thank you m. for sharing your view :)
25.9.11
y cuando me case así la quiero pasar...
Today i traveled all the way to thailand in a soup! gracias l, g y m!
24.9.11
please don't go
no encuentro la canción de los 80s que estoy tarareando pero encontré esta que también me gusta,
your story could be a song
rice pudding after midnight! Yum, Yum!
What a great feeling: "On time!"
juego: encontrar la canción que estoy tarareando en mi cabeza
choose to understand #tweetforthought
choose your destiny
hoy pensé, qué sentiré al oir "class of 2013" !!!!
meeting up with my demons. You are back but now, I welcome you.
juego: tie up your shoes (i actually do not like playing this game) #grumpme
i just found out that I am a Type A personality with a MIMU time management :) #school
todo pasa incluso yo misma
rice pudding after midnight! Yum, Yum!
nada como morir en un mundo como este #dramaaah
nature, a sense of place. we are a place and we live in this space simultaneously.
nature, a sense of place. we are a place and we live in this space simultaneously.
What a great feeling: "On time!"
juego: encontrar la canción que estoy tarareando en mi cabeza
choose to understand #tweetforthought
choose your destiny
hoy pensé, qué sentiré al oir "class of 2013" !!!!
meeting up with my demons. You are back but now, I welcome you.
juego: tie up your shoes (i actually do not like playing this game) #grumpme
i just found out that I am a Type A personality with a MIMU time management :) #school
in new york
i found my home.
here I have found f r e e d o m o f e x p r e s s i o n that I did not know I was looking for! I have the feeling of being in the very beginning of a great story...
i have been here for almost 5 weeks and I have meet up randomly with 5 people I already know in the streets of NYC! Should I start believing in serendipity? (I already do).
in a city which never sleeps, Good night!
multiple personality disorder diagnosis:
people wearing from 10inch high heels to... nothing!
a person singing beautifully in the subway (who has a manager)
going to little india for dinner, dancing balkan music and eating in a polish diner!
art in... absolutely everywhere!
ideas that you can touch
applying for an unpaid job (experience is required)
grumpy cab driver with 30% tip and 20% tip (restaurants)
people who already know what they want in life before... they die!
umbrella traffic
umbrella traffic
all abreviations ASAP, DIY, MTA, FUN!
workoholics come to die
stress, gastritis and heart attacks
intense, tough, expensive, worth it!
here I have found f r e e d o m o f e x p r e s s i o n that I did not know I was looking for! I have the feeling of being in the very beginning of a great story...
i have been here for almost 5 weeks and I have meet up randomly with 5 people I already know in the streets of NYC! Should I start believing in serendipity? (I already do).
in a city which never sleeps, Good night!
20.9.11
un jour comme aujourd'hui...
...cambia la vida
today i sent 3 emails to myself #communication
recognize change
meet up with a feeling #menage
i would love to have a zipcode!
riega una planta con una cubetita de agua #tip
today i sent 3 emails to myself #communication
mis días se transforman en otoño. que las hojas caigan en mi. que así sea.
recognize change
meet up with a feeling #menage
llorando pierdes la sal
i would love to have a zipcode!
en lo pequeño de una lágrima, un sentimiento.
hay gente que me intimida
personal pleasure: memorize a poem
riega una planta con una cubetita de agua #tip
a sense of place. so very thankful! #NYC
there are canvas everywhere!
a flying sculpture,
i love nyc
a conversation: "in NYC either you are an exhibitionist or a voyeurist. who are you?"
photo: From the sartorialist
Let the streets talk to you
"He who seeks beauty will always find it"
-Bill Cunningham
watch this link --> http://video.nytimes.com/video/playlist/style/on-the-street/1247463985977/index.html
19.9.11
We have so little time to say the things we mean
Enoch, i really like that name!
some birds wake up shocked to still be alive and thus they sing...
Restless
Gus Van Sant
18.9.11
- Elegy written in a country church-yard
- by: Thomas Gray
- The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:- The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre: But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, -- Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; 'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,- Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'
-
- The Epitaph
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melacholy marked him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.
-
- The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour:- The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre: But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, -- Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; 'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,- Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'
14.9.11
Le Bateau Ivre
Le Bateau Ivre
Rimbaud
|
|
12.9.11
sur la vie sans apartment!
una niña de 8 años y yo compartimos un paraguas de pato. una situación + un objeto + una niña de 8 años + yo me hicieron sonreír un día. un bello pretexto.
un día perdí mi moleskine. Hoy la encontré! :) #seamovement
"as an intern I am the bottom of the food chain" -l. (jajajaja)
en una caminata a ningún lugar
doing puzzles is so damn fun! #tip
palabra chistosa: trompas de falopio
"do what you can, with what you have, where you are" -Roosevelt
pensamiento del día: y si me mudo a San Francisco?
it is such an honor to have L in my life! We have been friends for more than 10 years. She is a-mazing! She has become more of herself now... quite beautiful. Very blessed to be close to her. :D
oh hormones!
creo que me voy a dormir
piruettes,
en courage
un día perdí mi moleskine. Hoy la encontré! :) #seamovement
"as an intern I am the bottom of the food chain" -l. (jajajaja)
en una caminata a ningún lugar
doing puzzles is so damn fun! #tip
palabra chistosa: trompas de falopio
"do what you can, with what you have, where you are" -Roosevelt
pensamiento del día: y si me mudo a San Francisco?
it is such an honor to have L in my life! We have been friends for more than 10 years. She is a-mazing! She has become more of herself now... quite beautiful. Very blessed to be close to her. :D
oh hormones!
creo que me voy a dormir
piruettes,
11.9.11
4.9.11
2.9.11
hours before getting 25!
...and then one day you too disappear
"i am a hole in a flute that the universe's breath moves through.
listen to this music"
-persian poet
i love google maps!
do what you believe is greatful! If you have not found it... Keep looking!
do what you believe is greatful! If you have not found it... Keep looking!
in seredipitous moments!
lo mejor que te puede pasar, ganarte el corazón de alguien más... dona el tuyo.
Perdona, siempre.
"el amor no tiene edad. Siempre está naciendo" -a.
exchange words
a hundred shades of green!
non attachment
non resistance
non judgment
Hoy amanece la vida en ti
space/form (interdependent)
"this too will pass"
bird, spread your wings!
travel towards your destiny, our journey
a floating poem
a reverence,
My still spot
con esta vista quién no se siente la persona más afortunada del Mundo?!
Brooklyn Heights
1.9.11
Say something nice!
The second Improv Everywhere mission for stillspotting nyc, Say Something Nice, took place on a Sunday in early August 2011 at Union Square in Manhattan. The sound of the human voice processed by a megaphone immediately conjures stern situations involving law enforcement, emergencies, or demonstrations. But what would it sound like if positive messages came through these noisy devices? What if members of the public were given the opportunity to amplify their voices to say something nice? For this project, Improv Everywhere agents set up a lectern and a megaphone in Union Square and then disappeared. See how this social experiment unfolds as New Yorkers are given the chance to speak their minds. #nyc
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)