countries are doing the same

Plus the fact that they’re both wrong. Man’s mixed filipino-spanish like their colleagues.

[moriras-lejos]

Una vez llegado a Kirchhorst he notado que los libros, las cartas, las colecciones me causan fastidio por su abundancia. Enseguida exigían que me ocupara de ellos; esto me ha hecho ver con claridad, sencillamente por el cansancio que me embargaba, que todas las cosas viven y depende del interés, de la responsabilidad espiritual y física que por ellas se siente. Poseemos gracias a una virtud especial, a una especie de fuerza magnética. La riqueza es, en ese sentido, no solo un don, sino que es también una dote, un talento, que se corresponde con el círculo a que nosotros podemos llegar. Es decisivo el hecho de que la mayoría de la gente sea interiormente incapaz de riqueza, incapaz incluso de una posesión muy modesta. Si, pese a todo, a esa gente le cae desde fuera riqueza, vuelve a escapársele de las manos y no deja rastro. O tal vez incluso le trae desgracia. De ahí que resulte insustituible la riqueza antigua; en ella se trasmite por herencia al hijo y al nieto no sólo el don, sino la dote el talento que llevarla y utilizarla con libertad. 

Dieta, también de las cosas y de los bienes que atraemos hacia nosotros. De lo contrario, en vez de facilitarnos el camino de nuestra vida, lo que ocurre es que recae sobre nosotros el papel de guardianes, de criados, de custodios.

-  Ernst Jünger