El Nido del Águila

Asistimos estos días al espectáculo de la política. Uno podría pensar que se trata de un espectáculo zafio, bochornoso, o ridículo. No me parece que lo sea. Simplemente se trata de un espectáculo, porque hace ya décadas que la política se basa única y exclusivamente en el espectáculo. Tengo un buen amigo, sabio como pocos, que suele decir que "nosotros los españoles somos tan parecidos a los italianos en lo que se refiere a los gustos mediáticos que basta ver su televisión para saber qué estará de moda aquí dentro de cinco años". Supongo que todo comenzó cuando Tele5 desembarcó en España y las empresas de Berlusconi comenzaron a enseñorearse de la parrilla. Él, Berlusconi, es el paradigma de la política espectáculo. Basta ver la serie 199.. (con sus tres temporadas, 1992, 1993, 1994), para entender cómo una situación política puede degenerar hasta el punto de que un empresario, un profesional de los medios de comunicación y la publicidad, aprovechando los instintos más ba...

By the Old Mulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea There is a little girl in Burma And I Know, she thinks on me For the wind is in the palm trees, and the temple bells they say: Come you back, you British soldier? Came you back to Mandalay!           Come you Back to Mandalay,           Where the old flotilla lay           Can't you ear their paddles chunkin, from Rangoon to Mandalay?           On the road to Mandalay           Where the flying fishes play           And the dawn comes up like thunder,           Outer China  cross the Bay. Her petticoat was yaller, and her little cap was green, And Her name was Supi-yaw-lat, Yet the same as Theebaw's Queen And I seed her first a-smoking of a whackin white Cheroot And a wasting Christian kisses on an eathen idol's foot: Bloomin idol ...

A grim, cold afternoon at winter Students learning Still raining against the glasses It's classroom. A poster shows Cain as outcast And Abel is dead, alongside a bloodstain With an empty and sound bell The master yells, a book on his hand And a choir of infants Singing the lesson A thousand times houndred , hundred thousand; thousand times thousand, a million. A grim, cold afternoon at winter Students learning Still raining against the glasses ... A poem by Antonio Machado. He was a member of the intelectual and cultural movement known as Spanish 98rs.

At 5 PM It was 5  PM A boy brought the white sheed It was 5 PM A ton of lime warned All the rest was death, just death Wind took cottons At 5 PM Oxide seed cristal and niquel At 5 PM The dove and the leopard fight yet At 5 PM A thigh sliced by a lonely bull shank At 5 PM It started to sound the "bordón" At 5 PM Arsenic and smoke bells At 5 PM On  corners quiet crowds At 5 PM And just the Bull with the heart beating! At 5 PM When snow sweat was arriving At 5 PM When the bullring was cover of lodo At 5 PM Death put her eggs into the wound At 5 PM At 5 PM At 5 o'clock PM The bed is a casket with wheels At 5 PM Bones and flutes sounding in his ear At 5 PM The bull mopping by his forehead At 5 PM The fourth agonizing At 5 PM Gangrene comes from far away At 5 PM Lirium trunk for the green groin At 5 PM Wounds burning like the Sun At 5 PM Mob broking windows At 5 PM At 5 PM OH, how terrible 5 PM was that! The same 5 in all clocks ...

300 years ago, there was a great warrior, who united seven kingdoms in one single Crown. The warrior had a beast. A black great monstrous dragon. The dragonfire melted down a thousand blades, and forged a throne, so high that it touched the roof of the great room, inside a Red Fortress. Today, the king is not a warrior, not a ruler. He is just a kid. And kids are not good enough to be kings. The kingdom is ruled by King's advisors, like his grandfather, a powerful landlord from the west. There are others. An old Master of the Citadel, with a chain carrying rings of gold and silver. And there are two men. Two smart and powerful men, who came from nothing. Men from nothing are the most dangerous of every men. Those who have nothing to lose, have nothing to fear. These men like and hate one each other. And that is the key of today's story. A lesson one though the other. In the throne room. The two men look the Iron Throne. "A thousand blades... Taken from the hands of Kin...

I'm inside sadness, which is a time And a space, and a soul devoured by another ghost soul which hasn't been. Nothing or anyone pains inside sadness, meanwhile slow days get longer And their darkness kingdoms Drown from "Soy en mayo". A poem by National Poetry Awarded Julio Martínez Mesanza

Young Alexander lived in Macedonian capital city of Pella, and had great and rich chambers, servants of his own, instructors to learn to combat, and the old Leonidas who thought him the mithology, and gave him a copy of The illiad and The Odissey. As the son of a King, he was a prince, and was raised with all luxuries money could buy. One day his father, King Philipe, took Alexander and they went to a mountain, far from Pella. The mountain was a goldmine, and inside it, slave workers drew the gold, which later was converted in money, or commodities for aristocrats. Philipe made his son enter deep into the mine, and look the slaves to the eyes. Eyes without life at all. -Do you see, my son? That is how our power is made of. These slaves, and much more of them laid the foundations of our world. -Why did you bring me to this horrible place father?? -Because you must understand, son, nothing in this world comes from nothing. All has a price, and it must be payed. Those who work insid...