We’re editing together, head to head. It’s a bio, a blurb, maybe something in between. He’s Neil Gaiman, (I know Amanda is behind me, reading something else) and he’s mumbling a bit, as he re-reads the text: words flow until they get stuck. I take it from the place he left off. —I think that what it
From a Google+ conversation: Ramón Nogueras: That is completely and absolutely untrue, unless you admit that anyone other than you has control over your feelings. Words have only as much damaging capacity as you want to give them. Ignacio Torres Masdeu: The exchange of power is part of many social contracts. But many times
Poverty anywhere is poverty everywhere.* Why is that? Why are other people’s problems my problems? Are we all together in this? How can we be together in this if I don’t know who they are, why are we here? If I can’t feel them as I can feel my body. Do my toenails know about
Josep Martínez just sent me via twitter this very nice nice article and I recommend that you read it too: Alyssa Aldersley: The double life of being a parent at an early stage startup After finishing it, I thought that it would be interesting to comment. After commenting, I thought, well, now that I’ve written
Yesterday I visited the birthplace of Sandino in Nicaragua: Niquinohomo. Yo soy del pueblo que un niño en Niquinohomo soñó. Soy del pueblo de Sandino y Benjamín Zeledón —Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo, by Luis Enrique Mejía Godoy (see the complete lyrics and my translation below) Benjamín Zeledón’s fortress —the political prison We
You were cold I blamed you You were dead I blamed me You looked mute I felt deaf I blamed her Or was I deaf? You were gone No one to blame I was alone With you still there. I went back home And you looked The other way.