Demonios

The little match girl - Jean Hersholt

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Evening came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through the streets. Of course when she had left her house she'd had slippers on, but what good had they been? They were very big slippers, way too big for her, for they belonged to her mother. The little girl had lost them running across the road, where two carriages had rattled by terribly fast. One slipper she'd not been able to find again, and a boy had run off with the other, saying he could use it very well as a cradle some day when he had children of his own. And so the little girl walked on her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried several packages of matches, and she held a box of them in her hand. No one had bought any from her all day long, and no one had given her a cent.

Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, a picture of misery, poor little girl! The snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which hung in pretty curls over her neck. In all the windows lights were shining, and there was a wonderful smell of roast goose, for it was New Year's eve. Yes, she thought of that!

In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected farther out into the street than the other, she sat down and drew up her little feet under her. She was getting colder and colder, but did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, nor earned a single cent, and her father would surely beat her. Besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them but a roof through which the wind whistled even though the biggest cracks had been stuffed with straw and rags.

Her hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, how much one little match might warm her! If she could only take one from the box and rub it against the wall and warm her hands. She drew one out. R-r-ratch! How it sputtered and burned! It made a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she held her hands over it; but it gave a strange light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting before a great iron stove with shining brass knobs and a brass cover. How wonderfully the fire burned! How comfortable it was! The youngster stretched out her feet to warm them too; then the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the burnt match in her hand.

She struck another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and when the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and she could see through it into a room. On the table a snow-white cloth was spread, and on it stood a shining dinner service. The roast goose steamed gloriously, stuffed with apples and prunes. And what was still better, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled along the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, right over to the little girl. Then the match went out, and she could see only the thick, cold wall. She lighted another match. Then she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was much larger and much more beautiful than the one she had seen last Christmas through the glass door at the rich merchant's home. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the printshops looked down at her. The little girl reached both her hands toward them. Then the match went out. But the Christmas lights mounted higher. She saw them now as bright stars in the sky. One of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.

"Now someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul went up to God.

She rubbed another match against the wall. It became bright again, and in the glow the old grandmother stood clear and shining, kind and lovely.

"Grandmother!" cried the child. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will disappear when the match is burned out. You will vanish like the warm stove, the wonderful roast goose and the beautiful big Christmas tree!"

And she quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother with her. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than daylight. Grandmother had never been so grand and beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both of them flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high, and up there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear-they were with God.

But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold, holding the matches, of which one bundle was almost burned.

"She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, and how happily she had gone with her old grandmother into the bright New Year.

La rosa de la montaña (El Laberinto del Fauno)

Hace muchos, muchos años, en un país muy lejano y triste existió una enorme montaña de piedra negra y áspera. Al caer la tarde, en la cima de ésa montaña, florecía todas la noches una rosa que otorgaba la inomrtalidad; sin embargo, nadie se atrevía a acercarse a ella, pues sus numerosas espinas estaban envenenadas.

Entre los hombres, sólo se hablaba del miedo a la muerte y al dolor, pero nunca de la promesa de la inomrtalidad. Y todas las tardes, la rosa se marchitaba sin poder otorgar sus dones a persona alguna; olvidada y perdida en la cima de aquella montaña de piedra fría. Sola hasta el fin de los tiempos.

La muela del juicio... MI muela del juicio.

Bien, ya estoy de regreso en mi blogg; digo, por si alguien seguia visitandome, ¿no? Bueno, pues les voy a presumir mi muela del juicio que está siendo extraída. La cosa estuvo así:

Llegué al dentista (se llama Luis) y pues llegue 10mins antes de mi cita; así que me empecé a poner nervioso cuando ya habían pasado más del tiempo de la hora citada y no me pasaba a la cirugía (fue cirujía eh!! No una simple extracción). Total entré como 15 mins después de mi cita y me senté, me pusieron una pasta donde estaba mi muela para anestesiar la encía y poder inyectar la anestesia fuerte.

Ya que estaba bien anestesiado, el doc agarró el bisturí y sólo sentía cómo pasaba la hoja entre mi carne. Despegó del hueso la carne que cubría mi muela (porque todavía estaba adentro) y limpió a sangre con un gotero enorme, agarró como una mini-cortadora de esas para rebanar pizza y comenzó a cortar la muela porque como estaba muy grande, no podía sacarla en una sóla pieza.

La cortó, sacó el pedacito que trozó y sacó la otra parte de mi muela; que es como un 85% del tamaño total de ésta. [ahorita ven las fotos].

Cuando hubo sacado toda la pieza, me suturó. Tengo 4 puntos adentro mi boca.

Durante el proceso la secretaria (se llama Helen) de mi dentista estuvo documentando el procedimiento quirúrgico que se llevó a cabo. Eso fue por órdenes de Luis.

Y eso fue todo en resumen. Aquí les dejo unas fotos para vean lo que sufrí durante 40 minutos.

Ahí se ve cuando ya desnudaron a mi muela.

Aquí ya están a punto de extaerla.

Como verán a la derecha de mi muela, se aprecia algo como blanco...

pues bien, esa es mi mandíbula. Jamás me podrán ver más desnudo que eso. ;)

Y finalmente ésta es mi muela del juicio. Hermosa, ¿no creen?

Estaba ENORME esa p*nche muela.

The Rules of Love (Andreas Capelanus)

Love is a certain inborn suffering derived from the sight and excessive meditation upon the beauty of the opposite sex, which causes each one to wish above all things the embraces of the other and by common desire to carry out all of love's precepts in the other's embrace.

1- Marriage is no real excuse for not loving.

2- He who is not jealous cannot love.

3- No one can be bound by a double love.

4- It is well known that love is always increasing or decreasing.

5- That which a lover takes against the will of his beloved has no relish.

6- Boys do not love until they arrive at the age of maturity.

7- When one lover dies, a widowhood of two years is required of the survivor.

8- No one should be deprived of love without the very best of reasons.

9- No one can love unless he is impelled by the persuasion of love.

10- Love is always a stranger in the home of avarice.

11- It is no proper to love any woman whom one would be ashamed to seek to marry.

12- A true lover does not desire to embrace in love anyone except his beloved.

13- When made public love rarely endures.

14- The easy attainment of love makes it of little value; difficulty of attainment makes it prized.

15- Every lover regularly turns pale in the presence of his beloved.

16- When a lover suddenly catches sight of his beloved, his heart palpitates.

17- A new love puts to flight an old one.

18- Good character alone makes any man worthy of love.

19- If love diminishes, it quickly fails and rarely revives.

20- A man in love is always apprehensive.

21- Real jealousy always increases the feeling of love.

22- Jealousy, and therefore love, are increased when one suspects his beloved.

23- He whom the thought of love vexes eats and sleeps very little.

24- Every act of a lover ends in the thought of his beloved.

25- A true lover considers nothing good except what he thinks will please his beloved.

26- Love can deny nothing to love.

27- A lover can never have enough of the solaces of his beloved.

28- A slight presumption causes a lover to suspect his beloved.

Sacado de: "World traditions in the humanities", Nextext, USA.

Tu me manques tant (Te extraño tanto)

Bueno, encontré este poema que me pareció muy bonito. Yo mismo lo traduje del idioma original en que lo hallé, francés.

(FR)

Assis sur un rocher aubord de cet étang

dont l’eau telle mille étoiles scintille si joliment,

je regarde pensivement le reflet orangé

du soleil qui là-bas, au loin, va se coucher.

Une agréable brise de son souffle me caresse,

et cause autour de moi des légers bruissements.

Ayant fermé les yeux j’inhale avec ivresse

le parfum délicat de pins environnants.

J’entends le rossignol qui chante dans son nid,

et sur l’eau les canards qui cancanent joyeusement.

Partout ici on sent la gaité et la vie.

Et pourtant, malgré tout, je ne puis être hereux,

tu es si loin de moi, et depuis si longtemps,

que je n’ai qu’un souhait: revoir tes jolis yeux.

Un seul être vous manque, et le monde perd son sens,

ce coucher de soleil manque finalment de charme,

cette brisse est bien fraîche, et cet odeur bien rance,

et je hais ses oiseaux et leur strident vacarme.

Il n’est pas un instant sans que je pense à toi.

Tu habites mes pensées de l’aube au crépuscule,

et le reste du temps je me languis de toi.

Où est-tu, que fais-tu, ma petite libellule?

J’ai besoin de tes bras, de ta bouche, de ton corps,

pour t’aimer à jamais, follement et plus encore.

(ESP)

Sentado en una roca al borde de este estanque

donde el agua refleja los miles de estrellas que brillan hermosamente,

y miro el reflejo anarajado, pensativamente,

del sol, que ahí a lo lejos, se va a acostar.

Una agradable brisa con su soplo me acaricia,

pronunciando a mi alrededor ligeros susurros.

Y ya habiendo cerrado los ojos, inhalo con ansiedad

el delicado perfume de los pinos que me rodean.

Puedo oir al ruiseñor que canta en su nido,

y en el agua a los canarios que cantan felizmente.

La alegría y la vida se sienten por todos lados.

Sin embargo, a pesar de todo, no puedo ser felíz,

tú estás muy lejos de mí, y después de tanto tiempo

no anhelo más que una cosa: volver a ver tus hermosos ojos.

Un único ser te extraña y el mundo pierde sentido:

el atardecer termina perdiendo su encanto,

la brisa, si bien es fresca, su olor es rancio;

y acabo odiando a esos pájaros de estridente chillido.

No hay un instante en que no piense en tí,

estás en mis pensamientos, desde alba hasta el crepúsculo,

y el resto del tiempo me haces falta.

¿Dónde estás, qué haces mi pequeña libélula?

Necesito de tus brazos, de tu boca, de tu cuerpo,

para amarte locamente para siempre.