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TAHUANTINSUYO OF INCAS CULTURE

FRIENDS HERE IS THE SECOND YEAR WORK FOR REASONS I do not understand did not appear before:

The Inca Empire was a class society, ie people were divided according to their position. Tahuantinsuyo
existed in the following classes: Class Leader (made by royalty and nobility) and the dominated class (consisting of the People). ROYALTY


consisted of the Inca, the Coya and their children.

The Inca
He was on the cusp of Tahuantinsuyo. It was also called zapainca, single word meaning king.
His person was worthy of worship. For example, was born in litter throughout the empire together with a large number of servers, each time someone requested an audience with him, had to do with his head down, with a stone on his back in an attitude of reverence. Even when people learned that the Inca was approaching your area, ran to the foot of the hills and made the ritual of mocha, ie plucked eyebrows are a sign of reverence.

to the official list of all the Incas who ruled the Tahuantinsuyo was called "Capac Cuna", and was divided into two dynasties: Hurin Cusco (in Cusco) and Hanan Cuzco (High Cusco). It is believed that the Incas Hanan belonged to the group were important for all military and economic, while the Incas Hurin group devoted solely to the priestly activities. Here we see that dualism was also applied to the government to have two ruling Incas.

The Coya
was the lawful wife and sister "of the Inca ruler. It is important to note that the term "sister (o)" was used in prehispanic Peru to refer to all members of an ayllu, which was a non-nuclear extended family, they were the same age. English chroniclers misunderstood what was seen as the Coya as sister Inca direct. It was believed that she was the daughter of the Moon and representative of all women.

The Sons of Inca
received different names, so for example:
a) Pihuichuri: such was the legitimate children of the Inca.
b) Auqui: he was the heir to the throne. It had to be legitimate son of the Coya Inca and have great skills.
c) Ñusta: She was the daughter of the Inca that the marriage was called palla. NOBILITY


The Cuzco nobility lived in Panaca or ayllus organized real. Its members were bound together by ties of kinship, and their parents were the Incas both the deceased and those who were in power. There were three classes of nobles:

Blood Nobles, were the closest relatives of the Inca ruler. They lived in real ayllus panacas or were entitled to land, property and yanaconas. They wore heavy earrings as a badge, which made his ears grow longer than normal, hence the English were given the name "apricot."
Abvenedizos Nobles, were the chiefs and leaders of nations that were conquered and subjugated by the Incas.
Privilege Nobles, were people who had become in noble will of the Inca, as a reward due to a heroic action or because the conquered regions curacas.

male nobles enjoyed a number of privileges and occupied important administrative positions. Therefore, from a young age should undergo a training period in the yachayhuasi or house of learning, under the guidance of a teacher called amautas. The education of noble ceremony concluded with the Huarache after which the young nobles, were considered adults.

THE PEOPLE
consisted of:

Jatunrunas, and was designated the common man and current living in ayllus Tahuantinsuyo. It is engaged mainly in agriculture and handicrafts.

acllas, women of all ages were selected based on their abilities to perform special services. They were detained in houses acllahuasis or chosen. They were prepared for spinning, weaving, preparing chicha and food specialties. Some acllas came from the nobility but the vast majority coming from the people. Acllas were classified as: acllas del Sol, who came from the nobility and were responsible for developing chicha and food for special occasions. Acllas of State, responsible for weaving State clothing. They were chosen by the Inca as wives to the chiefs of other peoples. The tachy acllas or female singers.

The Mitimaes, were people who by order of the Inca left their home to be moved to a new territory that has just been conquered, to lead the Quechua culture or care for the empire's borders Tahuantinsuyo. However, some mitimaes had left their home as punishment for having stirred up the Inca. The

Yanaconas were the servants of the nobles, in other words the yanaconas were servitude people who had lost all their rights.

The Piñas, men were subject to the condition of slaves. It is believed that the Inca cultivated coca.

ACTIVITIES:

1. Explains
a) Why do you say that the Inca was considered divine?
b) Was it really the sister of Coya Inca?
c) What difference existed among the Incas of Hanan and Hurin?
d) What is the difference between ayllu and panaca?

2. Make a box scheme on groups social that made the people in the Tahuantinsuyo. Consider: name and role (s).

3. Replies:
. If you were a jatunruna your main function would .......................................... ................
. If you were the crown prince would have to have .......................................... ............
. If you were a mitimae your function would ........................................... ..................................
. If you were a (a) pineapple would have to ......................................... ...........................................
. If you were a noble man would study at a place called ........................................ ...

4. True or false:
. Hanan the Incas were responsible for performing religious functions.
. The Coya was considered a daughter of the moon.
. The servants were yanaconas acllas.
. Acllas were locked in a place called yachayhuasi.
. The Capac Cuna was the official list of the Inca rulers.

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Cortázar called Red Clay rules! Silence

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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I dreamed

K. Those dreams that appear suddenly and for no reason always make me nostalgic. Simple dreams of peaceful coexistence, in which there are only company to have a coffee or watch a film. Two or three nights ago was K, but sometimes it's someone else, almost always the same, which escoda me in life and in dreams. We never talk. K smiled and with those determined eyes seemed to say everything you need. I simply see it also in silence. Upon awakening from dreams and I am expelled from paradise transition of peace or harmony that I've rarely found in life. I read or heard, perhaps invented, that the most difficult to share the silence. Maybe from there comes the nostalgia. To open their eyes to a world of words, a noisy world and almost all the time confused. Talk, write, read. Always messages of others; trivial messages that hide the true meaning of words. Understood to mean, living in a double uncertainty, the bane of bad grammar finished yet is the only way, the only tool that I hope can take some time to quiet reality that dream. So far, I had thought that a world in which there anything left to say would be an empty world. To wake from that dream where Karina looked me in silence and without end, where I watched and understood the reason for his silent presence, I am tempted to change his mind. Maybe the last step is silence. If we invent words to explain to the world, also invented to create lies, misunderstandings and convenient excuses to escape from the truth. On the other hand, can not lie in silence and only silence rests. The silence is peace, silence is agreement and harmony. Perhaps what the dream is trying to tell me that, that the only way of saying things and to avoid interference or language is silent anguish, the waiver language. Not a sign, gesture or touch. Maybe paradise comes to the world when it ceases the word, perhaps the demiurge is silent, unassuming, will be a sports crazy solipsita in a world without interference. Karina dreamed. We share a silence. And waking, I did not get it, or remember the night we met. I dreamed about it and woke up with this fine image, the red flower and short hair. I was sad. In a world without words, the name was not slow to erase the image and not lose face slow to stay in six letters and no echoes. In silence, words do not rise trenches between my memory and reality. Close my eyes and create your picture instead of writing his name. Perhaps, as Hamlet said it was not a prediction or a metaphor for death, but the only desire we all share. The rest is silence.

Scooter Metal Wheels'

Not a chance. (Milena)

- And if you remember all this, the punishment has not to be so terrible.

William Faulkner

And it seems that not even in my dreams I can find you. Your wish that I imagine or guess, the desire to lose and erase you from my world, is materialized or dematerialized little by little in reality that do not show up for almost two years in memory, where every day you are more blurred and like something I invented, a sculpture consisting of countless sketches, all imperfect, invisible. Every day more perfect, but also more distant. So much so that even scares me get you in the words where I could catch you while you, in words that perhaps they would know to return your image, but perhaps not. And I'd rather live with the uncertainty of losing even hope to bring you back from a couple of lines, or thousands, waiting in notebooks that I will never open.

Or I thought that it would not open. But do not count as a notebook when I just look for a file on the computer to explain to someone important what I think love means. And the file, which returns me your name but not your face, my descriptions but no past life, opens a new path in my life, a chance to get there to where I pointed out all the time and perhaps now, for your echo scope to finally arrive. I returned a letter your name, but nothing else, it makes me face to face with my loneliness and the feeling of being cursed and beaten, chased by the ghost of you that has no face, but I start any new principle, who has stolen my love and future with the same ease with which you stole from me years ago today. I still have the past and I'm thinking while I write a sad letter, asking if your curse is something that I imagined, if any body know tear it and the heart. The answer is not encouraging, nor is it expected, but the effect is the same. No way out of the labyrinth that describes your name, where I lost future and present, where I will spend time bouncing against the walls until you reach the final. Your echo is cruel and separates me from everything, but it is also ironic, because it reaches the attention of an editor who could well start building a future based on everything I've stolen, in exchange for all you gave me.

Am I selling you? I wonder when you press "send" to the new face of yours that has no figures and I've built with letters go far, half way between your country and mine. And if you sell your soul and mine or not, I do not care, because gradually forget you even remember you. Forgot your face, your gestures, your scent, but I remember your name and a bunch of words that no longer serve as a bridge between me today and our past. I'll be selling you, now I know, but what if you're not here to reproach, if you're not here to find out even that I have sold and now-that long now that is writing-everyone will know you as much as I knew, I find out that now, hopefully, a myriad of eyes made of words you will travel and will be the biggest nightmare we had together. Eye shadow, phantasms in the room, pointing out, chasing, moving away from each other. All the more reason to close the eyes to go through life blind from time to time, determined by something that is no longer creating ghosts and shadows I feared and prophesied that terrified us then that we were hiding from them closing their eyes in a hotel room in the dark, without light or shadows.

also as a prophecy or coincidence, dream to remember before I wake up the world's most inspiring message, the message to me one step closer to sell, and soon I'll be selling you, soon I will have sold. I dreamed of you in looking for a perfume, your mother, that you wore poaching first and then with the gall to teenage love. Which in the end you suitable for use each time we meet, every time you left me closer to your skin so that the world fell to you, which since then has been your perfume. Channel No. 5. I dreamed I held on to an arm that is not yours, praying that he will not depart because the smell was yours and you would soon conjure image, your calm presence in the middle of a dream. Grabbing, chasing your scent and asking you who turned out to be your mother, who looked at me condescendingly, with that look as pious woman who dreamed of from his name but it was also partly memory. He looked as if she too dependent on a perfume to ward off your memory, I smiled with some sadness and some shame also tell me before it dropped out, nobody knows where you are or with whom, although sometimes fire. But you never call to talk to your mom misses you as much as I and perhaps why use this perfume, because she too has lost you and did not have any choice to get you, because with that melancholy sad comfort and understanding is the way yours look for another echo in my empty body. With that tender gesture that position as mater dolorosa makes me understand that I will never see that even in my dreams I go hide and disappear for erasing, deleting your face, your eyes, your words and all . Awakened from sleep to read that message that tells me I'll be selling you. Pronto.

And it will, I will sell because the writers do not know anything else, we are dealers of ghosts, we shadows from one place to another and put them on stage before an audience sick who can not wait to take home and make them subject to his pleasure. Sell \u200b\u200byour shadow, pulling it increasingly difficult letters in books that I thought I re-opened. It will not be possible to hide our bodies from the gaze locked there with us, looks to past and future simultaneously with the letters, voyeuristic nightmare that I am at once victim and executioner in the way you always wanted; torment where simultaneous quantum not all realities and times I can find you. I'll call you Emily, but both know it's you and that even without you, even when you're not mine and never were, I sell, I will sell because I have to, because it is the only way left for me to recover, to drive nails to remember and not let go, to bite your flesh pale again, test your blood and paste outra vez seu Coração in these years sad and hopeless that follow your abandonment, which multiply your absence and when it seems that not even in my dreams I can find you.