Up the Down Staircase

A Tale of Two CitiesIt was the best of times, it was the worst of times,it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness,it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of dispair,we had everything before us, we had nothing before us,we were all going directly to Heaven,we were all going directly the other way...

Posted in Perdices y peldaños | 2 Comments

Las listas

Los finales de cada año están marcados por las listas de personajes, acontecimientos, películas (o cualquier otra cosa) que diversos individuos eligen como más destacados, significativos, relevantes (o todo lo contrario, pues todo vale a la hora de elaborar listas) de esos doce meses.
De entre todas las listas que con tanto desdén los miembros del Club de fans de Allan Dwan que detestan profundamente Dirigido por… hemos ignorado quisiéramos destacar la que ha elegido a los mejores terroristas de 2010.

1. Éric Cantona
2. Julian Assange
3. George Carlin (repite tercer lugar por tercer año consecutivo, desbancando a la Beatrice de Dante como cadáver más peligroso de la historia)
4. El soldado Bradley Manning

5. Peter, Paul & Mary

Haga click en el siguiente enlace si desea más (o menos) información.

Posted in horror vacui | 2 Comments


There was a book lying near Alice on the table, and while she sat
watching the White King (for she was still a little anxious about him,
and had the ink all ready to throw over him, in case he fainted again),
she turned over the leaves, to find some part that she could read,
‘–for it’s all in some language I don’t know,’ she said to herself.

It was like this.

She puzzled over this for some time, but at last a bright thought struck
her. ‘Why, it’s a Looking-glass book, of course! And if I hold it up to
a glass, the words will all go the right way again.’

This was the poem that Alice read.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought–
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

‘And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Lewis Carroll

Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (1872)

Posted in The Nature of the Beast | 2 Comments

Archibald Olson Barnabooth

Love affairs begin in champagne and end in camomile

A. O. Barnabooth

Los diarios de este ciudadano latinoamericano de los Estados Unidos, cosmopolita europeo, aspirante a inglés, poeta, amante, dandy y acomodado amateur profesional, nos revelan la ansiedad, la fatiga, los impredecibles momentos de ternura y generosidad, la mojigatería, el tedio, los sueños de encontrar la solución al enigma de la vida (de la que se mofa llamándola sempiterna nulidad), la patosa sofisticación, la estudiada indiferencia, el amaneramiento, la soledad y la duda de sí mismo de este improbable millonario exportador de guano.

(Extracto de la introducción de Alan Jenkins a la edición inglesa de A. O. Barnabooth: His Diary. Quartet Books, 1991)

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Omar Little

All things considered, he was as straight as a man can be.

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葛飾北斎 or the old man mad about art

From around the age of six, I had the habit of sketching from life. I became an artist, and from fifty on began producing works that won some reputation, but nothing I did before the age of seventy was worthy of attention. At seventy-three, I began to grasp the structures of birds and beasts, insects and fish, and of the way plants grow. If I go on trying, I will surely understand them still better by the time I am eighty-six, so that by ninety I will have penetrated to their essential nature. At one hundred, I may well have a positively divine understanding of them, while at one hundred and thirty, forty, or more I will have reached the stage where every dot and every stroke I paint will be alive. May Heaven, that grants long life, give me the chance to prove that this is no lie.

Katsushika Hokusai

But we the members of Club de fans de Allan Dwan que detestan profundamente Dirigido por… could not care less, for there is no cure for our secret love for Leelee Sobieski.

Posted in Facing the terror of cosmic loneliness | Leave a comment

Louise Brooks

There is no Garbo, there is no Dietrich, there is only Louise Brooks.
Henri Langlois

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