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Los buques suicidantes Lot No. Sorry, your blog cannot share posts by email.

You are commenting using your WordPress. Reviews, essays, and translations. As such, the distance between the collar and one of the sleeves is exactly half of the distance between one sleeve and the other, and this explains why he may have his head a bit tilted to the left, the side where his hand is still prisoner in the sleeve, if this cortazsr in fact the sleeve; and, in contrast, his right hand, which is already out, moves with full freedom in the air even if it may not be able to get the sweater down which is still rolled up on top of his body.

Nevertheless, it is this hand that obeys him, contracting little by little the lacerated fingers so that he manages to seize through the sleeve the edge of the sweater rolled up on the shoulder and pulls downwards almost without any force. It hurts too much and his right dortazar, in any case, would need to help vulpe of rising or falling uselessly towards his legs, instead of nibbling at his thigh as it is doing, scratching and nibbling through the clothing without being able to stop itself from doing so because all his willpower is contained ndie his left hand.

Francis of Assisi St. A life of social norms and standards cortzzar he cannot fit into and the more he tries, the more he has trouble breathing. But it is too late, because the deformed hand, that made it out of the sleeve, is attacking him.

Today, reading Cortazar, a famous quote that I heard from one of my writing teachers, comes to mind: Email required Address never made public. If this were so his hand would have to come out easily; yet he still pulls with all his might and cannot advance either one of his hands.

He chooses to stop even though his right hand keeps coming and going without engaging the sweater, even though his left hand hurts more and more every time as if his fingers were bitten off or burnt. And yet he has lost his orientation after having screamed so many times in sse type of euphoric gymnastics which always begins with finding a piece of clothing. Comment Moderation Enabled Your comment will not appear until it has been cleared by a website editor.


Fortunately at this very moment his right hand appears in the air of the outside cold; at least one of them is out although the other continues to be imprisoned in the sleeve. Moreover, there is the taste of the sweater, this blue taste of the wool that must be staining his face now that the humidity of his breath is mixing more and more each time with the wool, even if he cannot see it, because if he opens his eyes his eyelashes juliio painfully against the wool.

And yet, in the twilight, the finger has the appearance of having been shriveled up x placed towards the inside, with one black nail ending in a point. Notify me of follow-up comments via email. Absurdly, he does not want to open his eyes but he knows that he has gotten out, this cold material, this is delicious in the free air.

Don’t Blame Anyone.-

And in so doing help his left hand with his right hand so that it can pass through the sleeve or retreat and get out, although it is almost impossible to coordinate the movements of the two hands, as if his left hand were a rat trapped in a cage and another rat on the outside wanted to help it escape. You are commenting using your Facebook account. As you can see, by the continuous lack of posts on my blog, I have been quiet…artistically mute…blocked.

He finds it difficult regardless to pass his arm through, with his hand advancing little by little until at the end a finger emerges from the blue wool fist. The bad thing is that although the hand looking for the edge of the wool touches the back, it would seem that the sweater has remained completely bunched up around the collar area and the only thing his hand encounters is the increasingly wrinkled shirt, still stuck in part in his pants.

In this very short story he introduces a tiny, daily, insignificant action, as it is to put on a sweater, to present us with a character who will take us on a ride to the deepest parts of his psyche. Ripley film The Talented Mr. With one tug the sweater sleeve is pulled off and he looks at his hand as if it were not his.

Skip to content As you can see, by the continuous lack of posts on my blog, I have been quiet…artistically mute…blocked. Post a New Comment Enter your information below to add a new comment.


Don’t Blame Anyone.- – NonUseMuse

Link an External Response Have a response on your own site? The English translation by Stephen Kessler is as precise as I have seen. You can read the original here. Little point to keep tugging at the front of the sweater because on the chest area he can only feel the shirt. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: The hand can create and protect or it can destroy and attack. You can either use the [ Trackback URL ] for this entry, or link to your response directly.

The one who is reading you, is listening to you in his silence. Twitter Facebook Email Reddit. He puts on the sweater, one arm first, but he has trouble forcing the arm through the sleeve. And he tries to do so struggling with his whole body, throwing it forward and back, turning around in the middle of the room, if this is indeed the middle of the room because now he comes to think that the window has been left open and that it is dangerous to keep turning around blindly.

His imagination is an overwhelming example of the limitless capabilities of our creativity. Perhaps it would be best to do everything at the same time: Language is the way we stay human and writing is the most intimate use of language we can try. This anarchy to conventions teaches me that language is a bridge from your soul into the soul of the other.

On the contrary, it seemed like his head is about to make its way out because the blue wool is pressing against his nose and mouth with almost irritating force, suffocating him more than he could have ever imagined and obliging him to breathe deeply while the wool gets moist against his mouth it will probably fade and end up staining his face in blue.

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Cortazar teaches me to remain awake, inspired and never let my life become a sweater I get stuck on.