happens like this: for years I'm sure have crossed several times a medium sized town somewhere in La Mancha whose name I do not remember because the names did not import anything, also claimed to have seen the bed of the Turia River in the days cloudy, threatening to overflow and bring more consistency to the look moldy buildings (the mold was indeed miasma of dust and exhaust). Then I go to old maps, looking for the road running along the southern sub-plateau and there is no city at all, but people schematic plot and sparse. As the river, I write this memory in a story and then I have doubts: what if I dream it? I note that when the torrential rains and floods I was not even born, ergo I dreamed. Or I have invented. No matter: still part of my past. It is an image that contains a feeling that perhaps it took place, and have been feeding to determine my identity and Therefore my sense. However, the form of that sense is hide. The last word has to empty memory. Marguerite Duras said, I spoke of myself as a platform monotonous.
The house end of the world is a book by Monica Dickens I read at age 10. Or at 11. I remember the cover, a dilapidated building and spooky, I remember that I chose this novel because I was worried the picture, and because anything that meant traveling to the land of Oz or a a coven should a place on my shelves. I thought there were worlds beyond this, and that the fictions contained the password. Expected to get up every day and fly out the window mounted on a broomstick. It was enough to give the secret book, or movie, or some formula revealed in Revelation . I read because I wanted, and did not begin with the words, but illustrations of the covers. Sometimes I think that previous reading of the images have been superimposed on the actual reading, so that when I try to recall the contents of a book I mix it with which I first imagined. Many of my memories are fanciful book. For example, I was sure that The doomsday house told the story of a community of children to Langstrum Pipi, but no. It contains are aunts, and a pair of animals abandoned by their parents.
(Here's another example of the type of cover I liked.)
I think my rides have something of the manner in which old selected my reading, I'm going to hunt for something revealing. Like now I'm realistic, I hope the unveiling illuminate certain aspects of this world. I do not know who told me he knew a guy who fell in the last subway stations of all lines of the cities he visited to gain a different perspective. The fact is that in this quest at times I come across images of my past. With my books fantasized. With the end of the world home. This is the story of one of those games.
Vallecas I again, this time low and took the street Portazgo Clown Fofó. I hate clowns.
I have just two hours, and am left with three architects to not know anything. It is assumed that one of them went to my school and we met hundreds of times through the courtyards and corridors. In fact, her face it sounds, and soon invades me that feeling of being helpless to my past. I become what it was, and I do not like.
We go to a bar that looks like a rock del Rayo Vallecano, and now is the waiter who shows helpless before us: we no reeds, no wine, or Coca-Cola or sun, but tea with milk, tea with lemon pennyroyal. He is not sure know how to give good milk tea. It is clear that men entering the bar only.
The architects will be presented to a public competition. The council has demolished nearly all buildings in the colonies St. Francis Xavier and Our Lady of the Angels to create a ecobarrio . Copy: "It will house (the ecobarrio) 2069 public housing units will have renewable energy for its operation, such as biogas, thanks to the Governing Board approved the development project plan Interior Reform (PERI) of the area. "The architects explained to me and I take note. From what I aim, I am interested in this:" It is a gap between grids. The structures give them. "" Strange shapes of the plots, which have to adapt the buildings, strange because they are irregular. "" It is about 3 levels, and propose 8. "" People see the chimneys and scared. "The architects are with me about an hour. Then they go to America to eat the cooked, and I'm going to photograph the site. To reach the street I go Fofó Clown, which is very long, and where there are buildings that I call ilegítimamente "costeros", como éste:
Dicha calle tiene su zona verde (parque Fofó), que parece un cementerio:
Se llega a un bulevar peatonal donde alguien decidió que no habría locales comerciales:
the end of this soulless turned the corner and arrive at my destination, ie one of the fanciful images of my books. The first thing you see are four huge chimneys, as architects, produce suspicion among neighbors, it does not suggest anything green, but on the contrary, look like out of a nuclear power plant:
increases as I approach my impression of me met with one of those temporary folds speakers Deleuze and Guattari in Critical and clinical (I think it's there) about Proust's madeleine. There are five levels of landscape living together as brothers do not know if: the fireplaces, a modern building on a side, some houses I guess oldest colony in the middle of the mud ruined, gardens and trails around here and there, and no function overlap (though the will) and three or four property than it was the colony, I guess I have not been torn down because there is no way to relocate worldwide.
Using the boundary between the solar without spatial coordinates and Monday January 17 at 15:00 am in San Diego Avenue is the home of the end of the world, main reason for this post:
I go from there rocked by the double fiction.
I thank the architects and get out my broom.
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