Entre el zumbido particular de las torres en construcción de Piantini y las señoras con ropa de ejercicio y hombres planchados arrasando en sus jeepetas hipnotizados con sus handsfree, al cruzar la calle ví la imagen a recordar para hoy.

Una imagen sencilla… un carro pequeño, ya en proceso de verse bien usado… uno de esos Toyoticas, que puede bien ser el ’96 al ’04… al volante una chica, que bien podría haber estado en una Omsa hace 6 meses… desentendida del mundo, sin aire acondicionado, cantando a todo pulmón, como si estuviera ante el jurado de The Voice o American Idol, una canción que no llegue a captar.

Su alegría y total entrega a la misma, me mostró, que aunque la ciudad cambie, se haga más vertical, aislada, y déspota al delimitar la diferencia de como vivimos algunos de sus habitantes comparados a otros, hay cosas que nunca van a cambiar…

- El efecto de una canción que te gusta, sin importar la calidad de tu equipo de audio.
- El poder y disfrute de la libertad.
- La esperanza infinita de la juventud.

The third floor of the Sridhar hospital was one of the quietest places of the complete building. No one frequently visited this gloomy floor. Patients waited for their coming end, looking at walls, looking at tears of those who loved them, who knew that there was no cure for this deadly disease, but more than the tragedy bestowed upon them by the almighty, more painful was the neglectance of those who loved them. Ashu stood in front of the sadness of that floor, near the stairs; he looked at the darkness lay in every corner of the floor. He slowly moved to the room he visited ever week in the only hospital oh this city which housed people suffering from AIDS. He knocked the door slowly, in hope that she would not be sleeping. The old wooden door creaked open, revealing an old looking young face, burdened with trauma of this life, sadness of her daughter. Ashu smiled at her and whispered slowly, ‘is she sleeping?’

She signalled a no, it was even hard to murmur a word for her, each day she has died as a mother, weeped for her daughter dying in front of her, each day every moment.

Ashu moved to the small darling beauty lying on bed, her face sucked by the deadly disease.

‘So how’s my little angel today?’ Ashu sat near her.

‘Same.’ She replied in a low voice. ‘Have you brought chocolates bhaiya (bro)?’

He shared glances with her mom, ‘I did’ he said ‘but I can’t give you right now’ he added.

‘Why’ she said in a lower voice.

‘Because you mom said that you don’t eat food now a days.’ He said

‘It tastes bad.’ she replied.

‘But then how will you recover dear.’ He said. She wanted to reply but the gate creaked again, Dr. Shah entered.

‘Oh Ashu, nice to see you.’ he said.

‘Same here doctor. Can we talk for a second?’ Ashu said and the two moved out of the room.

‘What’s the word doctor?’ he asked, more serious now.

Dr looked at his face which was expecting a positive reply.

‘Look Ashu, you know how it is. The disease is eating her day by day, and more than that the attitude of this world eats you more drastically.’

‘That’s the problem doctor, we the people.’ Ashu grinned.

‘She’ll not be able to cope more than three or four months at the max.’

It was a bad news for him, although Radhika was no one to him, not a relative, or a friend but shared a great relationship with him. Her grandmother looked after them in their childhood; she was their caretaker when their own parents neglected them. And today her grand-daughter was in such a condition just because a careless daughter thought no need to change a used syringe. But Ashu had seen how her own father kicked her and her mother out of their house after the news spread, and how she saw him their only hope. He had never seen such harsh realities of life before, all was always glittery for him, but his view completely changed as Radhika showed a different side of life. And today his inspiration, his girl was leaving him in just few months he could do nothing, his money cannot buy her more time, it was useless.

He had no courage to face her again and decided to leave. His cell rang, Aisha calling it blinked. He looked distressed, picked up after much thought.

‘Yes, speak.’ He said reluctantly.

‘No I can’t meet today, I am busy.’ He said. There was a long pause as if Aisha was telling a long story. Finally he spoke, ‘you are such a…..’ he did not complete his sentence.

‘Meet me at six, barista.’ He said and disconnected.

Read at your own risk because this story can be VERY moving to body, mind, and spirit.

It is stuck with me over 2 decades now, since my first reading, and I pray that I never forget it.

This is a great story by Usula K. LeGuin…

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas

http://www-rohan.sdsu.edu/faculty/dunnweb/rprnts.omelas.pdf

Opening the week I am still short $AUDUSD.  I have also just re-established my $USDCAD long position…support is still in tact.  Here is the chart:

Website: http://thepippingypsy.tk

“Geri’s Game is an animated short film made by Pixar in 1997, written and directed by Jan Pinkava. It was the first Pixar short created after the 1989 Knick Knack. The film won an Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film in 1998.”

Great short film that is really funny in my opinion. I found it today again after seeing it a long time ago and it doesn’t fail to surprise me.

Yeezus officially hits shelves tomorrow.

An epic short film combining an epic suitcase, a secret agent and a pigeon. A rookie secret agent is faced with a problem seldom covered in basic training: what to do when a curious pigeon gets trapped inside your multi-million dollar, government-issued nuclear briefcase

Their flight left for his mothers in a few hours, and the idea of spending the evening with his rude and inconsiderate brother turned his stomach. Lewis was glad to have flown the nest and cut his brother out to the best of his ability, even though it meant not spending time with his father before he died, it was still the right decision for him. James’s behaviour had always been on the thin line of the law and Lewis wasn’t prepared to take the risk of being dragged into it anymore.

Lewis was unsure how much time had passed before Emily finally awoke, the corners of his lips twitched into a smile as her dark eyes fluttered open. She returned the smile sleepily, leaning up she placed a lingering kiss on his lips before settling back down against his chest, a finger circling the faded scar on his chest. “Can I ask you something?” Lewis muttered softly, Emily knitted her brow questioningly “I don’t want you to say anything until I’ve finished.” she nodded, confusion playing behind her eyes. “Over the last few months I really have fallen in love with you. Don’t get me wrong I’ve always loved you but I really fallen. I love the way you look first thing in a morning, the way you pout when I won’t turn over to your soaps when I’m watching a game, the way you always know what I want, the way you get stressed over small things like washing powder, the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re thinking, the way you tap your nails against your teeth when you’re nervous.” Lewis sighed, “The way, the way you push me into relaxing when I deny needing it. Everything about you intrigues me and makes me fall for you even more. I know we have problems, but what couple doesn’t? I know no matter what life throws at us we can make it through. I want to feel you sleeping next to me every night and wake up with you every day for the rest of my life. I want you there when I’m old and grey and have no control over my bowels.” he smirked as Emily wrinkled her nose, “I want to be with you completely. Emily, marry me?”

Emily giggled into her hand as she knelt up and stared down into Lewis’s eyes.

“You have clearly been watching far too many chick flicks, but yes I’ll marry you, you big dork.”

With Jeff’s and Chuck’s lights added, the thing was more illuminated. They could see that This thing was standing down in the alleyway, but it was just standing. They could make out a shape of a person but it was covered in swap scum, and scum like objects. It seemed to be . . . breathing. The odor was getting stronger. Shelia started to back up, either out of fright, the smell, or both. Jeff’s hands reached up to a by itself to a re-bar. Without looking he managed to pull it off slowly and quietly. Then he handed it to Chuck, who took it also without looking.
     ”Thanks.” He whispered.
     ”Anytime, don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Shelia was still watching with horror, but got behind Jeff. Chuck walked closer, using the light as his guide, he hugged the opposite wall. Trying not to wake this thing or whatever it was, he stepped cautiously. His wet footsteps making light taps as he did. Now I feel kind of sorry for the guy. Jeff reached for another re-bar, this part of the stockroom wasn’t completely filled due to some additional shelving being done. 

     Jeff turned to Shelia, and looked into her glazed expression face.
     ”If anything happens, run. Don’t stop, just run.” When he turned to watch Chuck, he dialed 911. 

It’s a heartwarming film project by Ryan Hutchins. A little cliche but still cute and innocent.

The story follows a boy and girl from their childhood to their coming of age in form of a poem. The boy likes the girl but seems “too shy” to reveal her his feelings.

I really liked it, hope you might as well!

The heady rush of excitement…and nerves…and joy…and fear…

The burst of giggles…words struggling to come out yet keeping them in for fear of jinxing the burgeoning relationship…

The smiles that can’t be contained…the crinkling of one’s eyes as they soften and glisten as you reminisce on past conversations…the pure unadulterated happiness…

And then the doubts creep in…the tiredness…the frustration…the irritation…the impatience…

For some, this happens a few months down the line…or a few years, for some… a week in.

You’re in love with your boyfriend. It’s very early days but you know that you’re completely in love with him. The question is, how long will this love last since the heady rush is waning so rapidly?

Despair.

***

And then…it’s done.

                Waking up nothing made sense as usual. Waking up with the same reluctance of existing the day before and the one prior to that – back to the day his consciousness recognized futility. Glimpses of the pact he made the night before and every night before that and will continue to make every night to come. Nothing changed with his very much desire to free fall to nothingness. Still hopeless he does not expect a difference in the day he is about to give away like every day he remembered before this one and every day he will forget yet to come. The ultimate realist.

Getting ready for his day wasn’t a physical preparation. Exhausting what little amount of determination he had left to create some sort of insight in order to get his life back in line he convinces himself there may be a slight change in the conceptual norm he has been forced to succumb to. Physical appearance was still not of his utmost priorities. Other people’s judgement meant so little because of the knowledge of doing nothing to be judged anyway left little room for emotional disturbance. Life’s promises have all seemed to fail, but something deep down kept him from completely letting go. Rather than having a grand finale, he would rather go out quietly and unnoticed. Attention is not desired. Nothing was expected to really change. No hope and no real desire was the source of intuition so why bother. He is accustomed to these feelings and he would not give up on them so easily. Despite this however he can never really embrace it.

Throughout the day, continuous trials of appreciation and recognition kept mind from attitude. He spent what little time he could for himself. Observing nature and other individuals who seemed to struggle so little with their lives he assumed even worse for them. Although of course he knew he was exaggerating their struggles, no doubt. He knew it wouldn’t change his current general situation but a drop of appreciation could cleanse an ocean of hatred. Appreciation is foreign, he realized. It’s been so long he forgot what it felt like, he had no idea anymore. All he knew was how good it felt. It was not present anywhere. Not at home, not in an economical setting, not his love life. He has no gratitude. All he wishes to do is appreciate because as it is his disappearance is nigh.

He sits down with the friends he will undoubtedly unconditionally love for ever for a drink. This bond has been created with time, effort, experience, and sacrifice. He is thrown into this clique regardless of who mentions his place. He belongs to them as they belong to him. He drinks his beverage in silence, listening but not really hearing. Questions of belonging are busy sabotaging all attention. Taking no interest in the small talk happening with these so-called buddies he feels ungrateful, as usual. Sickened with disgust he is unwilling to engage in conversation. Noticing things he hates about each of his somewhat never muted associates deduction of not belonging destroys his social stability. Refusing to remain part of this group he suddenly allowed his intellect to hate freely he excuses himself politely and respectfully. They don’t deserve to suffer for his inner conflicts. These presuppositions he has adopted have not been taken willingly. They have been given to him despite not ever being claimed by his intuition.

Slipping into his cove of loathing where he kills every sensation he may have once had he looks back to the uneventful day he had just given away. None of it made sense. Not how he ended up part of a group that he so blindly despises. Not the lack of appreciation he has so clearly be longing for. Not the never ending loss of reason he has for his time. Not the irrelevant presuppositions he has so weakly absorbed till the end of time and after. He rediscovers the lack of tolerance he has for his existence and makes a promise with whatever imagination he can beckon up from the darkness of nothingness within him to somehow emit a light to his ungrateful yet still lingering soul.

Thrown into slumber as a criminal to a cell, he remains conscious of the crimes he has so unwillingly committed towards his innocent life in the physical world. His guilt drags him out of solitude and regret into a room of pain and interrogation. Ripping apart every ounce of information he wasn’t aware existed he experiences a previously promised hell with guarantees of more to follow. Disapproval and regret with the inability to deter. His sleep has become an escape of a horrible reality to a much worse dimension. He withstands the blurring torture of his dreams with only the thought of waking up keeping him from unconscious respawn for more pain awaiting his dreary self for another round of grueling desolation.

.

The first change, of course, was to cut the sleeves down and make it a short sleeve shirt. I thought about turning to my Kwik-Sew patterns again to use as a guide but I did not want to work with differing sleeve caps, so I just picked a length and cut the sleeves off at that length. I don’t know if they should be longer or shorter for the final fit but they looked like a good length to me. I did go ahead and fold the sleeve back up against itself to cut the little edge for the hem. This little extra edge at the hem line makes it so I can make a larger hem so that the sleeve can be shorter or longer if needed. It also makes the sewing of the hem so much easier.

.

I purchased some smaller cording to make the piping for this shirt, even though I had liked the piping of the last pajamas made with the larger cording. It just seemed larger than I had pictured before I started sewing, so I wanted to try some thinner piping on this shirt. The smaller cording was of course easier to sew in both the making of the piping and the sewing it on to the shirt but not so much easier that I would choose it over the larger pipping for that reason. I like the look of the smaller pipping but not anymore than the look of the larger piping. I believe the size of the piping will just have to be decided on a project by project basis. Looking back at it, I probably should have picked the larger piping for this project just because the print on the fabric is so busy.

.

As I mentioned before in my previous post on piping, I rolled the dice again this time and pushed my luck with not making the piping on the bias yet again. And once again, I got away with it ok because of the stretch in the brushed tricot I was sewing this with and I was still learning where to clip it as I sewed just like I did with the first shirt. I know one of these times I will regret not cutting the piping on the bias as the reference I have says I should but for now it works ok my way.

.

The next change I made in the construction of this shirt was the lengthening of the facings to match the front of the shirt. By lengthening the facings, I can make the hem of on the shirt any length I want, and not have the length of the hem determined by the facings. I almost forgot that I had wanted to do this when I was cutting out the facings so I made them extra long. I knew I could cut off the extra when I did the hem. It is easier to cut off extra than to add more on later. The extra length on the facings made the sewing of the facings or the hemming of the shirt no more difficult and I liked stitching the hem my way instead of the pattern guide’s way.

.

Next came the biggest change to the original pattern, stitching in the ditch to hold the back facing down. According to the pattern guide, you fold the edge of the back facing under, fold the back facing back and then stitch in the ditch of the piping to stitch the back facing down catching the folded edge as you go. As you may remember, I ended up with a mess on my last go around trying this. At some points the stitching missed the back facing all together and at some points the stitching was so far from the edge of the facing that the folded over edge was not caught in the stitching leaving it to unfold. So this time, I serged the edge of the back facing to finish it and did not fold the edge of the back facing over before stitching. Yes, once again the stitching varied in how close it was to the edge of the facing but this time it did not matter. There was no folded edge to catch in the stitching. And this was so much easier to sew and looks so much better than the wavy mess I ended with last time as I hit and missed the folded edge. And I don’t believe that the spots where there is a little extra fabric beyond the stitching will make any difference in the wearing of the pajamas.

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I am pleased with the end results of this pajama shirt now that it is completed. It was fun to make and I like my construction changes. What did not turn out well was the matching of sizes of the shirt and the shorts. This has happened to me before. The shorts look so small compared to the shirt. I believe this problem occurred because I used two different patterns. I should have paid more attention to the size of the shorts from the Kwik-Sew pattern compared to the pants pattern and cut them wider and longer. It also did not help that by doing the hems and the facings on the shirt my way that the hem is smaller so the shirt is longer. This just adds to the size difference problem. With all this in mind, I sewed the buttons on the left side to make the pajamas for a girl. I figured a girl would look better in smaller short pajama bottoms with a long full pajama top than a boy would.

.

And with that, my second set of pajamas from the Simplicity 2771 pattern, pajamas with piping, is done. I have enjoyed the pajama/bathrobe journey but it is time to fold up the pajama patterns for now and move on to something else. As of this moment, I don’t know what the something else is yet but I bet it will be a fun and new learning experience as I continue my sewing journey. I have many patterns hiding in the closet that are just waiting for their turn to be made up.

The month of June I decided to go super red, and I love it as well as people I’ve encountered. I don’t think I’ll be changing this rinse anytime soon. I love it so much that I believe I’ll take the risk and dye my hair for the first time.

Big risk for me right? Well that’s not it, I also want to cut my hair off very short. This month of “Red June”, I’ve went from long and curly, to a short and sassy bob.

Should I go forward with cutting my hair like the fabulous style you see?

Sparky Boyd

I’m Not Asking You To Stay:

I’m not asking you to stay forever

Just a little while longer

Let me forget that you are leaving

Let me forget that I am staying

I’m not asking you stay forever

Just a little while longer

Tomorrow wont come if we never sleep

Tomorrow wont come if we never leave

I’m not asking you to stay

I’m not asking you to stay

I’m not asking you to stay…

But give me this moment

I don’t want to lose my hold

I don’t want our memory going cold

I’m not asking you to stay

I’m not asking you to stay

Forever

Just a little while

Longer

Give me this moment

Not much time as passed

That’s all I ask

Give me this moment

The world moves too fast

I’m not asking you to stay

I’m not asking you to stay

I’m not asking you to stay

Forever

Just a little while

Longer

-park

graaaaaagh has been talking on Skype and Twitter about adding a seventh, the Shudra caste: blue-collar white ethnics who fall on the BDH side of the caste conflict and have Vaisya or Helot values but Dalit ethnic solidarity. He thinks they’ve died out, but the socialists up north, of mostly Scandinavian heritage, don’t seem to pattern with any other caste. I went to this last year, and it seems like a Shudra institution accepting Brahmin cant by necessity: real Brahmins tend not to place such emphasis on cultural transmission or sympathy with veterans. Where Brahmins are New Left, Shudras are Old Left: the sort that could be reasonably characterized as ‘populist’, and lacking the psychological instabilities of Brahmindom. But they don’t really pop up on the radar of any other caste.

There’s also an eighth caste, the Frontines, named by tjic and raptros_. These are the ones I was talking about mobilizing here. Frontines value scientific inquiry, productive work, and keeping up with technology; politically, they tend libertarian; and although they don’t cluster geographically as much as Dalits or Antyajas, notable concentrations of Frontines exist in Silicon Valley, the DC area, and presumably Research Triangle.