Saturday, February 19, 2011


I JUST watched the film with the tittle twenty one years later on Turner Movie Classics, again.  I will not get into the merits of the film, if any, because it is not the time.

Let the record show this film is just a preachy, schematic attempt to present a negro view of life in New York, among 4 dominant ethnic groups. That is why it fails, life is not like an electrical system plan.

Ideologically it fails on two relevant issues.  One, the demands on one customer to the owner of a pizzeria to hang up pictures of negros besides the famous  Italians, covering the walls of the Brooklyn establishment.

Two. The absurd, pathetic scene between
Spike Lee and somejuan else in front of a writing on a brick wall: "Tawana told the truth".  Miss Brawley, a negro, accused some red necks of kidnapping and torture, not for money, but spite, not in the story, but real life.

Even reverend Al Sharpton, fell for it.  Later the victim was accussed of fabricating the whole scam, the crackers reputation in shambles...Why did Miss Brawley brought up the story? For the hell of it.

Meanwhile, back home, while visiting some fellow bloggers of the Minga/Petraca News Guild written in Spanish, I found a reaction from The Confussed Cuckold, the name of the blog, believe it or not, to my irritated reaction to the use of the word senda/sendo.  I have no use, not for slang, but incorrect usage in meaning of words or concepts in any media, even if I have heard/seen it wrongly used for forty years.  Composition, style and such in writing on the other hand, are irrelevant on this prairie.. Give me substance or give me death...By the way, to die blogging is to live forever, according to Flako Olivieri.

He in turn reacted as if I, the humble one, a legend spanning the globe, was unable to laugh, to feel humor deeply.  Defending his much better approach to philosophy or way of life. I believe his blog is for amusement only, or entertainment, but there is nothing wrong with that. I declare that his ability to laugh at himself and others is cool, but I doubt very much he could say one  word about any of my over 500 posts.

Prometeo,(imagine a blog with such a humble nick), and fellow members of the GUILD or PACK, as in wolves or jackals, took his shot at Antigonum, with epithets like comemierda and intellectual, in an indirect, as in hiding by a wall, not to be shot back fashion.

I tell this probably pure aboriginal TAINO, that I saw the term 'comer mierda' for the first time in El Cid, a Xll century epic poem that he certainly knows well.  Intellectual? I?
Not at all.  

This blog is about architecture in trees or buildings, maintenance as in roads or gardens, films, music and anything that provokes the hyper humble author, as the chief of the Minga/Petraca Guild  has written as a commandment in her good blog intro.

Do the right thing, not like the film. Look inside, if there is any introspection, something I seriously doubt.  Life is not the game some play with their blogs, posing constantly, as in a Feisbuk mode.

Religion, education, philosophy, life coaching, in my opinion is pure crap. The environment is not. Water, air, soil, a roof, food, my garden mean something, even with the eventual death of the blog, as endemismo. My ideas, your ideas all will become water and salt.

Some take themselves and their original, despues de ver los huevos, es perro, analysis on life, issues AFTER the facts,
or reading the newspapers, watching television they criticize so much.

I write to provoque. I do not give a flying fart about recognition, something apparently craved among the GUILD. 

I say more, to extent that riff raff,  mass, populace embrace  your so original  ideas, about sex, shit and human interaction, the faster and deeper in the quicksands of the insular concrete/asphalt, noisy, dirty, overcrowded chaos they will fall. 

All I see is baile, botella i baraja, among the sad people dying of nothing/nothingness.. amen...

apaga i vamonoh


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