The friendly reader who from time to time appears in these desert places full of letters, he knows that is not the style of this humble blogger to create entries from a bad image because photographer and believes that it is all a thing of the devil. Today we must make an exception because it is a day of long tablecloths that the humble author would like to recommend an excellent magazine that had time to go looking and eager to read: Red Clay, whose latest issue finally arrived today in my hands.
got the magazine courtesy of María Vázquez, the very chief of the whole operation, who is also author of several books, an excellent photographer and editor, I believe that with a masters and everything. For you, Mary, all my gratitude for having uncovered the bottle into the sea for some time.
The magazine is excellent, with a visual and written content is presented with balance and elegance. The magazine is like one of those smart friends, who can speak about serious things without too much gravity and enjoy the pleasures without snobbery we all like provided they are tasteful. The concerts, policy and the window to the world of photography. Red Clay is the person whose absence is always felt on the coffee table, which always has something to say, but never talk the talk. It's that friend that you're proud because it won support from the FONCA pulse.
Red Clay is available in Zacatecas, but also in libraries and the FES Conaculta Acatlán, UNAM. Moreover, one can subscribe by calling - (+52) (492) 899 0890 - or by writing to arcillaroja@gmail.com
I like Red Clay. And open a new magazine has always been a pleasant ritual. Knowing that there are many letters waiting and images of so many latitudes and trends. It is a window into chaos or diversity, as in the stationary odor ink and new paper that comes from a magazine is something special, almost a vice. So I read the editorial on the front page and then I met my paredros in the index, announced in transforntera section, page 32. My paredros says something about a film of Jim Carrey, 23, but do not know.
Full text and readable of the Valley of Screams can read here. The truth is that hard to believe, that you smile with some disbelief, with some fear. The truth is my paredros looks at Mary, as if seeing an apparition on canvas Luois David Gaspar, my paredros smiles and hugs, and aims to make you feel a sense of reality or certainty. But my paredros had a difficult morning, a body concerned at the university, in the streets and sidewalks in a month will be the setting for all his days, overwhelmed him a sentence well above corrupt and also carries a sleepless night. So do not touch or smile, or silence are enough to convince him that things are happening. My paredros think, to get out and about in the car, which was perhaps a bit terse and unfriendly, and hopes that Mary did not take it too seriously, and are some meetings, so are some mornings where good, the best news are somewhat marred by the unpleasant reality. Sorry, as an echo, so feel my paredros. But we promise, Maga, which will soon be celebrating.
And of course, my paredros is a kind of little patience, those who commit outrages and occasional lack of sensitivity for pure emotion or expectation. Are legendary gaffes in their professional examination, with more than one girlfriend or love interest, with all your friends. My paredros knows nothing of self-censorship. And for that, which was immediately made to turn to Page 32, as a child that rushes on the jar biscuits, which runs after gifts for Christmas, which celebrates its birthday with secret greed. But we are all well and have some of my paredros so who can blame him?
My paredros, and I at his side, slowly devour the lyrics, we recognize that dedication old, years ago, we looked at each other and would like to tell "See? comply!" but perhaps have to fight again Street and neither wins we have. A show just stupid enough in life. So silent and still excited about reading, my paredros seems to want to throw the house out the window and also follow him, rushing headlong through the hell of it. He changes the page and reveals the end we all know, recognizes letters and smiles. My paredros smiles, for months and months since I saw him smile. What style so poor, muttering that something so trivial, still, muttering, he insists. So I interrupt. The words ripped from its source and not something that can be judged, but there are short and strong words, mean more than all the ravings of my paredros.
"Keep writing," said Mary and her voice also discussed the fate and necessity. Keep writing because you can not make another thing. Why do you look for more or try to, or invent the world more to your liking, you will be satisfied.
* * *
I suppose the educated public and expert recognized my unfortunate tribute to Cortázar in this post. It's my way of saying, welcome back. Because for better or for worse, with almost five hundred rose cronopio unpublished pages of "unexpected role, courtesy of Alfaguara. And that's what I found out yesterday, makes me suspicious of the fate and future. But there will be a special post in July.
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