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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/rss2full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" version="2.0"><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Fri, 04 Nov 2011 14:51:09 +0000</lastBuildDate><category>chopped-up prose</category><category>Poètica</category><category>Music</category><category>look up</category><category>Poetry</category><category>Identitat</category><category>Photo</category><category>Meditació</category><category>Film</category><category>Història</category><category>Fiction</category><category>Poetry Today</category><category>Autoreflexió</category><category>Spass</category><category>LibraryScenes</category><category>Guess</category><title>the blot</title><description>by Aldo Costa
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the blot és la taca de tinta i neix en algun punt de l'Orlando de la Woolf. Són anotacions intermitents, perplexitats i apunts del natural.</description><link>http://theblot.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>211</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/TheBlot" /><feedburner:info uri="theblot" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-8641862609688102083</guid><pubDate>Sat, 05 Feb 2011 15:27:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2011-02-05T16:27:52.937+01:00</atom:updated><title>Clarivident</title><description>Un alumne de 4rt d'ESO, amb la lucidesa que dóna fer l'examen global a l'aula magna, ha escrit que Eugeni d'Ors és un autor "noucentrista" (sic).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-8641862609688102083?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/lWVf5snGN80/clarivident.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2011/02/clarivident.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-2099190080818001954</guid><pubDate>Sat, 18 Dec 2010 09:37:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-12-18T10:38:24.570+01:00</atom:updated><title /><description>"&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Ariadna a Teseu: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Més dolç que tu he trobat tot el llinatge de les feres: de ningú m'hauria refiat més en mala hora que de tu. I això que llegeixes, Teseu, t'ho envio des d'aquella platja on la vela s'emportà la teva nau sense mi. Deixondida a penes, esllanguida de la son, vaig moure les mans, mig ajaguda, per envoltar Teseu. No hi era. Retiro les mans, i de bell nou palpo, i pel llit moc els braços; no hi era. (...) En tant, mentre per tota la platja anava cridant «Teseu», els còncaus roquissers tornaven el teu nom (...) Allò que em mancava a la veu ho omplia amb el sanglot (...) Tant de bo que visqués Androgeu, (...) oh Teseu, hagués immolat amb una branca nuosa aquell que era meitat home, meitat brau; ni t'hagués donat el fil que havia de mostrar-te la tornada (...) La banya no hauria pogut traspassar el cor ferreny; era segur el teu pit àdhuc si no l'haguessis cobert.(...) Jo no veuré, doncs,  a l'hora de morir les llàgrimes de la mare, ni hi haurà ningú que clogui amb els dits els meus ulls; el meu esperit malaurat s'esxhalarà en aires estrangers, i no ungirà una mà amiga els meus membres estesos; les aus marines es posaran damunt els meus ossos insepults. ¿Aquestes són tombes dignes dels meus mereixements?" Ovidi, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Heroides&lt;/span&gt;, X&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-2099190080818001954?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/t7UB2tnaccI/ariadna-teseu-mes-dolc-que-tu-he-trobat.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/12/ariadna-teseu-mes-dolc-que-tu-he-trobat.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-1666682535553667240</guid><pubDate>Fri, 29 Oct 2010 06:37:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-29T08:47:50.814+02:00</atom:updated><title>Més laberints</title><description>“Cap allà, després de sis dies i sis nits, l'home arriba a Zobeida, ciutat blanca, ben exposada a la lluna, amb carrers que volten sobre ells mateixos com un cabdell... Això s'explica de la seva fundació: homes de diverses nacions van tenir un somni igual, van veure una dona que corria de nit per una ciutat desconeguda, d'esquena, amb els cabells llargs i anava nua. Van somiar que la seguien. Després de moltes voltes cadascú la va perdre. Després del somni cercaren aquella ciutat; no la van trobar, però es van trobar ells; van decidir de construir una ciutat com la del somni. En la disposició dels carrers cadascú va refer el recorregut de la seva persecució; en el punt on havia perdut les petjades de la fugitiva va ordenar d'una altra manera que en el somni els espais i els murs de manera que no pogués escapar-se-li més.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;("Les ciutats i el desig.5" dins &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Les ciutats invisbles&lt;/span&gt; d'Italo Calvino, Empúries, 1985 [Einaudi, 1972], traducció de Francesc Sales)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-1666682535553667240?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/uEi64phthkg/mes-laberints.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/10/mes-laberints.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-349087825973654452</guid><pubDate>Sun, 08 Aug 2010 16:37:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-08-08T18:37:00.409+02:00</atom:updated><title>Grant's Labyrinth</title><description>"(...) They might be in Aubrey's room. But he did not know where that was. The more he explored this place, the more corridors and seating spaces and ramps he discovered, and in his wanderings he was still apt to get lost. He would take a certain picture or a chair as a landmark, and the next week whatever he had chosen seemed to have been placed somewhere else. He didn't like to mention this to Kristy, lest she think he was suffering some mental dislocations of his own. He supposed this constant change and rearranging might be for the sake of the residents- to make their daily &lt;br /&gt;exercise more interesting."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Alice Munro, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Hateship, Friendship...&lt;/span&gt;, "The Bear Came Over the Mountain", p.299)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-349087825973654452?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/FiDiu4uTuUI/grants-labyrinth.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/08/grants-labyrinth.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-4034727823472733949</guid><pubDate>Tue, 03 Aug 2010 16:33:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-08-03T18:33:00.547+02:00</atom:updated><title>A Kind Of Mourning</title><description>“They had slid into an infatuation with an English comedy about life in a department store and had watched so many reruns that they knew  the dialogue by heart. They mourned the disappearance of actors who died in real life or went off to other jobs, then welcomed those same actors back as the characters were born again.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Alice Munro, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Hateship, Friendship...&lt;/span&gt;, "The Bear Came Over the Mountain", p.283)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-4034727823472733949?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/yEznzNqUMj4/kind-of-mourning.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/08/kind-of-mourning.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-384214221295124955</guid><pubDate>Fri, 30 Jul 2010 16:13:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-07-30T18:33:20.034+02:00</atom:updated><title>The way things could be lost</title><description>"She has just learned how to tell time, and she looked up at the Post Office clock and saw that the moment had come for the soap opera she and her mother listened to every day on the radio. She felt a deep concern, not because of missing the story but because she wondered what would happen to the people in the story, with the radio not turned on, and her mother and herself not listening. It was more than concern she felt, it was horror to think of the way things could be lost, could not happen, through some casual absence or chance." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Alice Munro, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hateship, Friendship...&lt;/span&gt;, "Post and Beam", p.192)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-384214221295124955?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/Er11CTtfcEg/way-things-could-be-lost.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/07/way-things-could-be-lost.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-8010618199539951735</guid><pubDate>Fri, 23 Jul 2010 15:55:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-07-23T17:55:43.923+02:00</atom:updated><title>Poètica de Munro</title><description>&lt;em&gt;'I did not think of the story I would make about Alfrida - not of  that in particular - but of the work I wanted to do, which seemed more  like grabbing something out of the air than constructing stories, The  cries of the crowd came to me like heartbeats, full of sorrows. Lovely  formal-sounding waves, with their distant, almost inhuman assent and  lamentation.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;This was what I wanted, this was what I thought I had to pay attention to, this was how I wanted my life to be.'&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Family Furnishings" by Alice Munro&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-8010618199539951735?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/NfPAU9krSYI/poetica-de-munro.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/07/poetica-de-munro.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-8605646414091059356</guid><pubDate>Fri, 25 Jun 2010 15:16:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-06-25T17:24:59.741+02:00</atom:updated><title>Minotaure</title><description>"A les parets es veia una boscúria densa de&lt;br /&gt;plomes, colls, ulls i becs, i giravoltava damunt d’ell&lt;br /&gt;obscurint l’alba incipient, es llançava per terra,&lt;br /&gt;s’enfonsava, esquinçava, es delectava, arrabassava&lt;br /&gt;furgava, engolia, amb un esgarip marxava volant,&lt;br /&gt;tornava, de nou es llançava a terra, es reflectia en&lt;br /&gt;el seu descens i la seva ascensió, sense que ell&lt;br /&gt;comprengués per què allò es llançava a terra,&lt;br /&gt;s’enfonsava, esquinçava, volava amunt, en cercle,&lt;br /&gt;fins a tal punt estava embolcallat per alabatres i&lt;br /&gt;aleteigs i quan allò, dibuixant cercles cada vegada&lt;br /&gt;més amunt, es va dissoldre en el no-res brillant d'un&lt;br /&gt;cel ara resplendent va aparèixer el sol entre les parets&lt;br /&gt;de vidre i va marcar amb foc la seva imatge en el&lt;br /&gt;seu cervell, com una roda enorme que girava,&lt;br /&gt;llançava garbes de foc cap al cel com a signe de&lt;br /&gt;seva còlera (...)"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dimarts 29 de juny, a les 20:30 h, podreu sentir fragments en alemany i català del Minotaure de Friedrich Dürrenmatt. On? Al bar (h)original del carrer Ferlandina, davant del MACBA. Us hi conviden labreu edicions i la col·lecció alabatre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/TCTKB1g4-JI/AAAAAAAAAaM/uN3s5SSWB2E/s1600/alabatrada29juny.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 370px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/TCTKB1g4-JI/AAAAAAAAAaM/uN3s5SSWB2E/s400/alabatrada29juny.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486732378937817234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-8605646414091059356?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/555fxOEpOgo/minotaure.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/TCTKB1g4-JI/AAAAAAAAAaM/uN3s5SSWB2E/s72-c/alabatrada29juny.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/06/minotaure.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-3151661683681707429</guid><pubDate>Fri, 07 May 2010 15:19:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-05-07T17:38:52.066+02:00</atom:updated><title>Més minotaures</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QwkrZcbuI/AAAAAAAAAZs/n-SpkAgoGN4/s1600/wonderboys.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 85px; height: 130px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QwkrZcbuI/AAAAAAAAAZs/n-SpkAgoGN4/s400/wonderboys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468549254217494242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cada vegada s'embolica tot més i Grady Tripp demostra estar més  desesperat. A la recta final d'un delirant cap de setmana en què l'escriptor en ple bloqueig creatiu perdrà segurament la dona, l'amant, la feina, l'esperança d'acabar el llibre, i sota els efectes d'alguna droga, s'ha d'enfrontar a uns delinqüents per recuperar un objecte que pot canviar el destí d'un dels protagonistes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We stood there for a minute, a mangy, overweight purblind minotaur and a broken-down and toothless Theseus with a shaky shooting hand, facing each other at the common center of our disparate labyrinths.&lt;/span&gt;" Michael CHABON, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Wonder Boys&lt;/span&gt;, p. 319&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-3151661683681707429?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/YPszfdWkjvU/mes-minotaures.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QwkrZcbuI/AAAAAAAAAZs/n-SpkAgoGN4/s72-c/wonderboys.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/05/mes-minotaures.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-3542301740621289983</guid><pubDate>Wed, 21 Apr 2010 11:54:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-05-07T17:28:50.773+02:00</atom:updated><title>Com peixos fora de l'aigua</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QxiELVzRI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/Vvuuh8PMIUM/s1600/pynchon_house.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QxiELVzRI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/Vvuuh8PMIUM/s400/pynchon_house.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468550308841245970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Seres que no podrían vivir en las novelas de ningún otro."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rodrigo Fresán ens defineix així els personatges de les novel·les de Thomas Pynchon: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt; (1963), &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Crying of Lot 49&lt;/span&gt; (1966) o &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Vineland&lt;/span&gt; (1990).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-3542301740621289983?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/Y7raQc2JASQ/com-peixos-fora-de-laigua.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QxiELVzRI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/Vvuuh8PMIUM/s72-c/pynchon_house.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/04/com-peixos-fora-de-laigua.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-3341218512444522225</guid><pubDate>Mon, 01 Mar 2010 06:15:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-03-01T07:15:00.154+01:00</atom:updated><title>Cap a l'oest</title><description>&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/F_jyXJTlrH0&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F_jyXJTlrH0&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-3341218512444522225?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/pdN9VCjiIFs/cap-loest.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/03/cap-loest.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-4923960685535301906</guid><pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 06:32:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-05-07T17:36:54.587+02:00</atom:updated><title>Per què m'expliques contes?</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-Qyyeufk9I/AAAAAAAAAaE/ZWfaujaBHEU/s1600/road_movie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-Qyyeufk9I/AAAAAAAAAaE/ZWfaujaBHEU/s400/road_movie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468551690357543890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Those stories are not true.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;They dont have to be true. They're stories.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Yes. But in the stories we're always helping people and we dont help people.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Cormac McCarthy, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Road&lt;/span&gt;, p.268)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En una novel·la en què per a mi la confiança en els altres éssers humans i el relat amb què expliquem la nostra vida i el nostre dia a dia, el fill posa en dubte la veritat del que li diu el seu pare. És a dir que dubta que el pare estigui fent les coses tal com les explica i que estigui triant bé el camí.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-4923960685535301906?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/g8ggwtT9U74/per-que-mexpliques-contes.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-Qyyeufk9I/AAAAAAAAAaE/ZWfaujaBHEU/s72-c/road_movie.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/02/per-que-mexpliques-contes.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-1525601111670352156</guid><pubDate>Mon, 01 Feb 2010 19:15:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-05-07T17:27:01.247+02:00</atom:updated><title>Laberints</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QxNizLZrI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/0vNcaUVnW5M/s1600/snake+skin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 131px; height: 98px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QxNizLZrI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/0vNcaUVnW5M/s400/snake+skin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468549956284147378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cormac McCarthy, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Road&lt;/span&gt;, p. 287&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-1525601111670352156?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/Ho5R6Z1U2CA/laberints.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/S-QxNizLZrI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/0vNcaUVnW5M/s72-c/snake+skin.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/02/laberints.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-153606295793159338</guid><pubDate>Thu, 07 Jan 2010 10:30:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-07T11:34:15.433+01:00</atom:updated><title>Saviesa de la Halley</title><description>"Que la literatura no ens faci perdre la perruqueria"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Els jugadors de whist &lt;/span&gt;de Vicenç Pagès&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[O era a l'inrevés?]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-153606295793159338?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/i3BdTyzTCSY/saviesa-de-la-halley.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/01/saviesa-de-la-halley.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-3988882141552393753</guid><pubDate>Thu, 07 Jan 2010 10:27:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-01-07T11:29:38.485+01:00</atom:updated><title>Jibarització...</title><description>... de &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Els jugadors de whist&lt;/span&gt; de Vicenç Pagès:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"En fi".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-3988882141552393753?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/aVHdqo_WPhY/jibaritzacio.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2010/01/jibaritzacio.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-8226960403878020551</guid><pubDate>Tue, 24 Nov 2009 17:39:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-11-24T18:43:29.781+01:00</atom:updated><title>Der grosse Roman von Grossman</title><description>"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;De joven pensaba que la novela era lo más grande que existía en el mundo. Después me di cuenta de que existían otros campos de expresión tan válidos como ella. Y ahora, he vuelto a ese amor radical por la novela como gran riqueza del mundo, como expresión total del alma humana. Me volví a enamorar del género al leer &lt;/span&gt;Vida y destino&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; de Vasili Grossman, y he releido &lt;/span&gt;Moby Dick&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, el &lt;/span&gt;Ulises&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; de Joyce, &lt;/span&gt;Mrs Dalloway&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; de Virginia Woolf... y sí, en este libro, como un brujo, he intentado convocar todos los poderes de la novela.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Antonio Muñoz Molina, entrevistat a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;La Vanguardia&lt;/span&gt;, 24.11.09&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-8226960403878020551?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/09WW0H9Z6rU/der-grosse-roman-von-grossman.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/11/der-grosse-roman-von-grossman.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-3974323958455636194</guid><pubDate>Sat, 21 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-11-21T12:17:53.259+01:00</atom:updated><title>Más de lo mismo</title><description>“&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No importaba.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Había tiempo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pero, en realidad, nunca hay tiempo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lo que sí hay son esas ganas de que haya tiempo, de que el tiempo nunca se acabe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(…)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Me consuela pensar que a pesar de todo, sigo pensando com un escritor, como alguien que quiere ser pero ya no será escritor&lt;/span&gt;.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rodrigo Fresán, “La pasión de multitudes”, dins &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Historia argentina. Edición corregida y aumentada&lt;/span&gt;, 2009 (1991).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Estic desconnectat de l’&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;eternet&lt;/span&gt; i de les xarxes socials reals i virtuals. No llegeixo gaire però llegeixo més que no pas escric. I què vol dir &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;no llegir gaire&lt;/span&gt;? No ho sé. I per què no llegeixo gaire i no escric gairebé gens. Enumerar les excuses seria una estupidesa i un avorriment. I per què no apreto l’&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;off &lt;/span&gt;del blog? Perquè no fa mal a ningú que ocupi uns MB en un servidor llunyà, no?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sóc lector. I procuro llegir els contes com si fossin poemes. I les novel•les com si fossin contes. I les pel•lícules com si fossin novel•les. I la vida com si fos la vida.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-3974323958455636194?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/CHy6TXIN_80/mas-de-lo-mismo.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/11/mas-de-lo-mismo.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-2048292850422006117</guid><pubDate>Sun, 11 Oct 2009 08:04:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-11T10:04:00.501+02:00</atom:updated><title>Diu el Cuní, de tant en tant...</title><description>...que el llegir no et faci perdre l'escriure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-2048292850422006117?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/TzAy7kYXBgM/diu-el-cuni-de-tant-en-tant.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/10/diu-el-cuni-de-tant-en-tant.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-4854895967193291095</guid><pubDate>Fri, 09 Oct 2009 09:40:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-09T11:47:01.771+02:00</atom:updated><title>Monterroso</title><description>"When Tom awoke in the morning, Betsy was already dressed."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sloan Wilson, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit&lt;/span&gt;, 1955&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Així comença el capítol 11 de la novel·la de Wilson i té un efecte còmic per a un lector que pateix la malaltia intertextual popularitzada per Borges parlant de la influència de Kafka en Quevedo. Per als afectats tot ressona per tot i és inevitable, fins i tot és un plaer. Ressonàncies i reveberacions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-4854895967193291095?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/3g-QIC3C46U/monterroso.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/10/monterroso.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-2320195598024962906</guid><pubDate>Thu, 08 Oct 2009 12:01:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-08T14:20:27.491+02:00</atom:updated><title>Ich gratuliere Sie, Frau Müller</title><description>Lliçó de diplomàcia dels senyors del Nobel: com donar un premi a dos països, a Alemanya i Romania...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Podeu trobar poemes-collage de Herta Müller a les sucoses pàgines del projecte &lt;a href="http://lyrikline.org/index.php?id=162&amp;L=1&amp;author=hm03&amp;show=Bio&amp;cHash=92963f5993"&gt;lyrikline&lt;/a&gt;, que és per cert una bona font de recerca per al lletraferits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un poema en alemany...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/Ss3VR10A84I/AAAAAAAAAWc/rSCclsIcPOg/s1600-h/M%C3%BCller+Herta+das+d%C3%BCmmste.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/Ss3VR10A84I/AAAAAAAAAWc/rSCclsIcPOg/s400/M%C3%BCller+Herta+das+d%C3%BCmmste.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390198831512089474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...i un en romanès.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/Ss3VepX3b_I/AAAAAAAAAWk/Zp--kaUMpQo/s1600-h/M%C3%BCller+Herta++deoarece+am+sadit+un+soarece+in.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 289px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/Ss3VepX3b_I/AAAAAAAAAWk/Zp--kaUMpQo/s400/M%C3%BCller+Herta++deoarece+am+sadit+un+soarece+in.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390199051511099378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-2320195598024962906?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/oRlsIyCblJE/ich-gratuliere-sie-frau-muller.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_fS5y8RymeR8/Ss3VR10A84I/AAAAAAAAAWc/rSCclsIcPOg/s72-c/M%C3%BCller+Herta+das+d%C3%BCmmste.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/10/ich-gratuliere-sie-frau-muller.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-3869720964812655720</guid><pubDate>Tue, 15 Sep 2009 07:08:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-15T09:18:02.956+02:00</atom:updated><title>Desorientació</title><description>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;[She said] "Today is Sunday what? What month, I mean?"&lt;br /&gt;   "Where have you been living, in the subway?" he said, grinning.&lt;br /&gt;And it puzzled him to think she was serious. "Oh, April... April something-or-other."&lt;br /&gt;   "April," she repeated."Have I been here long?&lt;br /&gt;   "Only since last night."&lt;br /&gt;   "Oh."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;«The Headless Hawk» in &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;The Complete Short Stories of Truman Capote&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-3869720964812655720?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/OVJRUg_9MPo/desorientacio.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/09/desorientacio.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-6045159038960519472</guid><pubDate>Fri, 17 Jul 2009 11:18:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-07-17T13:20:21.155+02:00</atom:updated><title>Documentació</title><description>"és més fàcil documentar-se que escriure... i dius he de llegir això i he de llegir allò... i és una excusa per no escriure... que és el que ens fa por en principi, perquè després resulta que no fa por, que és un plaer" Jaume Cabré&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lpLhTWgemZM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lpLhTWgemZM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-6045159038960519472?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/eBzBHgj-N1k/documentacio.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/07/documentacio.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-5011585028323083929</guid><pubDate>Fri, 05 Jun 2009 10:01:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-06-05T12:01:00.352+02:00</atom:updated><title>És estrany</title><description>"There is only one thing which interests me vitally now, and that is the recording of all that which is omitted in books. Nobody, as far as I can see, is making use of those elements in the air which give direction and motivation to our lives." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Henry Miller,&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; Tropic of Cancer&lt;/span&gt;, p.11.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-5011585028323083929?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/4wNNHVMNJq8/es-estrany.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/06/es-estrany.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-5723746107022230732</guid><pubDate>Wed, 03 Jun 2009 17:08:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-06-03T19:26:45.067+02:00</atom:updated><title>Altres ismes</title><description>Que el teu progenitor hagi patit una addicció greu i continuada a una substància legal però de vegades molt perniciosa, pot explicar per què ell ha trigat tants anys en adonar-se'n, de què tu tens dotze anys i no saps llegir. Pot explicar-ho, si fem un esforç de comprensió, però mai no podrà justificar la seva deixadesa i egoisme. No li valdrà per donar la culpa als altres encara que aquest sigui un altre dels vicis que li fan perdre la xaveta.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-5723746107022230732?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/kM16LWS1xLQ/altres-ismes.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/06/altres-ismes.html</feedburner:origLink></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12976861.post-821022043309728690</guid><pubDate>Wed, 27 May 2009 17:33:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-27T20:00:34.499+02:00</atom:updated><title>La guerra freda</title><description>He fet una petita escapada per veure una projecció del festival Loop. A &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Double take&lt;/span&gt;, el videoartista belga Johan Grimonprez (Roeselare, 1962) ens parla de la guerra freda, de la irrupció del mitjà televisiu i del clàssic i inquietant tema del doble. L'obra es basa en la tècnica del collage, amb fragments de pel·lícules, anuncis, reportatges russos i americans, algunes escenes rodades expressament per al muntatge i una entrevista amb un home que es guanya la vida fent de doble de Hitchcock. Sentim un narrador en veu en off que reescriu el magnífic relat de Borges mentre veiem diversos Alfred Hitchcock silenciosos i inquietants entrant i sortint de les diverses habitacions d'una casa, o d'altres fragments de pel·lícules on el director apareixia sense dir res, com a figurant. La música de suspens de les seves pel·lícules és la banda sonora perfecta per subratllar la tensió dels dobles que són al mateix edifici però mai no acaben de trobar-se. La guerra freda a finals del cinquanta i principis dels seixanta, amb el Sputnik, la crisi dels míssils, la cursa armamentística, es barreja amb la paranoia alienigena i té un bon paral·lel amb l'obra mestra de Hitchcock, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Birds&lt;/span&gt; (1963). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ara prenc aquestes notes i m'adono de l'avantatge que suposa la tecnologia. Perquè puc linkar amb tres moments de l'obra de Grimonprez que m'han divertit especialment:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Un anunci de cafè instantani que no ha sabut envellir, sobretot pel masclisme indissimulat que supura:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/x5idyptK15w&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/x5idyptK15w&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Un fragment de Nixon &amp; Khrushchev en el seu "Kitchen Debate" de 1959 a Moscou:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RCZks2F3Gf4&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RCZks2F3Gf4&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Una perla de Donald Rumsfeld (el trobem a faltar):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_RpSv3HjpEw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_RpSv3HjpEw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;Subscripció&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12976861-821022043309728690?l=theblot.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/TheBlot/~3/qL-fi0tXk54/la-guerra-freda.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Aldo Costa)</author><feedburner:origLink>http://theblot.blogspot.com/2009/05/la-guerra-freda.html</feedburner:origLink></item></channel></rss>

