martes, noviembre 30, 2004

UNIVERSIDAD MUNDO REAL



El filósofo Edgar Morin inaugura en México la Universidad Mundo Real, para una nueva educación Planetaria.
Enseñar a vivir es el único anhelo que persigue el pensador francés Edgar Morin (París, 1921), quien se encuentra de visita en la ciudad de Hermosillo para inaugurar simbólicamente el arranque de la construcción de la Universidad Mundo Real. Edgar Morin, que toma como base sus teorías sobre el pensamiento complejo y la nueva educación planetaria.

Publica Grupo Reforma en su edición del 26/11/2004

Por Edgar A. Hernández

El filósofo, sociólogo, historiador, psicólogo y narrador ha desarrollado durante 35 años un método de enseñanza que, en esencia, "ayuda a la comprensión humana" a través de una visión multidisciplinaria en la que el conocimiento no requiere ser fragmentado.

Morin recordó, parafraseando a Blaise Pascal, que no se puede conocer el todo sin conocer sus partes, y viceversa, por lo que resulta absurdo que en la actualidad exista una hiperespecialización de las disciplinas, ya que esto provoca que el conocimiento no se difunda.

"Es impresionante el grado de conocimiento que se ha generado en torno al ser humano en los últimos años, pero no se le puede dar un sentido porque está fragmentado, disperso, sin posibilidad de relacionarlo con otro tipo de conocimientos que lo nutran", dijo el pensador ayer en las conferencias que ofreció con motivo de la creación de la universidad.

El autor de obras como “El hombre y la muerte”, “El espíritu del tiempo”, “El método” y “Los siete saberes necesarios para la educación del futuro” destacó las conquistas del pensamiento occidental sobre la ciencia, el universo, la vida y el ser humano, pero lamentó que esté basado en una visión simple de la realidad, donde se confunde la complejidad con la confusión.

Edgar Morin se autodefine como una persona que ha dedicado su vida a "resistirse" frente a la barbarie. Es por ello que fundamenta su trabajo en la comprensión del hombre, ya que, aseguró, es lo único que ayuda a evitar el odio y los maniqueísmos, que terminan en guerras y luchas fratricidas.

"Es vital hacer una enseñanza para la comprensión humana. Aprender a entender a los amigos, a los vecinos, a los extranjeros que tienen un estilo de vida y cultura distinta a la nuestra, para asumirnos como ciudadanos no sólo de nuestro país, sino del planeta, y ayudarnos a aceptar nuestro destino humano", aseguró.

Tras develar una escultura con su imagen, obra de Marlon y José Valderrama, y dejar la huella de sus manos en una plancha de concreto, Morin aseguró que en México encontró los medios adecuados para cristalizar sus postulados teóricos en la futura casa de estudios.

"Esta aventura nació de la amistad, de la confianza y de la fe hacia mi idea de que se puede dar una regeneración de la educación. Agradezco al empresario Rubén Reynaga y a todos los involucrados el desarrollo de esta universidad".

Este proyecto, dijo, rompe con la paradoja de que para reformar el pensamiento de las personas es necesario primero reformar las instituciones.

Edgar Morin trabaja en la elaboración de los contenidos de la universidad, pero aún no se ha definido si cuando sea inaugurada impartirá alguna de las cátedras.

Un poema de Al Berto



4

sabes, as aves aquáticas já não pernoitam junto ao mar nem por entre
nossos dedos de areia
sobem-me vozes calcárias à garganta, estrangulo-me neste humilde canto,
fico atento ao eterno silêncio do teu castelo


às vezes escuto teu cantar, raramente, é certo… mas quando cantas saem-
-te nomes puros da boca e sorrisos diáfanos de cristais
os lábios incendeiam-se com vinho, teu corpo adquire osabor misterioso
das algas
no crepúsculo expande-se o perfume a moreia frita, teu olhar é o mosto
dos nossos desejos


dançamos à roda dum mastro, saia em papel de seda bordada com
búzios… uma cuadra flutua pela noite de nossos cabelos
rodopias, e os teus amores são relembrados pela noite adiante
espalham-se estrelas candentes, papoulas breves, junco molhado
e o mar enche-se novamente de pássaros, embarcações semelhantes a
beijos que nos percorrem de alegria.

De Mar-de-leva
Wordsong. Al Berto
101 noites. Lisboa 2002



En este individuo se fueron Mr. Potato y la Currywurst
Posted by Hello


Cebolles como plátanos o era al reves?
Posted by Hello

Confirmado el romance



El diario Metro confirma el flechazo entre Mr. Potato y una CurryWurst. Se los vio salir pitando en medio de su salsa con dirección desconocida desde un conocido Imbis de Postdamstrasse. La familia Potato quedó deshecha y en la más absoltua miseria moral y económica. La Sra. Potato se tiró de cabeza a un chukrup que estaba macerando en el mismo establecimiento y los huerfanos son confundidos con vulgares cebollas por lo lacrimógeno de su actitud. Continuaremos informando.

lunes, noviembre 29, 2004

Serie fotográfica "Popnox espía a Cauce del Nalón"

CASI, MIRA... ¿A DÓNDE? A LUARCA, CREEMOS.

Por Francisco J. Lauriño

TAMOS EMPACHAOS DE TANTA CEBOLLA


A ver: los de San Martín: sin pecar de localistas, en Langreo también tenemos coses de eses: los callos en Ciañu, el pitu con arroz en Sama, la fabada en La Felguera, les jornaes gastronómiques de Riaño..., y no andamos por ahí vacilando dello. Con lo que repiten les cebolles.

sábado, noviembre 27, 2004


Propaganda institucional y plano de situación
Posted by Hello


Receta de "Cebolles Rellenes"
Posted by Hello


Jornadas Gastronómicas. S.M.R.A.
Posted by Hello

viernes, noviembre 26, 2004

Nueva York



LA LUCIÉRNAGA. EL COMERCIO DIGITAL EN SU EDICIÓN DEL DÍA 23 NOVIEMBRE 2004
FRANCISCO J. LAURIÑO/
Por casa debe de estar, metido en algún cartapacio de los que sirven para guardar recuerdos de papel. Es un dibujo sobre cartulina, a tres tintas y tamaño A5, que el pintor Hugo Maggi me regaló hace unos catorce años y en el que con mano firme, aunque tampoco excesivamente geométrica, se representa un plano de El Entrego. Rectilíneo y homogéneo, está lleno de cruzamientos entre unas calles largas y otras, perpendiculares, mucho más cortas. Así que, cuando el artista, en su día me lo mostró, no pude menos que exclamar: «¿Coño, si ye igual que Nueva York!»

Era, en efecto, como un Nueva York pequeño, con sus 'avenues', o calles más largas (en la ciudad norteamericana son muchas, en El Entrego un par de ellas, paralelas al Nalón), y también con sus 'streets' (innúmeras en Manhattan, diez o doce aquí, desde Santa Ana hasta La Vega, que también tiene este pueblo de San Martín barrios con personalidad propia, aunque Queens le quede lejos).

Quién nos iba a decir a nosotros que aquella idea, una apreciación estética de broma, bien que cariñosamente establecida y motivo entonces de diversos comentarios meliorativos para El Entrego, iba a ser, años después, retomada por Chus Pedro, el cantante de Nuberu, quien la llevaría, ya entrado el siglo XXI, a sus últimas consecuencias. La lejana similitud entre ambas poblaciones, no otra cosa entonces que la mera anécdota que digo, parece que dará frutos esta vez.

Ya hace un tiempo que El Entrego promociona 'Les Cebolles Rellenes' en lugares alejados de nuestro ámbito local. Aunque la idea no es mala, porque en la salida al exterior puede estar parte del secreto de aquello que estas cuencas necesitan -el encierro sobre nosotros mismos es como si ya durara siglos-, no parece, sin embargo, que la presencia del alcalde y de los portavoces municipales de San Martín en Nueva York, promocionando el grato evento gastronómico, vaya a tener como consecuencia un interés repentino de los ciudadanos de Manhattan por estas tierras que, para ellos, seguramente serán el fin del mundo. Hermanados el Nalón y el Hudson, lo que suena a comedia norteamericana de los ochenta, y El Entrego y la comunidad supongo que asturiana de Nueva York (lo digo porque quizás la hispana pueda parecer un exceso), ahora sólo queda que Woody Allen, ahíto de cebollas, vaya a eructarlas al parque de La Laguna y saque a nuestros amigos entreguinos en su próxima película.

Experiencias cercanas no le faltarían.

jueves, noviembre 25, 2004


Un brindis por YOLANDA BARRERA.Ganadora indiscutible del concurso de "LES CEBOLLES RELLENES" 2004
Posted by Hello

LES CEBOLLES RELLENES



El Entrego 25 Nov. 04
Casimiro Palacios

Con el pregón de Mario Antuña, periodista que en la actualidad es Jefe de la Edición de las Cuencas Mineras en LA NUEVA ESPAÑA, entreguín y nieto de La Nina, popular cocinera que pasa por ser la inventora del plato, dio comienzo la XXXVI edición de este popular evento gastronómico. Su intervención estuvo llena de recuerdos y semblanzas de gentes de todos conocidas pero que nunca está de más recordar. Con sentidos homenajes familiares y a personajes destacados de la vida cultural local como Chema Blanco, o nuestro popular Santos.
A continuación se entregaron los premios del Concurso de Cebolles que este año recayeron en YOLANDA BARRERA, en primer lugar, Luisa Mª de Dios, en segundo y Agustina Fernández en tercer lugar, respectivamente. Mucho glamour en el escenario que dio paso al coro lituano “Pro-Música de la Universidad de Vilnius”, que contó con la colaboración en dos temas del Coro San Andrés “Sergio Domínguez” que llenaron el teatro de El Entrego con una bella música que puso colofón a un entrañable pregón y que fue perfecto prólogo de una edición que se internacionaliza con los fastos a orillas del Hudson los días 6 y 7 de diciembre. Enhorabuena. Popnox aboga por mantener esta expansión internacional y propone que el año que viene le toque el turno a Vilnius por los lazos que el Coro San Andrés teje con sus colegas lituanos, que tan buen sabor de boca dejan en sus actuaciones en la Semana de la Música.

ESTE VIRUS BORRA FOTOS Y DOCUMENTOS DE TEXTO


Igual pareciera que empiezo a obsersionarme, pero como ya tuve algún problemilla con gusanos y virus varios de la que di de alta el ADSL (pese a tener antivirus), no quiero dejar a la peña sin información. Y esta parece que va en serio (afecta sobre todo a Hispanoamérica, especialmente Chile, y se propaga por archivos en español): Leed.


Comentarios sobre el gusano Pawur (Tasin/Inzae/Anzae)
-----------------------------------------------------

En Hispasec seguimos recibiendo mensajes de usuarios que han sido
afectados por el gusano Pawur, alias Tasin, Inzae o Anzae, del que
ya informamos en una entrega anterior. Básicamente los comentarios
se dividen en dos grandes bloques, por un lado aquellos que se
lamentan de las perdidas sufridas por la acción del gusano, mientras
otros se quejan de las respuestas de determinadas casas antivirus.

El foco de infecciones sigue localizado en Hispanoamérica, con
especial incidencia en Chile. Desde allí recibimos gran cantidad
de mensajes de usuarios afectados que han perdido fotografías,
archivos de música MP3 y documentos de Office.

Efectivamente, el gusano contiene una rutina que borra los archivos
que contengan alguna de las siguientes extensiones: .asm, .asp,
.bdsproj, .bmp, .c, .cpp, .cs, .csproj, .css, .doc, .dpr, .frm,
.gif, .h, .htm, .html, .iso, .jpeg, .jpg, .mdb, .mp3, .nfm, .nrg,
.pas, .pcx, .pdf, .php, .ppt, .rar, .rc, .rc2, .reg, .resx, .rpt,
.sln, .txt, .vb, .vbp, .vbproj, .wav y .xls

En los últimos tiempos, afortunadamente, los gusanos de propagación
masiva no suelen incluir efectos dañinos directos, como es el
borrado de archivos o formateos de unidades, que si eran más
frecuentes en las primeras generaciones de virus.

Tal vez por este motivo la concienciación sobre los daños que
puede causar una infección se ha ido relajando, hasta el punto
que muchos usuarios pueden percibir la amenaza de los virus y
demás malware como un simple estorbo que puede retrasar o bloquear
su trabajo de forma puntual, o crear cierto caos durante unas
horas en la red de la empresa.

Sin embargo el gusano Pawur es un vivo ejemplo del riesgo real que
entraña no contar con una protección antivirus adecuada y, sobre
todo, una formación básica en seguridad.

No olvidemos que los antivirus, por definición, sólo pueden
proporcionar una seguridad relativa, de momento es imposible una
protección 100% segura contra los virus (pese a lo que digan en
sus anuncios), y esta debilidad se muestra especialmente en los
casos de nuevos especímenes.

Por tanto, desde Hispasec recordamos que es fundamental que los
usuarios sean conscientes de que ellos mismos son la mejor
protección contra los virus, y que deben seguir unas reglas
básicas de seguridad (no abrir archivos adjuntos no solicitados,
etc.).

Evidentemente esto es extrapolable a los entornos corporativos,
donde las empresas deberían poner tanto o más interés en formar
a sus empleados, como en dotar a sus sistemas de la protección
antivirus adecuada. Hay dos opciones, o ver y tener a los usuarios
como parte del problema, o formarlos y convertirlos en parte de la
solución.

También son muchos los que han mostrado su enfado por el retraso
en las notificaciones y actualizaciones antivirus. En esta ocasión
parece que la localización de la propagación, que se presentaba
con textos en español y que sólo ha afectado de forma significativa
en algunos países hispanoamericanos, ha condicionado que algunas
casas antivirus no hayan prestado la atención que se merecía a
juzgar por las incidencias que se están dando.

Deben ser los usuarios afectados, y registrados legalmente, los
que muestren su descontento y/o pidan explicaciones a sus respectivos
proveedores.

A continuación actualizamos los tiempos de reacción de cada solución
antivirus en proporcionar la protección a sus usuarios contra el
gusano.

En primer lugar destacaría NOD32 por detectarlo mediante heurística
antes de que se produjera su propagación:

NOD32 :: probably unknown NewHeur_PE

A continuación los tiempos en proporcionar la actualización específica
para el gusano (hora española):

Panda 19.11.2004 18:51:04 :: W32/Tasin.A.worm
Kaspersky 21.11.2004 04:18:37 :: I-Worm.VB.w
TrendMicro 22.11.2004 23:20:59 :: WORM_ANZAE.A
eTrust-Iris 23.11.2004 00:54:50 :: Win32/Inzae.A.Dropper
DrWeb 23.11.2004 07:02:49 :: Win32.HLLM.Pawur
Sophos 23.11.2004 11:06:02 W32/Anzae-A
BitDefender 23.11.2004 11:42:11 :: Win32.Worm.Pawur.A
NOD32 23.11.2004 11:48:06 :: Win32/Pawur.A
F-Prot 23.11.2004 15:40:32 :: W32/Pawur.A@mm
ClamAV 23.11.2004 18:31:11 :: Worm.Pawur.A
Symantec 23.11.2004 22:12:58 :: W32.Inzae.A@mm
Norman 24.11.2004 15:09:15 :: Anzae.A@mm
McAfee 24.11.2004 18:14:27 :: W32/Anzae.worm.a

Posteriormente a su primera firma, Kaspersky actualizó en dos
ocasiones para modificar el nombre con que detectaba al gusano:

Kaspersky 22.11.2004 04:05:02 :: I-Worm.Pawur.a
Kaspersky 24.11.2004 11:05:35 :: Email-Worm.Win32.Pawur.a

¿Y Sybari?

Aquellos que hayan utilizado el servicio de análisis de archivos
sospechosos VirusTotal (http://www.virustotal.com) habrán observado
que figura en los reportes una solución antivirus que no suele
aparecer en los listados de tiempos de reacción. Antigen de Sybari
es una solución de seguridad perimetral para servidores de correo,
que permite utilizar varios motores antivirus de forma simultánea,
si bien no puede ser utilizada por ejemplo en una estación de
trabajo como un antivirus residente o para realizar análisis a
demanda de unidades.

Las peculiaridades del producto, diferente al resto de motores
individuales integrados en VirusTotal, impiden de momento poder hacer
análisis retrospectivos para conocer en que momento exacto detectó
por primera vez una muestra determinada. Esta es la única razón por
la que no aparece en los listados de tiempo de reacción.

En el caso del gusano que nos ocupa Sybari lo puede detectar con
diferentes nombres, dependiendo de los motores integrados en la
solución.

Panda TruPrevent

Otro producto, cuyos resultados aun no puede ser reflejados en los
tiempos de reacción, es Panda TruPrevent, que se basa en análisis
del comportamiento en vez de análisis de código.

En este caso la dificultad se encuentra en automatizar el proceso
para obtener los resultados de reacción ante una muestra determinada,
ya que requiere la ejecución real del espécimen en un sistema para
poder determinar la respuesta de la solución.

En breve dedicaremos una entrega de una-al-día para explicar todas
estas peculiaridades e informar de las últimas novedades, funciones
y noticias relacionadas con VirusTotal.

Opina sobre esta noticia:
http://www.hispasec.com/unaaldia/2223/comentar


Queens festival of the stuffed onions



Nueva York celebrará “Les Cebolles Rellenes” los días 6 y 7 de Diciembre.


La celebración tendrá lugar con distintos actos que se desarrollarán en el Círculo Español de Queens, donde se procederá a la degustación del tradicional plato local con la presencia asegurada de más de doscientos comensales, incluyendo la representación entreguita desplazada a tal efecto; un jardín de Jersey donde se protocolizará el transplante de un “texu” que se traslado en fechas recientes desde el Jardín Botánico Atlántico de Gijón; la presentación en un concierto del disco “De ñublu y orpín” del cantante entreguín Chus Pedro y el vertido de aguas tomadas del río Nalón y que se mezclará con las del Hudson en acto público para dar por hermanadas a las dos conurbaciones.

Las concomitancias entre El Entrego y Nueva York se vienen observando desde hace tiempo por parte de algunos y es que no son pocas, como afirmaba Chus Pedro en el Pregón de “Les Cebolles” en el 2002: En Nueva York tienen el MOMA, el Hudson, Central Park, el puente de Brookling, Simon&Garfunkel, son la Gran Manzana, una ciudad joven y centro del mundo mundial y El Entrego tiene el MUMI, el Nalón, el Parque de la Laguna, el puente de La Oscura, Nuberu y somos conocidos internacionalmente por ser la Gran Cebolla, la formación de la ciudad no va más allá del año mil novecientos cincuenta y ocho y somos el centro virtual del mundo sideral (tenemos El Concheso). Nos unen tantas cosas que todo lo que nos separa casi ni se nota. Porque además tenemos casi tantos puentes como ellos, el de la Central, los dos que dan cobertura a Alcampo, uno de los más largos de España, el que cruza el Nalón para dar servicio a la AS-17 con 1224 m., el de San Vicente, el del Polideportivo. Jugamos a los bolos y tenemos campeones del mundo como Tierra. El Madison fue la meca del baile en nuestros momentos de mayor efervescencia creativa, el Surdimientu no se entiende sin el Valle de la Hueria Carrocera y sus vallinas (Manuel Asur). Con más de sesenta escritores en el término municipal tenemos una de las tasas de intelectuales por metro cuadrado más altas del planeta. Al centro de la tierra se llega como todo el mundo sabe por la caña del Pozo Entrego, o por Sorriego o incluso por el Pozo San Vicente que será no tardando mucho Museo del Movimiento Obrero (MUMO). Conservamos animales en peligro de extinción con gran éxito como El Urogallo y por lo que parece vamos a tener un campo de golf en L’Abeduriu que va a ser la sede del Open de Asturias.

En PopNox esperamos que la celebración sea todo un éxito y que el próximo año El Entrego congregue ante sus “Stuffed Onions” a miles de comensales nuyoricans. Bye.

miércoles, noviembre 24, 2004



El Entrego, en cuerpo mortal y rosa


Posted by Hello

ARTEVEN.COM



A un año de su lanzamiento podemos ser cautelosamente optimistas en cuanto al porvenir de ARTEVEN.COM, portal de arte contemporáneo México y América Latina.
En este periodo inicial hemos logrado incrementar, mes a mes, las estadísticas principales relativas a número de visitantes, páginas vistas, hits y megabytes de transferencia.
Siendo nosotros mismos artistas visuales entendemos claramente la importancia de que nuestra información sea actualizada escrupulosamente, sin faltas de ortografía o datos insertados incorrectamente, que nuestras imágenes de obra sean presentadas en un tamaño aceptable, por decir lo menos, que aparezcan lo más cercano a como son las piezas físicamente y de que nuestro trabajo sea difundido de la manera más eficiente posible.
Uno de los objetivos de ARTEVEN.COM, a mediano y largo plazo, es convertirse en un referente serio y confiable en el contexto del arte contemporáneo de México y América Latina.
Es decir que cualquier persona interesada en recabar información reciente y completa de cierto artista visual contemporáneo, sepa que la encontrará en ARTEVEN.COM.
Alcanzar esta meta requiere, sin embargo, de tiempo, de ir consolidando este proyecto y de la participación de los artistas, de su ambición positiva por promover su trabajo a través de la red.
Incorporarse a ARTEVEN.COM es sumamente accesible ya que estamos perfectamente concientes del constante deterioro de las economías de nuestra región y de los efectos negativos que esto ha provocado en nuestras sociedades y en el mercado del arte.
ARTEVEN.COM no es una curadoría, no intenta integrar únicamente a los mismos de siempre sino a éstos y a todos aquellos, con trayectoria corta o reconocida, que estén produciendo obra contemporánea de calidad. Aquí caben todas las disciplinas.
Nos interesa el cómo se dice, sí, pero ante todo lo que se dice.

PROXECTO PATCH WORK “Farrapos pola non violencia contra as mulleres”



Praza do Obradoiro, Santiago de Compostela, 24 e 25 de novembro de 2004.
As mulleres tecémo-la vida, e soños tan resistentes como a tea dunha araña.

“Porque só o efémero permanece”
“_ Ninguén pode comprar estos traballos, ninguén pode posuílos, ninguén pode comerciar con eles, ninguén pode cobrar entradas para o seu disfrute. Mesmo nós mesmos non podemos pusuílos.
Estes traballos son acerca da liberdade, e a liberdade é inimiga da posesión, e posesión é equivalente a permanencia. É por iso que estes traballos deben ser efémeros”.
Christo Javacheff

“_ Cuando a arte independizada representa o seu mundo con brillantes cores, un momento da vida avellentou, e non é posible rexuvenecelo con esas cores. Somentes se deixa evocar como lembranza. A grandeza da arte non se fai evidente mais que cando recupera a vida”.
Guy Debord, “A Sociedade do Espectáculo”.

Nos sesenta, en Francia, nace unha corrente da arte baseada en rescatar nas súas distintas expresións artísticas a realidade con tódolos seus aspectos cotiás. A idea de que a vida fose un gran cadro, comprendía novas experiencias que terían como protagonista todo tipo de obxetos e mesmo arquitecturas.
As grandes correntes artísticas do século XX dende o “ready made” de Duchamp, pasando polo Dadá e o Surrealismo, anticipan un cambio de soporte, unha innovación no concepto da arte.
Yves Klein, Pierre Restany, Joseph Beuys ou Christo e Jeanne-Cleaude, Marta Minujín, entre outros/as, intentan o rescate da arte dos reductos tradicionais: museos, galerías, lugares ós que normalmente acude un público máis ou menos masivo.
O proxecto consiste en urdir unha alfombra xigante a partir de restos textís, obtidos a través da colaboración con esta acción dos diseñadores e diseñadoras galeg@s, e do resto do estado, os cales serán unidos, cosidos por centenares de mulleres e homes.
Dita alfombra xigante (8.000 m cadrados), que pretende rescatar e elevar á categoría de obra de arte o vello traballo de parches das mulleres de Nova Inglaterra, transmitido de avoas a netas, de nais a fillas, construiráse como una “alfombra-berro” para recordarnos a todos/as nese lugar tan emblemático, que a violencia contra as mulleres é unha das peores lacras da Humanidade.

Por iso eliximos o 25 de novembre, “Día Internacional pola non violencia contra as Mulleres” para expresar de forma artística, pacífica e feminista, que as mulleres estamos para construir, para crear, para ser pares e por iso, poñemos parches de cores, para que a nosa situación a nivel mundial non se solucione con parches, senon con verdaderas medidas resolutivas.

Como en anteriores ocasións, teremos especial coidado de non producir dano algún ó medio ambiente nin ás personas que estean transitando pola praza.
Luz DARRIBA , Currículum abreviado
Luz DARRIBA, artista plástica multidisciplinar nace en Uruguay, fórmase en Arxentina e vive e traballa en España dende 1990. Ten realizado máis de 250 exposiciones colectivas, 40 individuais e recibido máis de 50 distincións internacionais.
Creadora de macroproxectos como Cumulum, (muralla de Libros, 600.000 libros alrededor da Muralla Romana de Lugo), ”Una Puerta hacia la Cultura” (envolvimento con 40.000 libros da Porta de Alcalá, Madrid 2001) e “Libres avec des livres” na Maison de UNESCO, Paris, entre outros, é presidenta da Fundación CUMULUM, crítica de arte, curadora independiente e Directora de ESMELGAR, Arte e Comunicación en Galicia.
PROXECTO CUMULUM (Cultura, Muralla, Lugo, Millenium)
“Unha muralla abierta ó mundo”
LUGO, de abril a setembro de 2000
Intervención con máis de seiscentos mil libros ás Murallas Romanas de Lugo, de máis de 1700 anos de antigüidadade.
Características do Proxecto
Artístico, participativo, solidario, en defensa dol patrimonio e pola celebración do advenimento dol novo milenio.
Recibíronse arredor dun millón de libros provintes de editoriais, escolas, bibliotecas, fundacións, museos, institucións, asociacións e particulares do estado español e distintos lugares do planeta.
Foron embolsados con polietileno transparente para a súa mellor conservación ó ser expostos á intemperie, polos internos dos Centros Penitenciarios de Monterroso, Bonxe e Paradela, sen cuia inestimable e xenerosa colaboración non se podería ter realizado este proxecto.
A muralla de libros foi realizada ca participativa e entusiasta colaboración do pobo de Lugo; miles de voluntarios/as de tódolos estamentos da sociedade, colocaron ganchos e libros arredor do mallado que bordeaba a muralla durantelos cinco meses que se emplearon en construir CUMULUM
A case totalidade dos libros foron enviados pola UNESCO a desenvolver programas de alfabetización ou incentivación da lectura en América Latina.
CUMULUM recibiu numerosas adhesións de personalidades como os premio Nobel, José Saramago ou Adolfo Pérez Esquivel, así como de múltiples institucións de recoñecido prestixio como UNESCO e universidades de moitos países.
Asimesmo concitou a atención mediática dos principais medios de difusión do estado español e resto do mundo. Constituiu un récord Guinness como “a maior muralla de libros construida no mundo”.


Otra coincidencia con New York
Posted by Hello

INFORMACIÓN ÚTIL E IMPORTANTE SOBRE ÚLTIMOS VIRUS


Gusano Anzae, Inzae, Pawur o Tasin
Hispasec ha detectado en las últimas horas una considerable propagación
en países de habla hispana de un nuevo gusano que se propaga a través
de e-mail. De momento la respuesta de las casas antivirus es bastante
irregular, ya que muchas de ellas aun no detectan al espécimen pese a
las numerosas incidencias reportadas.

El gusano ha alcanzado el primer puesto en el Top 10 de las muestras
más enviadas a VirusTotal en las últimas 24 horas. Un análisis de la
procedencia de las mismas indica que son los países hispanoamericanos
los más afectados. Esta localización es debida a que el gusano sólo
utiliza textos en español para intentar engañar a sus potenciales
víctimas.

En el código del gusano, escrito en Visual Basic, podemos encontrar
una cadena, a modo de crédito, que situaría su procedencia en España:

- -Worm by cUk- : -name Paula- : -version a- : -Date 01/11/04- : -Made
in Spanish-:

Adicionalmente, el gusano intenta conectar con el sitio web del
ayuntamiento de Écija, en la provincia de Sevilla, España:

www.ecija.org

En cuanto a la nomenclatura del gusano, en el momento de escribir
estas líneas sólo 4 antivirus han proporcionado firmas específicas
para detectar el gusano, y de nuevo se evidencia la necesidad de
establecer algún mecanismo para homogeneizar los nombres, ya que
es identificado de 4 formas distintas: Anzae, Inzae, Pawur y Tasin.

En primer lugar destacaría NOD32 por detectarlo mediante heurística
antes de que se produjera su propagación:

NOD32 :: probably unknown NewHeur_PE

A continuación los tiempos de reacción, hora española, de los 4
antivirus que hasta el momento han proporcionado firmas específicas.
En este caso, a diferencia de otros gusanos de propagación masiva,
podemos observar que existen diferencias significativas en las
respuestas, destacando Panda que detectaba el gusano desde el día
19 y Kaspersky desde el día 21, horas antes de que se produjeran
los mayores ratios de propagación del gusano:

Panda 19.11.2004 18:51:04 :: W32/Tasin.A.worm
Kaspersky 21.11.2004 04:18:37 :: I-Worm.VB.w
TrendMicro 22.11.2004 23:20:59 :: WORM_ANZAE.A
eTrust-Iris 23.11.2004 00:54:50 :: Win32/Inzae.A.Dropper

Adicionalmente Kaspersky actualizó su firma el día 22 para modificar
el nombre con que detectaba al gusano:

Kaspersky 22.11.2004 04:05:02 :: I-Worm.Pawur.a

En la madrugada del día 23 aun no detectan al gusano los siguientes
motores antivirus:

AntiVir :: [no ha detectado nada]
BitDefender :: [no ha detectado nada]
ClamAV :: [no ha detectado nada]
DrWeb :: [no ha detectado nada]
F-Prot :: [no ha detectado nada]
McAfee :: [no ha detectado nada]
Norman :: [no ha detectado nada]
Sophos :: [no ha detectado nada]
Symantec :: [no ha detectado nada]

En cuanto al gusano, se propaga a través del correo electrónico con
unos textos fijos tanto en el asunto, cuerpo del e-mail, y nombre del
archivo adjunto, que elige al azar según las siguientes listas:

Asunto:

re:Amor verdadero
re:Como el aire...
re:Crees que puede ser verdad?
re:Dejate de rollos y vivé!!!
re:Eso con queso rima con...xD
re:La Luna
re:Neptuno y Mercurio
re:Psicología
re:xD no me lo puedo creer!!
re:Voodoo un tanto ps...


Cuerpo:

Crees en el amor de verdad?,miralo y ya hablamos,ciaooo
Esa moribunda y solitaria Luna,Impresionante!chao.
Mira lo que te mando y ya verás que los detalles mas pequeños son los
que importan,ciaoo
No comment,xDD ,Nos vemos!!
No veas que cosas xD,luego me cuentas,chao.
Que relación tienen estos planetas?,miralo y luego me cuentas,chao.
Renvíalo a todo que es que se meannn xD,nos vemos!
Será cierta la magia negra?,sal de dudas y ya me cuentas,chao.
Test para ver si andas bien de las neuronassss!xD,luego hablamos,chao.
Ver es creer!!!!chaoo.

Nombre del archivo adjunto:

D-Incógnito.zip
EL_rechazo.zip
Love-Me.zip
Moon(Luna).zip
My life(Mi vida).zip
Para-Brisas.zip
Planetario.zip
Psíquico-Mix.zip
Rimaz.zip
Voodoo!.zip


El gusano se copia en las unidades C:, D:, E: y F: con alguno de los
siguientes nombres de archivo:

inzae.pif
ph003.pif
simbolic3.pif
sin_mas_menos.pif
extasis8.pif
rd2_roberto.pif

En la carpeta de sistema de Windows crea los siguientes archivos:

Inzax.exe (visualiza los mensajes del gusano)
m.zip (copia del gusano)
svchosl.pif (copia del gusano)
sw.exe (SMTP para propagación del gusano)
sx.exe (SMTP para propagación del gusano)
sz.exe (SMTP para propagación del gusano)

Para asegurarse su ejecución en cada inicio de sistema, crea la típica
entrada en el registro de Windows en la clave:

HKEY_LOCAL_MACHINE\Software\Microsoft\Windows\CurrentVersion\Run
Svchosl = %systemdir%\svchosl.pif

Opina sobre esta noticia:
http://www.hispasec.com/unaaldia/2221/comentar

Bernardo Quintero
bernardo@hispasec.com

LEÑA A LOS HIJOPUTAS QUE NOS METEN VIRUS

martes, noviembre 23, 2004

LIBERTAD (Un cuento de JOAQUÍN DICENTA)




Gateando por el tronco del árbol subió Manolo hasta las ramas. Una vez en ellas, no sin riesgo de desnucarse, ganó la más alta de todas. Allí, oculto por un cortinón de fragantes y húmedas hojas, estaba el nido que fabricaron dos jilgueros, acolchado con sus plumas para más lujo de las crías.
Aquel nido fue, durante semanas, ansia y desvelo de Manolo. Lo descubrió cuando sólo era canastillo de calientes y barnizados huevos. Había que esperar.
Manolo esperó, vigilando con astuta cachaza el romper de los cascarones; el salir, por la rotura, de los pollos; el brote en ellos del plumón; el fortalecimiento de patitas y de alas. Ni un día dejó de encaramarse al árbol, para contemplar el cestillo donde palpitaban las crías, bien ajenas de que eran presa declarada para aquel conquistador de ojos azules y cabellos rubios, que el aire peinaba en caracoles.
Más ajenos aún de la acechanza vivían los jilgueros padres. Manolo solo en ausencia de ellos visitaba el nidal. A los amaneceres, cuando iba la pareja en busca de arroyos mitigadores de su sed o, al caer el sol, cuando revoloteaba por el lejano peñascal para despedirse del astro, ascendía el rapaz a las ramas y, separando el cortinón de hojas, clavaba sus ojos ladrones en los pollos. Después, echaba tronco abajo, contando mentalmente los días que faltaban para el del enjaule de su presa.
Este día llegó. Fue aquel en que Manolo trepaba por el tronco del árbol, y se encaramaba a la rama última y extendía sus manos hacia el nido donde los pájaros saltaban.
Subió sin precaución alguna, sin ocultarse de los padres que revoloteaban por encima de su cabeza, amenazándole con sus engarfiadas garrillas. ¿A qué las precauciones? Los padres no le podían estorbar; eran débiles para defender a sus hijos. Dentro de poco estarían estos en poder de Manolo.
Por eso y para eso llevó al pie del árbol una jaula. En ella acomodaría a sus prisioneros, dejando a los padres el cuidado de alimentarlos hasta que los prisioneros pudieran valerse por sí propios. Entonces daría libertad a las hembras dejando a los machos en permanente cautiverio para que alegraran con sus trinos la casa.
Tras el niño fueron los padres de los presos. A veces, se tropezaban en el aire; otras se dejaban caer juntos, llegando hasta el ras de la jaula, rozándola con sus temblorosas patitas. Luego se alzaban al espacio describiendo círculos sobre la cabeza del ladrón.
Apenas puesta por Manolo la jaula en el alféizar del campesino ventanal, los dos jilgueros, sin aguardar que se retirara el muchacho, sin temor al daño que éste pudiera hacerles, se aferraron a los barrotes, metiendo por entre ellos sus picos, buscando las bocas de las crías: dijérase que las besaban.
Al fin se alejaron, posando sobre una acacia próxima, ennegrecida por la sombra crepuscular.
Aquella tarde no fueron a despedir al sol.
Era el día franja imperceptible en Oriente y ya cantaban sobre la acacia los padres de los pájaros prisioneros. No cesaba su canto hasta que la jaula aparecía en el alféizar. Llegábanse a ella los jilgueros y procuraban forzar los mimbres con sus garras y con sus picos; después, viendo lo inútil de su afán, abrían las alas y se alejaban rápidos, silenciosos, sin que un gorjeo alegrara su viaje.
A poco volvían, trayendo alimento y agua a sus hijos: Éstos avanzaban hasta el límite de su prisión con las bocas amarillosas de par en par abiertas. Metían sus padres el pico por el hueco de los barrotes e iban depositando en aquellas bocas glotonas, simientes y granos machacados, gotas de agua que aún conservaban la frescura del manantial.
No venían juntos. Venían separados, cruzándose en la atmósfera, alejándose el uno de la jaula antes de que llegase el otro, juntándose en el aire, deteniéndose en él un segundo y siguiendo después su marcha, el uno hacia los hijos, el otro hacia las siembras, donde el grano brillaba como oro entre los surcos; hacia las fuentes donde el agua cae gota a gota, como una lluvia de brillantes.
Era de notar cómo los padres no daban a un mismo hijo el alimento dos veces seguidas; lo distribuían por turno sin error nunca en el reparto. Diríase que al tropezarse en el espacio, al detenerse en el aire un segundo, preguntaba el que llegaba al que volvía:
-«¿A quién distes ahora?»
-«A fulano.»
-«Entonces le toca a mengano.»
Y por la boca de mengano entraba el grano color de oro o la gota de agua diamantina.
Gran regocijo era para Manolo contemplar aquellas idas y venidas. Muchas veces, acodado en el ventanal, punto menos que tocando con sus dedos la jaula, seguía el trajín afanoso de sus cautivos y el trabajo de sus mantenedores. Estos parecían no reparar en él. Alimentaban a sus hijos, alegraban su cautividad con gorjeos, o aferrándose a los barrotes, batían contra ellos sus alas y mordían con sus picos el mimbre. A veces ponían en Manolo sus ojos negros, rencorosos, ardientes... El muchacho reía y los pájaros se alejaban con temblores de odio en la pluma.
Ya los cautivos recorrían la jaula con planta firme y presurosa; sus alas se abrían en traza de volar. ¡Triste vuelo que sólo llegaba hasta la techumbre de mimbre, desde la cual se dejaban caer los pajarillos, estirando el cuello hacia los azules del espacio, donde cabeceaba el sol!
Los padres seguían proveyendo a su manutención, pero en ocasiones, retrasaban sus viajes; otras permanecían inmóviles enfrente de la jaula, clavando en ella sus pupilas tenaces; después se acercaban uno a otro, doblaban los cuellos hasta unir las cabezas y cerraban sus picos como si hablaran por lo bajo, de oído a oído, consultándose...
Al ver a Manolo hacían ademán de lanzarse contra él.
Después huían para reunirse en el árbol a la casa frontera. Allí permanecían quietos, mudos, sin endulzar con sus gorjeos la tristeza de los esclavos.
Hubo un día en que apenas se aproximaron a la jaula.
-¡Aunque no vuelvan más! -monologó Manolo. -Los pajarillos pueden mantenerse a sí propios. Mañana haré la separación de los machos. ¿Por qué mañana? Hoy mismo.
Dicho y hecho.
Metiendo la jaula en su cuarto y levantando el cierre, sacó las hembras que eran dos. Abrió la ventana y las dejó encima del alféizar.
Pronto se lanzaron a la atmósfera piloteadas por su padre, que al detenerse con ellas, encima de la acacia, prorrumpió en un himno triunfal.
Paró el canto de pronto, al colgar Manolo del alféizar la jaula donde aleteaban los machos. Sus padres, al verlos, saltaron de las ramas, giraron y regiraron en torno de los mimbres, y gritando, mejor que piando, hicieron rumbo con sus hijas a un árbol más distante.
Fue al medio día, mientras almorzaba con sus padres Manolo.
Los jilgueros llegaron a la jaula, cuyos mimbres rechinaban acariciados por el viento. Breves instantes permanecieron contemplándola. Después se aferraron a los barrotes, sacudiendo la jaula, piando con furia. Sus garras tiraban de los mimbres, sus picos los mordían... ¡Inútil! ¡Inútil como siempre! ¡Eran pocas sus fuerzas para libertar a los cautivos!...
Entonces llamaron suavemente a sus crías.
Éstas avanzaron abiertas las bocas, relampagueante de amor el azabache de los ojos.
Súbito retrocedieron, tambaleándose; rodando fueron hasta el rincón último de la jaula; allí quedaron encogidas, apelotonadas, hechas un temblante montón de plumas.
Cuando Manolo fue en busca de la jaula, halló agonizando a los presos. No tenían ojos; no tenían tampoco lengua. Sus padres habían arrancado los unos a golpe de garra y cortado a tajo de pico las otras.
Cortaron las lenguas para que el esclavo no cantara al señor. Cegaron los ojos para que el esclavo no viese con ellos horizontes que nunca podrían sus alas recorrer.


Serie fotográfica "Popnox espía a Cauce del Nalón"

TAN D'ESPICHA, HOM'

Por Francisco J. Lauriño

E-Bay saca de subasta un sándwich con una imagen de la Virgen



Un sándwich cuya dueña dice que en el pan tiene una imagen de la Virgen fue puesto en subasta en e-Bay y se ofrecieron hasta 22.000 dólares por él antes de que fuera eliminado por la empresa, informó este martes el diario The Miami Herald.
France Presse 16/11/2004 15:22
La imagen en el pan es más visible según pasa el tiempo y en 10 años no le ha dado moho, según su dueña, Diana Duyser, de 52 años y residente en Hollywood (Florida).
Duyser mantiene el emparedado en su mesita de noche guardado en una bolsa plástica con pelotas de algodón.
La mujer puso el sándwich en subasta en e-Bay la semana pasada y obtuvo una oferta máxima de 22.000 dólares antes de que la empresa lo sacara de la página el domingo pasado, informó el diario.
Duyser recibió luego un correo electrónico indicándole que e-Bay no aceptaba bromas en sus subastas. "¿Cómo pudo e-Bay hacerme esto?", se quejó la mujer, entrevistada por el diario
Venden el 'sandwich divino' por 28.000 dólares

La semana pasada un sandwich de queso mordido fue noticia porque su dueña lo subastaba en Internet, ya que al parecer en él se podía ver la imagen de la Virgen María. Ahora lo más increíble ha ocurrido: ¡alguien lo ha comprado! Se trata del casino online GoldenPalace.com, que ha pagado 28.000 dólares por el polémico emparedado. Sus directivos dicen que tienen planes de usarlo para recolectar dinero con fines caritativos. Según asegura su dueña nunca ha mostrado signos de echarse a perder, pese a que hace 10 años que fue preparado

El sándwich milagroso alimenta numerosas bromas en eBay
La subasta de un sándwich de queso con la supuesta imagen de la Virgen ha alimentado todo tipo de bromas en eBay, con alimentos a la venta con las imágenes del líder palestino recientemente fallecido Yaser Arafat o del reelecto presidente de los Estados Unidos George W. Bush

France Presse 17/11/2004 19:20
Diana Duyser, de 52 años y residente en Florida, insiste en que lo que parece una cara en el pan del emparedado que ha mantenido en su mesa de noche desde hace 10 años -sin que le haya salido moho, asegura- es "la Virgen María Madre de Dios".
Pero multitud de bromistas no tomaron sus declaraciones en serio y han puesto a la venta docenas de artículos inspirados por el sándwich, que aparecen a cada minuto en la página de subastas de eBay.
Entre los más curiosos están la chuleta de Ariel Sharon, la tortilla de George W. Bush y Yaser Arafat en un falafel, todos alimentos con las caras de éstos pintadas o creadas mediante fotomontaje. También estaban en las listas el chicle usado de la Virgen María en un sándwich de queso y un preservativo, también mariano.
Otros vendedores también trataban de sacar provecho de la publicidad dada al sándwich, como el que puso a la venta la camisa con la leyenda: "Yo me comí el sándwich de queso de la Virgen María. Estaba sacridelicioso".
La casa de subastas está ayudando a Duyser a distinguir entre los postores serios y los bromistas que ofrecen sumas millonarias. EBay había determinado el fin de semana pasado que todo era una broma y canceló la puja, pero la reanudó el martes. Este miércoles seguía cotizando a 22.000 dólares (unos 16.900 euros).


El bocadillo de la virgen
Posted by Hello

MONSTRUOS


El siguiente artículo fue publicado por el diario "El Comercio", de Gijón, el día 23 de noviembre de 2004. Está firmado por JOSÉ JAVIER ESPARZA.


Aunque la noticia quedó eclipsada por el ruido futbolero del Barça-Madrid, hay que subrayar que la niña ayamontina María Isabel, nueve años, ganó la versión junior del Festival de Eurovisión con la canción 'Antes muerta que sencilla'. Todo ha sido bombo y parabién en torno a esta victoria que devuelve a TVE la gloria perdida en los certámenes eurofestivaleros.

Y como ya nadie va a disputarle a esta niña el premio ni la fama, es el momento de llamar a las cosas por su nombre: este festival es una atrocidad y María Isabel, la pobre, una víctima infantil de la publicidad y del consumismo.

Podemos prescindir de que la estética de su puesta en escena fuera hortera; Eurovisión es así. Podemos prescindir incluso de la misérrima música, mezcla artificial de rap, rumba y presuntos arabismos. De lo que no podemos prescindir es de la letra de la canción, agravada por el hecho de que haya sido compuesta por la propia niña, y que no es más que una mera apología de la estética publicitaria.

La publicidad es una disciplina muy digna del área de la comunicación: cumple un papel esencial en la circulación de mensajes comerciales y eso es básico para una civilización económica como la que tenemos. Además, los creativos han sido capaces de desarrollar criterios estéticos muy elaborados. Ahora bien, el discurso publicitario no es el mejor contexto para educar a un niño. Porque la publicidad consiste en crear necesidades superfluas, lo cual somete al sujeto a la presión continua de unos deseos insatisfechos. Y si esa presión ya genera desequilibrios en los adultos, habrá que suponer que los generará con mayor intensidad en los niños.

Pues bien: María Isabel es un producto decantado de la cultura publicitaria, de ese incesante bombardeo de mensajes que a todas horas nos pone al alcance de la mano cosas que, sin embargo, no podremos agarrar jamás.

Los griegos ya habían previsto esto y crearon el mito del suplicio de Tántalo, aquel rey de Lidia condenado a sufrir eternas hambre y sed viviendo entre frutos y aguas que no podía comer ni beber. Pero TVE, matrona de este engendro, propone a los niños españoles el modelo de Tántalo como forma de vida y ampara una cancioncilla que es un himno a la servidumbre de lo superfluo. Singular sentido de la pedagogía.


lunes, noviembre 22, 2004


Viejo
Posted by Hello


Un poema de Alberte Moman
Posted by Hello

UN CONOCIMIENTO DE PEPE HIERRO



No es posible dejar pasar esta oportunidad, este acontecimiento literario, sin tomar un momento el bolígrafo y la máquina y escribir, casi por última vez en este número 17 de REY LAGARTO (el final de las páginas está cerca), el nombre de José Hierro. La falta de tiempo por el urgente cierre del número y por otros factores que no vienen al caso, no me ha permitido elaborar el estudio que tenía previsto publicar aquí; quizá lo alumbre en un próximo REY LAGARTO porque no hacen falta números especiales ni extraordinarios para ello.


Yo no soy amigo personal de Hierro, tan sólo “conocido”. Los acontecimientos lo han querido así. Pero soy su admirador. En persona le he visto tres veces.


En 1985 asistí a un curso superior de filología hispánica, dedicado a la poesía social de la postguerra, que dirigió el profesor Víctor García de la Concha en la Universidad de Verano de Salamanca; en el programa había varias lecciones magistrales, con algún coloquio, de las que guardo sabrosos apuntes que en su día me fueron útiles y que hoy son un placer y un recuerdo excelentes. La conferencia del profesor Ricardo Senabre -aparte las de D. Víctor- y el recital que nos dio José Hierro, fueron lo más exquisito del programa realizado (del no realizado se me quedaron las ganas de asistir a un anunciado recital que Gabriel Celaya no pudo llegar a pronunciar por motivos de salud). Aquella -esta- voz aguardentosa y caliente, el desgranar versos como chorros de vida, de ritmo y de rapsódico misterio, me envolvieron y salí al verano salmantino tratando de respirar más hondo. Era la poesía tridimensional: en la cátedra, recitando, D. José les daba tres dimensiones a los bidimensionales papeles en que yo, hasta entonces, le había degustado.


Las otras dos veces fueron parecidas y diferentes. Una en “Tribuna Ciudadana”, en Oviedo, donde su palabra elevada no pudo, por razones ajenas a ella -exceso de un público lleno de curiosos más que de entendidos, ambiente tibio, poco comparable con la inmemorial capital castellana-, atarme a la magia con que me dominó después. Y la última, por el momento, hace mucho menos tiempo, en el Salón de la sociedad “La Montera”, de Langreo, donde, por mediación de Julio José Rodríguez Sánchez, pude saludarle. Conocido así, de cerca, afable, monstruo tierno y calvo que derrocha energía y buen humor, Hierro se transfiguró. Era, y a la para ya no, el santo que me había descubierto las nuevas dimensiones de la palabra, años atrás, en los frescores de los claustros salmantinos. Ahora era, además, un ser humano, un hombre de carne y sangre con el que se podían intercambiar palabras. Pero la conclusión fue la lógica: hombre y poeta, poeta y hombre, son indisolubles -se sabe de verdad cuando se comprueba-. El universo en el que viven y crean es uno y el mismo. Son, tienen que ser, el uno para el otro: así es como se produce la maravilla, y créanme que ha de ser difícil.


Espero que Pepe me perdone. Primero por llamarle “Pepe”, con una confianza atrevida. Segundo por no saber tratarle con el rigor que un poeta de su talla universal se merece y dedicarle estas líneas escuetas, en lugar el trabajo que el tiempo me ha impedido, por ahora, terminar.


Artículo de Francisco J. Lauriño
(Publicado en el número 17, año V, 1994 (I) de Rey Lagarto Literatura)

domingo, noviembre 21, 2004


milyuna
Posted by Hello


klaroskuros
Posted by Hello

Serie fotográfica "Popnox espía a Cauce del Nalón"

UN CAFETÍN EN ESTRADA

Por Francisco J. Lauriño

viernes, noviembre 19, 2004

ES POSIBLE LA AMISTAD Y LA DISCREPANCIA



En la novela "Mertov" de Jorge Zentner encontramos una cita de Edmond Jabès entresacada de "El libro de las semejanzas" que dice así:
-El vocablo nos liga y, simultáneamente , rompe nuestros vínculos. ¿A cúal de ellos deberé un día, mi libertad?
-A uno solo. A tu nombre despedazado.

Quiero apropiarmela hoy para empezar un post en el que muestro mi desacuerdo con mi buen amigo Francisco J. Lauriño y con José Manuel Ponte en referencia al suceso gallego que tan mal ha sentado a la opinión pública israelí y que ha motivado las protestas del embajador en España y la llamada a consultas de nuestro representante en Tel Aviv. Nuestra discrepancia en estos temas es antigua y sin embargo somos capaces de hablar del tema sin perder nuestra amistad. Seguro, también, que los dos deseamos para todos los pueblos la paz y la prosperidad que deseamos para el nuestro y que siempre estaremos contra el abuso y la violencia indiscriminada que se ejerce contra los débiles, los indefensos, los diferentes. Pero en este caso concreto no se puede simplificar, la realidad sobrepasa con creces lo imaginable y la razón no es singular. De todas formas Shalom!
Casimiro Palacios

LA CÓLERA DE ISRAEL


El siguiente artículo fue publicado por el diario "La Nueva España", de Oviedo, el día 19 de noviembre de 2004. Está firmado por José Manuel Ponte.


No solo se globaliza el capitalismo y se deslocaliza el trabajo asalariado. También la estupidez sufre esos mismos fenómenos y se expande o cambia de escenario a velocidad de vértigo. Y si queremos una muestra de laboratorio, ahí tenemos el caso de la polémica surgida entre el gobierno del Estado de Israel y el gobierno municipal de Oleiros. El Ayuntamiento de ese pequeño municipio coruñés autorizó la colocación en unos paneles electrónicos de unas frases en las que se calificaba de «asesino» a Ariel Sharon por sus actuaciones contra el pueblo palestino y puso a la venta unas camisetas en las que se dibujaba al jefe del Gobierno israelí como un dragón sobre el que cabalgaba un George Bush vestido de vaquero. El asunto habría pasado totalmente desapercibido, pero un periódico publicó la noticia y se ha organizado una escandalera monumental. La Embajada de Israel en Madrid presentó una protesta formal ante el Gobierno español solicitando el cese de lo que denomina una «campaña antisemita», y quedamos a la espera de la reacción de la Embajada norteamericana, que de momento no ha dicho nada. Esa caricatura del presidente norteamericano jineteando una fiera legendaria también podría ser considerada una ofensa intolerable. Los medios de comunicación judíos le han dado a este hecho una trascendencia desmesurada y un alto funcionario del Gobierno de Tel Aviv se ha escandalizado de que «sesenta años después de la noche de los cristales rotos (inicio de la persecución nazi) un alcalde europeo pueda conducirse de esa manera y enorgullecerse de ello». Por su parte, el alcalde de Oleiros, un independiente de izquierdas con ribetes populistas -que viene gobernando el municipio desde hace muchos años con amplio apoyo de los vecinos- se ha descolgado con unas declaraciones en las que dice sentirse amenazado por Israel y hasta expresa el temor a ser víctima de un atentado. Las presiones sobre el Gobierno español deben haber sido importantes porque el ministro de Asuntos Exteriores, Miguel Ángel Moratinos, le ha pedido al Alcalde que retire los lemas electrónicos y las camisetas y éste accedió a ello. Ahora, en los paneles reza la siguiente frase: «Oleiros, pola paz e co pobo palestino». ¿Se ha excedido el alcalde en sus funciones? ¿Resulta desproporcionada la respuesta del Estado de Israel? De todo habrá. El estudio de las paranoias, incluidas las políticas, no es mi fuerte. No obstante, llama la atención que al cabo de los años los ejes centrales de todos los argumentos que se utilizan para justificar las actuaciones de Israel -un Estado sin fronteras definidas desde su creación por la fuerza de las armas el 15 de mayo de 1948- sean , fundamentalmente, la Biblia y las matanzas perpetradas por los nazis durante la II Guerra Mundial. Que se sepa, las personas que asesinó el régimen de Hitler eran fundamentalmente ciudadanos alemanes, polacos, rumanos, rusos, húngaros etcétera, de religión o linaje judío, pero nunca ciudadanos de Israel, que no existía desde la destrucción de Jerusalén y el Segundo Templo por las legiones romanas en el año 70 después de Cristo. Haber sido victima nunca da derecho a ser verdugo. Con Estado o sin Estado.

jueves, noviembre 18, 2004


Foragidas?Forasteiras?Inadaptadas?Incompreensíveis? Que vozes sao essas que nos seduzem, nos assustam e que conseguem fazer-nos sentir que quanto mais nos aproximamos delas, mais elas nos escapam? Atrás delas, a monte, ando eu também. (AMÉLIA MUGE)
Posted by Hello

DIÁLOGO EN UNA PLAZA



Boletín cultural de la Red ECO Alternativo
17 de noviembre de 2004 - Número 47. Año IV.
Bodegueros a cargo: Carlos Carbone y Pablo Marrero

DIÁLOGO EN UNA PLAZA

Alberto trabaja de lunes a sábado en un negocio de venta de ropa y durante la semana ve muy poco a su hijito de cinco años, Elías, porque cuando se va al trabajo él aun duerme, y cuando vuelve apenas si quedan unos minutos de luz, suficientes como para unos cariños y algún que otro juego de poco tiempo.
Por eso le gusta dedicar, todos los domingos, un buen espacio para Elías.
Entonces va a jugar con él a la pelota, o a remontar un volantín, o a jugar a los autitos, o lo lleva al cine, al teatro, o simplemente a la plaza, como este domingo en que los encontramos a los dos divirtiéndose en el tobogán;
Elías se arroja por la rampa y abajo Alberto lo recibe con ambas manos, y una vez que lo ha sujetado bien fuerte, da una vuelta y las piernas del niño parecen querer escaparse.
Para que no se maree, el padre sólo le da una vuelta, después lo deja en el piso y Elías corre nuevamente hacia la escalinata del tobogán, llega hasta la cima y vuelve a deslizarse, seguro de que abajo lo esperan los fuertes y seguros brazos de su padre.
En una de las tantas idas y venidas, Elías se ha resbalado y su rodilla ha ido a pegar contra el piso, produciendo un breve corte del que emana un gota de sangre.
Alberto alza a Elías y lo sienta en el pasto, bajo la sombra de un jacarandá en flor, y con su pañuelo le limpia la herida, mientras el niño se seca las lágrimas con el reverso de la mano.
Cuando por fin la sangre se seca y las lágrimas ya no brotan, Alberto llama a un heladero que pasa en ese momento y compra uno de frutilla y otro de naranja, y los dos se quedan allí sentados, sacándole la lengua al calor.
Así, ya más calmado, Elías, que no puede aun apartar de su cabeza el suceso reciente, inicia el siguiente diálogo:
-¿Por qué tenemos sangre?
-Porque la sangre lleva a todo el cuerpo lo que necesitamos para estar bien.
-¿La comida?
-La comida.
-¿Y los remedios que tomamos?
-También los remedios.
Entonces Elías se queda callado un momento y en su cara se nota que está pensando la próxima pregunta.
-¿Y los animales también tienen sangre? -pregunta por fin.
-También.
Todos los animales tienen sangre. - le contesta Alberto después de pasar la lengua por enésima vez al helado de naranja.
-¿Y los pájaros?
-Los pájaros y los peces también tienen sangre.
-¿Y las plantas?
-Tienen algo parecido que se llama savia.
Elías vuelve a quedarse callado y piensa. Y está tan concentrado en su pensamiento que ya no se acuerda ni del dolor ni del helado que ha empezado a derretirse y a chorrear por su mano.
-¿Y la Tierra, tiene sangre? - vuelve a preguntar.
-No sé - responde Alberto, un poco confundido por la pregunta.
-Yo sí sé -dice Elías convencido de sus palabras-, nosotros somos la sangre de la Tierra.
Entonces Alberto deja de prestar atención al helado y por la cabeza se le pasa la idea de que tal vez los científicos estén equivocados.

Alejandro "Canito" Frías

(Correo electrónico recibido por Francisco J. Lauriño)

martes, noviembre 16, 2004

Serie fotográfica "Popnox espía a Cauce del Nalón"

EN EL BUS

Por Francisco J. Lauriño


Siempre al Sur, por favor míren al Sur, aunque sigan pensando en el Norte.
Posted by Hello

lunes, noviembre 15, 2004

Serie fotográfica "Popnox espía a Cauce del Nalón"

ATENTOS, EN PLENA NATURALEZA (SOMIEDO)

Por Francisco J. Lauriño


No Distrito Rock&Roll ao fim das coisas
Fica um remoinho, o derradeiro pontapé do
Movimento que imprime no ar a confusão
Necessária, o murro espantoso
De vazio sobre a pele. Então
Os corpos derrubam-se por a caída
Mais curta.
Os rifs celerões de antes
São a presença imutável do silêncio,
A imensidade preta da quietude que
Permanente anda à roda sobre seilábem.

Posted by Hello

sábado, noviembre 13, 2004

Serie fotográfica "Popnox espía a Cauce del Nalón"

PEPE Y LAURO

Por Francisco J. Lauriño

EL SECRETO DE LA PANTASMA

Este es el proceso de elaboración de la imagen "La Pantasma", subida a Popnox la pasada semana. De una foto real y sencilla a una escena bastante onírica.

Por Francisco J. Lauriño


Estampida en sentido estricto, esto es en versión original y primigenia
Posted by Hello


Kurt Wenner: Master Street Painter
http://www.kurtwenner.com/


Posted by Hello

viernes, noviembre 12, 2004

JUEVES EN LA PLAZA, CON LAS MADRES



"Tenemos esa hermosa y sana locura que no queremos curar: esta Plaza"

Marcha del jueves 11 de noviembre de 2004.

Hebe de Bonafini
Compañeros, siempre decimos que cada jueves es el mejor, que cada jueves nos golpea más fuerte. Y hoy es así porque iniciamos el Tercer Congreso de Salud Mental y Derechos Humanos, con la presencia de compañeros de todas partes del país, de todas partes de Latinoamérica. Gracias a los compañeros que creen en este Congreso, que lo sienten como propio.
Asimismo quiero agradecer que hayan sido corridas las rejas de la Plaza de Mayo para que podamos entrar aquí como siempre, por las mismas veredas de siempre. Gracias a los que corrieron las rejas para que las Madres ocupemos el lugar que hace 27 años no hemos dejado.

Gregorio Kazi (Docente de la UPMPM):
Buenas tardes, compañeras y compañeros. Va a hablarnos ahora el doctor Paulo Amarante. Este compañero es docente de la Fundación Osvaldo Cruz, de Río de Janeiro, es doctor en psiquiatría y salud pública comunitaria. Tenemos relación histórica con él porque es una referencia de la lucha popular del movimiento antimanicomial brasileño. Es un militante que realmente mucho nos ha ayudado en la construcción del Tercer Congreso y en su difusión. Entonces, le pasamos la palabra al compañero.

Paulo Amarante (doctor en psiquiatría y docente, de Río de Janeiro): Muchas gracias, quiero agradecer a las Madres por la posibilidad de estar acá. No sé si conseguiré hablar bien, no sólo porque no hablo castellano sino portuñol, yo digo que hablo esperanto latino, un poco de palabras de castellano, un poco de portugués, otro tanto de italiano, un poco de palabras que se inventan cuando se necesitan…
Estoy muy emocionado y es por eso la dificultad de hablar. Estar pudiendo vivir este momento muy rico, de la lucha de la resistencia que las Madres no solamente simbolizan sino que nos enseñaron a hacer en todo el mundo. La lucha por pensar que la vida, la lucha por la vida y el amor puede construir un mundo mejor, otro mundo, no solamente en el campo de este Congreso. Agradecemos a las Madres la posibilidad de oír las necesidades, de oír las prioridades de la lucha y empezar a pensar la salud mental y la violencia de la psiquiatría. Las llamadas "Locas de la Plaza de Mayo" sintieron cuánto las personas con problemas mentales son víctimas de violencia en los hospitales psiquiátricos, verdaderas casas de tortura, verdaderos campos de concentración, en nombre de la ciencia, la medicina y el Estado. Millones y millones de personas que están en Brasil, en Latinoamérica, en todo el mundo, violentados por las instituciones psiquiátricas. Aún hoy muchas personas son víctimas en nombre de un tratamiento, que en verdad es la forma de la violencia contra los oprimidos, los pobres, los marginados y todas las personas que no tienen posibilidades sociales.
La psiquiatría es un instrumento del capitalismo muy perverso, que hace de esas personas objeto de lucro. En Brasil hablamos de una industria de la locura, que hace millones y millones de Reales (moneda de Brasil), en esta forma de violencia autorizada por el Estado.
Finalmente, la violencia de la psiquiatría no es solamente contra las personas y en las instituciones. Es cotidiana, con la forma de marginar en los gabinetes psiquiátricos a las personas diferentes, a las personas que tienen otros comportamientos que el capitalismo, o la sociedad globalizada, no acepta.
Estamos en contra de este proceso de medicar todo lo que es social. Se procura toda forma de venta de medicinas, medicamentos. Todo esto es la lucha contra la violencia psiquiátrica, que dice que las personas son diferentes porque son solamente enfermas, y en tanto enfermas no pueden participar de la sociedad. Eso es lo que queremos mostrar: que las personas son personas. Con amor y dignidad debemos construir espacios para que todos podamos vivir.
Agradezco más de una vez a las Madres por propiciar a todos lados del mundo, el aprendizaje de amar la vida y de luchar siempre por la igualdad, el socialismo y la solidaridad. Gracias.

Hebe de Bonafini:
De locura sabemos algo, bastante. Y tenemos esa hermosa y sana locura que no queremos curar. Porque la mejor cura de esta locura es esta Plaza, esto es lo que no dejó que las Madres enfermáramos. Este lugar es el que dejó que las Madres no lloráramos. Este lugar es el que hizo, abierto al sol, a la lluvia, al viento, esta maravilla que somos las Madres hoy. Y no soy nada humilde, porque no tengo por qué tener humildad. Me parece que es muy bueno lo que estamos haciendo.
Y también esta Plaza hizo posible que cada jueves nos encontráramos con nuestros hijos. Y en esta sana locura del encuentro con nuestros hijos, que son ustedes y los que no están en presencia, nos da la fuerza para poder crear y hacer y mostrar que los "locos", los llamados locos, sólo son personas diferentes, que el sistema capitalista margina porque, como decía el compañero, les da mucho dinero. Son los laboratorios, las multinacionales, los poderosos, que quieren encerrar a los diferentes.
A nosotras nos quisieron marginar: "Madre de terrorista", "hijos terrorista", nos decían. Y no les dimos el gusto. La emprendimos contra ellos. Los investigamos, los pusimos en los libros, también investigamos los campos donde llevaban a nuestros hijos, el Borda y los psiquiátricos donde también los ponían. De ahí tenemos experiencias espantosas, que no queremos recordar hoy.
Porque hoy es un día de fiesta. A las cinco de la tarde se inaugura el Tercer Congreso de Salud Mental y Derechos Humanos, que tiene aquí, en este lugar, el primer pasito. Aquí los convocamos para mostrarles, que no hay lluvia, ni viento, ni Navidad, ni Año Nuevo, ni nada que nos prohiba estar en esta Plaza. Porque en esta Plaza nos encontramos con los hijos. Porque en esta Plaza nacieron muchos de ustedes. Porque vamos a cumplir 28 años en esta lucha. 28 años demostrándoles a los que nos quisieron marginar, a los que nos quisieron separar, a los que nos quisieron aislar, que no estamos locas, que estamos sanamente locas, y que no van a poder con nosotros.
Gracias a todos los compañeros de todas partes del mundo y del país que llegaron, por creer que en este Congreso todos podemos tener la palabra. Va a haber nuevas temáticas que se incorporen al Congreso, nuevas mesas. Yo sé que son muchas y que a todas no se va a poder ir, pero yo creo que todos, todos vamos a aprender. Lo más hermoso es aprender. Y aprender que aquel que es discriminado por estar enfermo mentalmente, porque el sistema capitalista lo enferma, sólo necesita comprensión y amor. Mucho amor. Eso libera.


FUTURA ZONA RESIDENCIAL EN LANGREO (ASTURIAS)

CONSTRUCCIÓN DE PISOS EN "NUEVO LANGREO" CON CENTRAL TÉRMICA AL FONDO

Por Francisco J. Lauriño

jueves, noviembre 11, 2004


Dentro de las paredes de Eryx. Como una estampida
Posted by Hello

Within the Walls of Eryx (by H. P. Lovecraft)



Before I try to rest I will set down these notes in preparation for the report I must make. What I have found is so singular, and so contrary to all past experience and expectations, that it deserves a very careful description.

I reached the main landing on Venus, March 18, terrestrial time; VI, 9 of the planet's calendar. Being put in the main group under Miller, I received my equipment - watch tuned to Venus's slightly quicker rotation - and went through the usual mask drill. After two days I was pronounced fit for duty.

Leaving the Crystal Company's post at Terra Nova around dawn, VI, 12, I followed the southerly route which Anderson had mapped out from the air. The going was bad, for these jungles are always half impassable after a rain. It must be the moisture that gives the tangled vines and creepers that leathery toughness; a toughness so great that a knife has to work ten minutes on some of them. By noon it was dryer - the vegetation getting soft and rubbery so that my knife went through it easily - but even then I could not make much speed. These Carter oxygen masks are too heavy - just carrying one half wears an ordinary man out. A Dubois mask with sponge-reservoir instead of tubes would give just as good air at half the weight.

The crystal-detector seemed to function well, pointing steadily in a direction verifying Anderson's report. It is curious how that principle of affinity works - without any of the fakery of the old 'divining rods' back home. There must be a great deposit of crystals within a thousand miles, though I suppose those damnable man-lizards always watch and guard it. Possibly they think we are just as foolish for coming to Venus to hunt the stuff as we think they are for grovelling in the mud whenever they see a piece of it, or for keeping that great mass on a pedestal in their temple. I wish they'd get a new religion, for they have no use for the crystals except to pray to. Barring theology, they would let us take all we want - and even if they learned to tap them for power there'd be more than enough for their planet and the earth besides. I for one am tired of passing up the main deposits and merely seeking separate crystals out of jungle river-beds. Sometime I'll urge the wiping out of these scaly beggars by a good stiff army from home. About twenty ships could bring enough troops across to turn the trick. One can't call the damned things men for all their 'cities' and towers. They haven't any skill except building - and using swords and poison darts - and I don't believe their so-called 'cities' mean much more than ant-hills or beaver-dams. I doubt if they even have a real language - all the talk about psychological communication through those tentacles down their chests strikes me as bunk. What misleads people is their upright posture; just an accidental physical resemblance to terrestrial man.

I'd like to go through a Venus jungle for once without having to watch out for skulking groups of them or dodge their cursed darts. They may have been all right before we began to take the crystals, but they're certainly a bad enough nuisance now - with their dart-shooting and their cutting of our water pipes. More and more I come to believe that they have a special sense like our crystal-detectors. No one ever knew them to bother a man - apart from long-distance sniping - who didn't have crystals on him.

Around 1 P.M. a dart nearly took my helmet off, and I thought for a second one of my oxygen tubes was punctured. The sly devils hadn't made a sound, but three of them were closing in on me. I got them all by sweeping in a circle with my flame pistol, for even though their colour blended with the jungle, I could spot the moving creepers. One of them was fully eight feet tall, with a snout like a tapir's. The other two were average seven-footers. All that makes them hold their own is sheer numbers - even a single regiment of flame throwers could raise hell with them. It is curious, though, how they've come to be dominant on the planet. Not another living thing higher than the wriggling akmans and skorahs, or the flying tukahs of the other continent - unless of course those holes in the Dionaean Plateau hide something.

About two o'clock my detector veered westward, indicating isolated crystals ahead on the right. This checked up with Anderson, and I turned my course accordingly. It was harder going - not only because the ground was rising, but because the animal life and carnivorous plants were thicker. I was always slashing ugrats and stepping on skorahs, and my leather suit was all speckled from the bursting darohs which struck it from all sides. The sunlight was all the worse because of the mist, and did not seem to dry up the mud in the least. Every time I stepped my feet sank down five or six inches, and there was a sucking sort of blup every time I pulled them out. I wish somebody would invent a safe kind of suiting other than leather for this climate. Cloth of course would rot; but some thin metallic tissue that couldn't tear - like the surface of this revolving decay-proof record scroll - ought to be feasible sometime.

I ate about 3:30 - if slipping these wretched food tablets through my mask can be called eating. Soon after that I noticed a decided change in the landscape - the bright, poisonous-looking flowers shifting in colour and getting wraith-like. The outlines of everything shimmered rhythmically, and bright points of light appeared and danced in the same slow, steady tempo. After that the temperature seemed to fluctuate in unison with a peculiar rhythmic drumming.

The whole universe seemed to be throbbing in deep, regular pulsations that filled every corner of space and flowed through my body and mind alike. I lost all sense of equilibrium and staggered dizzily, nor did it change things in the least when I shut my eyes and covered my ears with my hands. However, my mind was still clear, and in a very few minutes I realized what had happened.

I had encountered at last one of those curious mirage-plants about which so many of our men told stories. Anderson had warned me of them, and described their appearance very closely - the shaggy stalk, the spiky leaves, and the mottled blossoms whose gaseous, dream-breeding exhalations penetrate every existing make of mask.

Recalling what happened to Bailey three years ago, I fell into a momentary panic, and began to dash and stagger about in the crazy, chaotic world which the plant's exhalations had woven around me. Then good sense came back, and I realized all I need do was retreat from the dangerous blossoms - heading away from the source of the pulsations, and cutting a path blindly - regardless of what might seem to swirl around me - until safely out of the plant's effective radius.

Although everything was spinning perilously, I tried to start in the right direction and hack my way ahead. My route must have been far from straight, for it seemed hours before I was free of the mirage-plant's pervasive influence. Gradually the dancing lights began to disappear, and the shimmering spectral scenery began to assume the aspect of solidity. When I did get wholly clear I looked at my watch and was astonished to find that the time was only 4:20. Though eternities had seemed to pass, the
whole experience could have consumed little more than a half-hour.

Every delay, however, was irksome, and I had lost ground in my retreat from the plant. I now pushed ahead in the uphill direction indicated by the crystal-detector, bending every energy toward making better time. The jungle was still thick, though there was less animal life. Once a carnivorous blossom engulfed my right foot and held it so tightly that I had to hack it free with my knife; reducing the flower to strips before it let go.

In less than an hour I saw that the jungle growths were thinning out, and by five o'clock - after passing through a belt of tree-ferns with very little underbrush - I emerged on a broad mossy plateau. My progress now became rapid, and I saw by the wavering of my detector-needle that I was getting relatively close to the crystal I sought. This was odd, for most of the scattered, egg-like spheroids occurred in jungle streams of a sort not likely to be found on this treeless upland.

The terrain sloped upward, ending in a definite crest. I reached the top about 5:30 and saw ahead of me a very extensive plain with forests in the distance. This, without question, was the plateau mapped by Matsugawa from the air fifty years ago, and called on our maps 'Eryx' or the 'Erycinian Highland.' But what made my heart leap was a smaller detail, whose position could not have been far from the plain's exact centre. It was a single point of light, blazing through the mist and seeming to draw a piercing, concentrated luminescence from the yellowish, vapour-dulled sunbeams. This, without doubt, was the crystal I sought - a thing possibly no larger than a hen's egg, yet containing enough power to keep a city warm for a year. I could hardly wonder, as I glimpsed the distant glow, that those miserable man-lizards worship such crystals. And yet they have not the least notion of the powers they contain.

Breaking into a rapid run, I tried to reach the unexpected prize as soon as possible; and was annoyed when the firm moss gave place to a thin, singularly detestable mud studded with occasional patches of weeds and creepers. But I splashed on heedlessly - scarcely thinking to look around for any of the skulking man-lizards. In this open space I was not very likely to be waylaid. As I advanced, the light ahead seemed to grow in size and brilliancy, and I began to notice some peculiarity in its situation. Clearly, this was a crystal of the very finest quality, and my elation grew with every spattering step.

It is now that I must begin to be careful in making my report, since what I shall henceforward have to say involves unprecedented - though fortunately verifiable - matters. I was racing ahead with mounting eagerness, and had come within a hundred yards or so of the crystal - whose position on a sort of raised place in the omnipresent slime seemed very odd - when a sudden, overpowering force struck my chest and the knuckles of my clenched fists and knocked me over backward into the mud. The splash of my fall was terrific, nor did the softness of the ground and the presence of some slimy weeds and creepers save my head from a bewildering jarring. For a moment I lay supine, too utterly startled to think. Then I half mechanically stumbled to my feet and began to scrape the worst of the mud and scum from my leather suit.

Of what I had encountered I could not form the faintest idea. I had seen nothing which could have caused the shock, and I saw nothing now. Had I, after all, merely slipped in the mud? My sore knuckles and aching chest forbade me to think so. Or was this whole incident an illusion brought on by some hidden mirage-plant? It hardly seemed probable, since I had none of the usual symptoms, and since there was no place near by where so vivid and typical a growth could lurk unseen. Had I been on the earth, I would have suspected a barrier of N-force laid down by some government to mark a forbidden zone, but in this humanless region such a notion would have been absurd.

Finally pulling myself together, I decided to investigate in a cautious way. Holding my knife as far as possible ahead of me, so that it might be first to feel the strange force, I started once more for the shining crystal - preparing to advance step by step with the greatest deliberation. At the third step I was brought up short by the impact of the knife - point on an apparently solid surface - a solid surface where my eyes saw nothing.

After a moment's recoil I gained boldness. Extending my gloved left hands I verified the presence of invisible solid matter - or a tactile illusion of solid matter - ahead of me. Upon moving my hand I found that the barrier was of substantial extent, and of an almost glassy smoothness, with no evidence of the joining of separate blocks. Nerving myself for further experiments, I removed a glove and tested the thing with my bare hand. It was indeed hard and glassy, and of a curious coldness as contrasted with the air around. I strained my eyesight to the utmost in an effort to glimpse some trace of the obstructing substance, but could discern nothing whatsoever. There was not even any evidence of refractive power as judged by the aspect of the landscape ahead. Absence of reflective power was proved by the lack of a glowing image of the sun at any point.

Burning curiosity began to displace all other feelings, and I enlarged my investigations as best I could. Exploring with my hands, I found that the barrier extended from the ground to some level higher than I could reach, and that it stretched off indefinitely on both sides. It was, then, a wall of some kind - though all guesses as to its materials and its purpose were beyond me. Again I thought of the mirage-plant and the dreams it induced, but a moment's reasoning put this out of my head.

Knocking sharply on the barrier with the hilt of my knife, and kicking at it with my heavy boots, I tried to interpret the sounds thus made. There was something suggestive of cement or concrete in these reverberations, though my hands had found the surface more glassy or metallic in feel. Certainly, I was confronting something strange beyond all previous experience.

The next logical move was to get some idea of the wall's dimensions. The height problem would be hard, if not insoluble, but the length and shape problem could perhaps be sooner dealt with. Stretching out my arms and pressing close to the barrier, I began to edge gradually to the left - keeping very careful track of the way I faced. After several steps I concluded that the wall was not straight, but that I was following part of some vast circle or ellipse. And then my attention was distracted by something wholly different - something connected with the still-distant crystal which had formed the object of my quest.

I have said that even from a great distance the shining object's position seemed indefinably queer - on a slight mound rising from the slime. Now - at about a hundred yards - I could see plainly despite the engulfing mist just what that mound was. It was the body of a man in one of the Crystal Company's leather suits, lying on his back, and with his oxygen mask half buried in the mud a few inches away. In his right hand, crushed convulsively against his chest, was the crystal which had led me here - a spheroid of incredible size, so large that the dead fingers could scarcely close over it. Even at the given distance I could see that the body was a recent one. There was little visible decay, and I reflected that in this climate such a thing meant death not more than a day before. Soon the hateful farnoth-flies would begin to cluster about the corpse. I wondered who the man was. Surely no one I had seen on this trip. It must have been one of the old-timers absent on a long roving commission, who had come to this especial region independently of Anderson's survey. There he lay, past all trouble, and with the rays of the great crystal streaming out from between his stiffened fingers.

For fully five minutes I stood there staring in bewilderment and apprehension. A curious dread assailed me, and I had an unreasonable impulse to run away. It could not have been done by those slinking man-lizards, for he still held the crystal he had found. Was there any connexion with the invisible wall? Where had he found the crystal? Anderson's instrument had indicated one in this quarter well before this man could have perished. I now began to regard the unseen barrier as something sinister, and recoiled from it with a shudder. Yet I knew I must probe the mystery all the more quickly and thoroughly because of this recent tragedy.

Suddenly - wrenching my mind back to the problem I faced - I thought of a possible means of testing the wall's height, or at least of finding whether or not it extended indefinitely upward. Seizing a handful of mud, I let it drain until it gained some coherence and then flung it high in the air toward the utterly transparent barrier. At a height of perhaps fourteen feet it struck the invisible surface with a resounding splash, disintegrating at once and oozing downward in disappearing streams with surprising rapidity. Plainly, the wall was a lofty one. A second handful, hurled at an even sharper angle, hit the surface about eighteen feet from the ground and disappeared as quickly as the first.

I now summoned up all my strength and prepared to throw a third handful as high as I possibly could. Letting the mud drain, and squeezing it to maximum dryness, I flung it up so steeply that I feared it might not reach the obstructing surface at all. It did, however, and this time it crossed the barrier and fell in the mud beyond with a violent spattering. At last I had a rough idea of the height of the wall, for the crossing had evidently occurred some twenty or twenty-one feet aloft.

With a nineteen - or twenty-foot vertical wall of glassy flatness, ascent was clearly impossible. I must, then, continue to circle the barrier in the hope of finding a gate, an ending, or some sort of interruption. Did the obstacle form a complete round or other closed figure, or was it merely an arc or semi-circle? Acting on my decision, I resumed my slow leftward circling, moving my hands up and down over the unseen surface on the chance of finding some window or other small aperture. Before starting, I tried to mark my position by kicking a hole in the mud, but found the slime too thin to hold any impression. I did, though, gauge the place approximately by noting a tall cycad in the distant forest which seemed just on a line with the gleaming crystal a hundred yards away. If no gate or break existed I could now tell when I had completely circumnavigated the wall.

I had not progressed far before I decided that the curvature indicated a circular enclosure of about a hundred yards' diameter - provided the outline was regular. This would mean that the dead man lay near the wall at a point almost opposite the region where I had started. Was he just inside or just outside the enclosure? This I would soon ascertain.

As I slowly rounded the barrier without finding any gate, window, or other break, I decided that the body was lying within. On closer view the features of the dead man seemed vaguely disturbing. I found something alarming in his expression, and in the way the glassy eyes stared. By the time I was very near I believed I recognized him as Dwight, a veteran whom I had never known, but who was pointed out to me at the post last year. The crystal he clutched was certainly a prize - the largest single specimen I had ever seen.

I was so near the body that I could - but for the barrier - have touched it, when my exploring left hand encountered a corner in the unseen surface. In a second I had learned that there was an opening about three feet wide, extending from the ground to a height greater than I could reach. There was no door, nor any evidence of hingemarks bespeaking a former door. Without a moment's hesitation I stepped through and advanced two paces to the prostrate body - which lay at right angles to the hallway I had entered, in what seemed to be an intersecting doorless corridor. It gave me a fresh curiosity to find that the interior of this vast enclosure was divided by partitions.

Bending to examine the corpse, I discovered that it bore no wounds. This scarcely surprised me, since the continued presence of the crystal argued against the pseudo-reptilian natives. Looking about for some possible cause of death, my eyes lit upon the oxygen mask lying close to the body's feet. Here, indeed, was something significant. Without this device no human being could breathe the air of Venus for more than thirty seconds, and Dwight - if it were he - had obviously lost his. Probably it had been carelessly buckled, so that the weight of the tubes worked the straps loose - a thing which could not happen with a Dubois sponge-reservoir mask. The half-minute of grace had been too short to allow the man to stoop and recover his protection - or else the cyanogen content of the atmosphere was abnormally high at the time. Probably he had been busy admiring the crystal - wherever he may have found it. He had, apparently, just taken it from the pouch in his suit, for the flap was unbuttoned.

I now proceeded to extricate the huge crystal from the dead prospector's fingers - a task which the body's stiffness made very difficult. The spheroid was larger than a man's fist, and glowed as if alive in the reddish rays of the weltering sun. As I touched the gleaming surface I shuddered involuntarily - as if by taking this precious object I had transferred to myself the doom which had overtaken its earlier bearer. However, my qualms soon passed, and I carefully buttoned the crystal into the pouch of my leather suit. Superstition has never been one of my failings.

Placing the man's helmet over his dead, staring face, I straightened up and stepped back through the unseen doorway to the entrance hall of the great enclosure. All my curiosity about the strange edifice now returned, and I racked my brains with speculations regarding its material, origin, and purpose. That the hands of men had reared it I could not for a moment believe. Our ships first reached Venus only seventy-two years ago, and the only human beings on the planet have been those at Terra Nova. Nor does human knowledge include any perfectly transparent, non-refractive solid such as the substance of this building. Prehistoric human invasions of Venus can be pretty well ruled out, so that one must turn to the idea of native construction. Did a forgotten race of highly-evolved beings precede the man-lizards as masters of Venus? Despite their elaborately-built cities, it seemed hard to credit the pseudo-reptiles with anything of this kind. There must have been another race aeons ago, of which this is perhaps the last relique. Or will other ruins of kindred origin be found by future expeditions? The purpose of such a structure passes all conjecture - but its strange and seemingly non-practical material suggests a religious use.

Realizing my inability to solve these problems, I decided that all I could do was to explore the invisible structure itself. That various rooms and corridors extended over the seemingly unbroken plain of mud I felt convinced; and I believed that a knowledge of their plan might lead to something significant. So, feeling my way back through the doorway and edging past the body, I began to advance along the corridor toward those interior regions whence the dead man had presumably come. Later on I would investigate the hallway I had left.

Groping like a blind man despite the misty sunlight, I moved slowly onward. Soon the corridor turned sharply and began to spiral in toward the centre in ever-diminishing curves. Now and then my touch would reveal a doorless intersecting passage, and I several times encountered junctions with two, three, and four diverging avenues. In these latter cases I always followed the inmost route, which seemed to form a continuation of the one I had been traversing. There would be plenty of time to examine the branches after I had reached and returned from the main regions. I can scarcely describe the strangeness of the experience - threading the unseen ways of an invisible structure reared by forgotten hands on an alien planet!

At last, still stumbling and groping, I felt the corridor end in a sizeable open space. Fumbling about, I found I was in a circular chamber about ten feet across; and from the position of the dead man against certain distant forest landmarks I judged that this chamber lay at or near the centre of the edifice. Out of it opened five corridors besides the one through which I had entered, but I kept the latter in mind by sighting very carefully past the body to a particular tree on the horizon as I stood just within the entrance.

There was nothing in this room to distinguish it - merely the floor of thin mud which was everywhere present. Wondering whether this part of the building had any roof, I repeated my experiment with an upward-flung handful of mud, and found at once that no covering existed. If there had ever been one, it must have fallen long ago, for not a trace of debris or scattered blocks ever halted my feet. As I reflected, it struck me as distinctly odd that this apparently primordial structure should be so devoid of tumbling masonry, gaps in the walls, and other common attributes of dilapidation.

What was it? What had it ever been? Of what was it made? Why was there no evidence of separate blocks in the glassy, bafflingly homogenous walls? Why were there no traces of doors, either interior or exterior? I knew only that I was in a round, roofless, doorless edifice of some hard, smooth, perfectly transparent, non-refractive and non-reflective material, a hundred yards in diameter, with many corridors, and with a small circular room at the centre. More than this I could never learn from a direct investigation.

I now observed that the sun was sinking very low in the west - a golden-ruddy disc floating in a pool of scarlet and orange above the mist-clouded trees of the horizon. Plainly, I would have to hurry if I expected to choose a sleeping-spot on dry ground before dark. I had long before decided to camp for the night on the firm, mossy rim of the plateau near the crest whence I had first spied the shining crystal, trusting to my usual luck to save me from an attack by the man-lizards. It has always been my contention that we ought to travel in parties of two or more, so that someone can be on guard during sleeping hours, but the really small number of night attacks makes the Company careless about such things. Those scaly wretches seem to have difficulty in seeing at night, even with curious glow torches.

Having picked out again the hallway through which I had come, I started to return to the structure's entrance. Additional exploration could wait for another day. Groping a course as best I could through the spiral corridors - with only general sense, memory, and a vague recognition of some of the ill-defined weed patches on the plain as guides - I soon found myself once more in close proximity to the corpse. There were now one or two farnoth flies swooping over the helmet-covered face, and I knew that decay was setting in. With a futile instinctive loathing I raised my hand to brush away his vanguard of the scavengers - when a strange and astonishing thing became manifest. An invisible wall, checking the sweep of my arm, told me that - notwithstanding my careful retracing of the way - I had not indeed returned to the corridor in which the body lay. Instead, I was in a parallel hallway, having no doubt taken some wrong turn or fork among the intricate passages behind.

Hoping to find a doorway to the exit hall ahead, I continued my advance, but presently came to a blank wall. I would, then, have to return to the central chamber and steer my course anew. Exactly where I had made my mistake I could not tell. I glanced at the ground to see if by any miracle guiding footprints had remained, but at once realized that the thin mud held impressions only for a very few moments. There was little difficulty in finding my way to the centre again, and once there I carefully reflected on the proper outward course. I had kept too far to the right before. This time I must take a more leftward fork somewhere - just where, I could decide as I went.

As I groped ahead a second time I felt quite confident of my correctness, and diverged to the left at a junction I was sure I remembered. The spiralling continued, and I was careful not to stray into any intersecting passages. Soon, however, I saw to my disgust that I was passing the body at a considerable distance; this passage evidently reached the outer wall at a point much beyond it. In the hope that another exit might exist in the half of the wall I had not yet explored, I pressed forward for several paces, but eventually came once more to a solid barrier. Clearly, the plan of the building was even more complicated than I had thought.

I now debated whether to return to the centre again or whether to try some of the lateral corridors extending toward the body. If I chose this second alternative, I would run the risk of breaking my mental pattern of where I was; hence I had better not attempt it unless I could think of some way of leaving a visible trail behind me. Just how to leave a trail would be quite a problem, and I ransacked my mind for a solution. There seemed to be nothing about my person which could leave a mark on anything, nor any material which I could scatter - or minutely subdivide and scatter.

My pen had no effect on the invisible wall, and I could not lay a trail of my precious food tablets. Even had I been willing to spare the latter, there would not have been even nearly enough - besides which the small pellets would have instantly sunk from sight in the thin mud. I searched my pockets for an old-fashioned note-book - often used unofficially on Venus despite the quick rotting-rate of paper in the planet's atmosphere - whose pages I could tear up and scatter, but could find none. It was obviously impossible to tear the tough, thin metal of this revolving decay-proof record scroll, nor did my clothing offer any possibilities. In Venus's peculiar atmosphere I could not safely spare my stout leather suit, and underwear had been eliminated because of the climate.

I tried to smear mud on the smooth, invisible walls after squeezing it as dry as possible, but found that it slipped from sight as quickly as did the height-testing handfuls I had previously thrown. Finally I drew out my knife and attempted to scratch a line on the glassy, phantom surface - something I could recognize with my hand, even though I would not have the advantage of seeing it from afar. It was useless, however, for the blade made not the slightest impression on the baffling, unknown material.

Frustrated in all attempts to blaze a trail, I again sought the round central chamber through memory. It seemed easier to act back to this room than to steer a definite, predetermined course away from it, and I had little difficulty in finding it anew. This time I listed on my record scroll every turn I made - drawing a crude hypothetical diagram of my route, and marking all diverging corridors. It was, of course, maddeningly slow work when everything had to be determined by touch, and the possibilities of error were infinite; but I believed it would pay in the long run.

The long twilight of Venus was thick when I reached the central room, but I still had hopes of gaining the outside before dark. Comparing my fresh diagram with previous recollections, I believed I had located my original mistake, so once more set out confidently along the invisible hall-ways. I veered further to the left than during my previous attempts, and tried to keep track of my turnings on the records scroll in case I was still mistaken. In the gathering dusk I could see the dim line of the corpse, now the centre of a loathsome cloud of farnoth-flies. Before long, no doubt, the mud-dwelling sificlighs would be oozing in from the plain to complete the ghastly work. Approaching the body with some reluctance I was preparing to step past it when a sudden collision with a wall told me I was again astray.

I now realized plainly that I was lost. The complications of this building were too much for offhand solution, and I would probably have to do some careful checking before I could hope to emerge. Still, I was eager to get to dry ground before total darkness set in; hence I returned once more to the centre and began a rather aimless series of trials and errors - making notes by the light of my electric lamp. When I used this device I noticed with interest that it produced no reflection - not even the faintest glistening - in the transparent walls around me. I was, however, prepared for this; since the sun had at no time formed a gleaming image in the strange material.

I was still groping about when the dusk became total. A heavy mist obscured most of the stars and planets, but the earth was plainly visible as a glowing, bluish-green point in the southeast. It was just past opposition, and would have been a glorious sight in a telescope. I could even make out the moon beside it whenever the vapours momentarily thinned. It was now impossible to see the corpse - my only landmark - so I blundered back to the central chamber after a few false turns. After all, I would have to give up hope of sleeping on dry ground. Nothing could be done till daylight, and I might as well make the best of it here. Lying down in the mud would not be pleasant, but in my leather suit it could be done. On former expeditions I had slept under even worse conditions, and now sheer exhaustion would help to conquer repugnance.

So here I am, squatting in the slime of the central room and making these notes on my record scroll by the light of the electric lamp. There is something almost humorous in my strange, unprecedented plight. Lost in a building without doors - a building which I cannot see! I shall doubtless get out early in the morning, and ought to be back at Terra Nova with the crystal by late afternoon. It certainly is a beauty - with surprising lustre even in the feeble light of this lamp. I have just had it out examining it. Despite my fatigue, sleep is slow in coming, so I find myself writing at great length. I must stop now. Not much danger of being bothered by those cursed natives in this place. The thing I like least is the corpse - but fortunately my oxygen mask saves me from the worst effects. I am using the chlorate cubes very sparingly. Will take a couple of food tablets now and turn in. More later.

LATER - AFTERNOON, VI, 13

There has been more trouble than I expected. I am still in the building, and will have to work quickly and wisely if I expect to rest on dry ground tonight. It took me a long time to get to sleep, and I did not wake till almost noon today. As it was, I would have slept longer but for the glare of the sun through the haze. The corpse was a rather bad sight - wriggling with sificlighs, and with a cloud of farnoth-flies around it. Something had pushed the helmet away from the face, and it was better not to look at it. I was doubly glad of my oxygen mask when I thought of the situation.

At length I shook and brushed myself dry, took a couple of food tablets, and put a new potassium chlorate cube in the electrolyser of the mask. I am using these cubes slowly, but wish I had a larger supply. I felt much better after my sleep, and expected to get out of the building very shortly.

Consulting the notes and sketches I had jotted down, I was impressed by the complexity of the hallways, and by the possibility that I had made a fundamental error. Of the six openings leading out of the central space, I had chosen a certain one as that by which I had entered - using a sighting-arrangement as a guide. When I stood just within the opening, the corpse fifty yards away was exactly in line with a particular lepidodendron in the far-off forest. Now it occurred to me that this sighting might not have been of sufficient accuracy - the distance of the corpse making its difference of direction in relation to the horizon comparatively slight when viewed from the openings next to that of my first ingress. Moreover, the tree did not differ as distinctly as it might from other lepidodendra on the horizon.

Putting the matter to a test, I found to my chagrin that I could not be sure which of three openings was the right one. Had I traversed a different set of windings at each attempted exit? This time I would be sure. It struck me that despite the impossibility of trail-blazing there was one marker I could leave. Though I could not spare my suit, I could - because of my thick head of hair - spare my helmet; and this was large and light enough to remain visible above the thin mud. Accordingly I removed the roughly hemi-spherical device and laid it at the entrance of one of the corridors - the right-hand one of the three I must try.

I would follow this corridor on the assumption that it was correct; repeating what I seemed to recall as the proper turns, and constantly consulting and making notes. If I did not get out, I would systematically exhaust all possible variations; and if these failed, I would proceed to cover the avenues extending from the next opening in the same way - continuing to the third opening if necessary. Sooner or later I could not avoid hitting the right path to the exit, but I must use patience. Even at worst, I could scarcely fail to reach the open plain in time for a dry night's sleep.

Immediate results were rather discouraging, though they helped me eliminate the right-hand opening in little more than an hour. Only a succession of blind alleys, each ending at a great distance from the corpse, seemed to branch from this hallway; and I saw very soon that it had not figured at all in the previous afternoon's wanderings. As before, however, I always found it relatively easy to grope back to the central chamber.

About 1 P.M. I shifted my helmet marker to the next opening and began to explore the hallways beyond it. At first I thought I recognized the turnings, but soon found myself in a wholly unfamiliar set of corridors. I could not get near the corpse, and this time seemed cut off from the central chamber as well, even though I thought I had recorded every move I made. There seemed to be tricky twists and crossings too subtle for me to capture in my crude diagrams, and I began to develop a kind of mixed anger and discouragement. While patience would of course win in the end, I saw that my searching would have to be minute, tireless and long-continued.

Two o'clock found me still wandering vainly through strange corridors - constantly feeling my way, looking alternately at my helmet and at the corpse, and jotting data on my scroll with decreasing confidence. I cursed the stupidity and idle curiosity which had drawn me into this tangle of unseen walls - reflecting that if I had let the thing alone and headed back as soon as I had taken the crystal from the body, I would even now be safe at Terra Nova.

Suddenly it occurred to me that I might be able to tunnel under the invisible walls with my knife, and thus effect a short cut to the outside - or to some outward-leading corridor. I had no means of knowing how deep the building's foundations were, but the omnipresent mud argued the absence of any floor save the earth. Facing the distant and increasingly horrible corpse, I began a course of feverish digging with the broad, sharp blade.

There was about six inches of semi-liquid mud, below which the density of the soil increased sharply. This lower soil seemed to be of a different colour - a greyish clay rather like the formations near Venus's north pole. As I continued downward close to the unseen barrier I saw that the ground was getting harder and harder. Watery mud rushed into the excavation as fast as I removed the clay, but I reached through it and kept on working. If I could bore any kind of a passage beneath the wall, the mud would not stop my wriggling out.

About three feet down, however, the hardness of the soil halted my digging seriously. Its tenacity was beyond anything I had encountered before, even on this planet, and was linked with an anomalous heaviness. My knife had to split and chip the tightly packed clay, and the fragments I brought up were like solid stones or bits of metal. Finally even this splitting and chipping became impossible, and I had to cease my work with no lower edge of wall in reach.

The hour-long attempt was a wasteful as well as futile one, for it used up great stores of my energy and forced me both to take an extra food tablet, and to put an additional chlorate cube in the oxygen mask. It has also brought a pause in the day's gropings, for I am still much too exhausted to walk. After cleaning my hands and arms of the worst of the mud I sat down to write these notes - leaning against an invisible wall and facing away from the corpse.

That body is simply a writhing mass of vermin now - the odour has begun to draw some of the slimy akmans from the far-off jungle. I notice that many of the efjeh-weeds on the plain are reaching out necrophagous feelers toward the thing; but I doubt if any are long enough to reach it. I wish some really carnivorous organisms like the skorahs would appear, for then they might scent me and wriggle a course through the building toward me. Things like that have an odd sense of direction. I could watch them as they came, and jot down their approximate route if they failed to form a continuous line. Even that would be a great help. When I met any the pistol would make short work of them.

But I can hardly hope for as much as that. Now that these notes are made I shall rest a while longer, and later will do some more groping. As soon as I get back to the central chamber - which ought to be fairly easy - I shall try the extreme left-hand opening. Perhaps I can get outside by dusk after all.

NIGHT - VI, 13

New trouble. My escape will be tremendously difficult, for there are elements I had not suspected. Another night here in the mud, and a fight on my hands tomorrow. I cut my rest short and was up and groping again by four o'clock. After about fifteen minutes I reached the central chamber and moved my helmet to mark the last of the three possible doorways. Starting through this opening, I seemed to find the going more familiar, but was brought up short less than five minutes by a sight that jolted me more than I can describe.

It was a group of four or five of those detestable man-lizards emerging from the forest far off across the plain. I could not see them distinctly at that distance, but thought they paused and turned toward the trees to gesticulate, after which they were joined by fully a dozen more. The augmented party now began to advance directly toward the invisible building, and as they approached I studied them carefully. I had never before had a close view of the things outside the steamy shadows of the jungle.

The resemblance to reptiles was perceptible, though I knew it was only an apparent one, since these beings have no point of contact with terrestrial life. When they drew nearer they seemed less truly reptilian - only the flat head and the green, slimy, frog-like skin carrying out the idea. They walked erect on their odd, thick stumps, and their suction-discs made curious noises in the mud. These were average specimens, about seven feet in height, and with four long, ropy pectoral tentacles. The motions of those tentacles - if the theories of Fogg, Ekberg, and Janat are right, which I formerly doubted but am now more ready to believe - indicate that the things were in animated conversation.

I drew my flame pistol and was ready for a hard fight. The odds were bad, but the weapon gave me a certain advantage. If the things knew this building they would come through it after me, and in this way would form a key to getting out; just as carnivorous skorahs might have done. That they would attack me seemed certain; for even though they could not see the crystal in my pouch, they could divine its presence through that special sense of theirs.

Yet, surprisingly enough, they did not attack me. Instead they scattered and formed a vast circle around me - at a distance which indicated that they were pressing close to the unseen wall. Standing there in a ring, the beings stared silently and inquisitively at me, waving their tentacles and sometimes nodding their heads and gesturing with their upper limbs. After a while I saw others issue from the forest, and these advanced and joined the curious crowd. Those near the corpse looked briefly at it but made no move to disturb it. It was a horrible sight, yet the man-lizards seemed quite unconcerned. Now and then one of them would brush away the farnoth-flies with its limbs or tentacles, or crush a wriggling sificligh or akman, or an out-reaching efjeh-weed, with the suction discs on its stumps.

Staring back at these grotesque and unexpected intruders, and wondering uneasily why they did not attack me at once, I lost for the time being the will-power and nervous energy to continue my search for a way out. Instead I leaned limply against the invisible wall of the passage where I stood, letting my wonder merge gradually into a chain of the wildest speculations. A hundred mysteries which had previously baffled me seemed all at once to take on a new and sinister significance, and I trembled with an acute fear unlike anything I had experienced before.

I believed I knew why these repulsive beings were hovering expectantly around me. I believed, too, that I had the secret of the transparent structure at last. The alluring crystal which I had seized, the body of the man who had seized it before me - all these things began to acquire a dark and threatening meaning.

It was no common series of mischances which had made me lose my way in this roofless, unseen tangle of corridors. Far from it. Beyond doubt, the place was a genuine maze - a labyrinth deliberately built by these hellish things whose craft and mentality I had so badly underestimated. Might I not have suspected this before, knowing of their uncanny architectural skill? The purpose was all too plain. It was a trap - a trap set to catch human beings, and with the crystal spheroid as bait. These reptilian things, in their war on the takers of crystals, had turned to strategy and were using our own cupidity against us.

Dwight - if this rotting corpse were indeed he - was a victim. He must have been trapped some time ago, and had failed to find his way out. Lack of water had doubtless maddened him, and perhaps he had run out of chlorate cubes as well. Probably his mask had not slipped accidentally after all. Suicide was a likelier thing. Rather than face a lingering death he had solved the issue by removing the mask deliberately and letting the lethal atmosphere do its work at once. The horrible irony of his fate lay in his position - only a few feet from the saving exit he had failed to find. One minute more of searching and he would have been safe.

And now I was trapped as he had been. Trapped, and with this circling herd of curious starers to mock at my predicament. The thought was maddening, and as it sank in I was seized with a sudden flash of panic which set me running aimlessly through the unseen hallways. For several moments I was essentially a maniac - stumbling, tripping, bruising myself on the invisible walls, and finally collapsing in the mud as a panting, lacerated heap of mindless, bleeding flesh.

The fall sobered me a bit, so that when I slowly struggled to my feet I could notice things and exercise my reason. The circling watchers were swaying their tentacles in an odd, irregular way suggestive of sly, alien laughter, and I shook my fist savagely at them as I rose. My gesture seemed to increase their hideous mirth - a few of them clumsily imitating it with their greenish upper limbs. Shamed into sense, I tried to collect my faculties and take stock of the situation.

After all, I was not as badly off as Dwight has been. Unlike him, I knew what the situation was - and forewarned is forearmed. I had proof that the exit was attainable in the end, and would not repeat his tragic act of impatient despair. The body - or skeleton, as it would soon be - was constantly before me as a guide to the sought - for aperture, and dogged patience would certainly take me to it if I worked long and intelligently enough.

I had, however, the disadvantage of being surrounded by these reptilian devils. Now that I realized the nature of the trap - whose invisible material argued a science and technology beyond anything on earth - I could no longer discount the mentality and resources of my enemies. Even with my flame-pistol I would have a bad time getting away - though boldness and quickness would doubtless see me through in the long run.

But first I must reach the exterior - unless I could lure or provoke some of the creatures to advance toward me. As I prepared my pistol for action and counted over my generous supply of ammunition it occurred to me to try the effect of its blasts on the invisible walls. Had I overlooked a feasible means of escape? There was no clue to the chemical composition of the transparent barrier, and conceivably it might be something which a tongue of fire could cut like cheese. Choosing a section facing the corpse, I carefully discharged the pistol at close range and felt with my knife where the blast had been aimed. Nothing was changed. I had seen the flame spread when it struck the surface, and now I realized that my hope had been vain. Only a long, tedious search for the exit would ever bring me to the outside.

So, swallowing another food tablet and putting another cube in the elecrolyser of my mask, I recommenced the long quest; retracing my steps to the central chamber and starting out anew. I constantly consulted my notes and sketches, and made fresh ones - taking one false turn after another, but staggering on in desperation till the afternoon light grew very dim. As I persisted in my quest I looked from time to time at the silent circle of mocking stares, and noticed a gradual replacement in their ranks. Every now and then a few would return to the forest, while others would arrive to take their places. The more I thought of their tactics the less I liked them, for they gave me a hint of the creatures' possible motives. At any time these devils could have advanced and fought me, but they seemed to prefer watching my struggles to escape. I could not but infer that they enjoyed the spectacle - and this made me shrink with double force from the prospect of falling into their hands.

With the dark I ceased my searching, and sat down in the mud to rest. Now I am writing in the light of my lamp, and will soon try to get some sleep. I hope tomorrow will see me out; for my canteen is low, and lacol tablets are a poor substitute for water. I would hardly dare to try the moisture in this slime, for none of the water in the mud-regions is potable except when distilled. That is why we run such long pipe lines to the yellow clay regions - or depend on rain-water when those devils find and cut our pipes. I have none too many chlorate cubes either, and must try to cut down my oxygen consumption as much as I can. My tunnelling attempt of the early afternoon, and my later panic flight, burned up a perilous amount of air. Tomorrow I will reduce physical exertion to the barest minimum until I meet the reptiles and have to deal with them. I must have a good cube supply for the journey back to Terra Nova. My enemies are still on hand; I can see a circle of their feeble glow-torches around me. There
is a horror about those lights which will keep me awake.

NIGHT - VI, 14

Another full day of searching and still no way out! I am beginning to be worried about the water problem, for my canteen went dry at noon. In the afternoon there was a burst of rain, and I went back to the central chamber for the helmet which I had left as a marker - using this as a bowl and getting about two cupfuls of water. I drank most of it, but have put the slight remainder in my canteen. Lacol tablets make little headway against real thirst, and I hope there will be more rain in the night. I am leaving my helmet bottom up to catch any that falls. Food tablets are none too plentiful, but not dangerously low. I shall halve my rations from now on. The chlorate cubes are my real worry, for even without violent exercise the day's endless tramping burned a dangerous number. I feel weak from my forced economies in oxygen, and from my constantly mounting thirst. When I reduce my food I suppose I shall feel still weaker.

There is something damnable - something uncanny - about this labyrinth. I could swear that I had eliminated certain turns through charting, and yet each new trial belies some assumption I had thought established. Never before did I realize how lost we are without visual landmarks. A blind man might do better - but for most of us sight is the king of the senses. The effect of all these fruitless wanderings is one of profound discouragement. I can understand how poor Dwight must have felt. His corpse is now just a skeleton, and the sificlighs and akmans and farnoth-flies are gone. The efjen-weeds are nipping the leather clothing to pieces, for they were longer and faster-growing than I had expected. And all the while those relays of tentacled starers stand gloatingly around the barrier laughing at me and enjoying my misery. Another day and I shall go mad if I do not drop dead from exhaustion.

However, there is nothing to do but persevere. Dwight would have got out if he had kept on a minute longer. It is just possible that somebody from Terra Nova will come looking for me before long, although this is only my third day out. My muscles ache horribly, and I can't seem to rest at all lying down in this loathesome mud. Last night, despite my terrific fatigue, I slept only fitfully, and tonight I fear will be no better. I live in an endless nightmare - poised between waking and sleeping, yet neither truly awake nor truly asleep. My hand shakes, I can write no more for the time being. That circle of feeble glow-torches is hideous.

LATE AFTERNOON - VI, 15

Substantial progress! Looks good. Very weak, and did not sleep much till daylight. Then I dozed till noon, though without being at all rested. No rain, and thirst leaves me very weak. Ate an extra food tablet to keep me going, but without water it didn't help much. I dared to try a little of the slime water just once, but it made me violently sick and left me even thirstier than before. Must save chlorate cubes, so am nearly suffocating for lack of oxygen. Can't walk much of the time, but manage to crawl in the mud. About 2 P.M. I thought I recognized some passages, and got substantially nearer to the corpse - or skeleton - than I had been since the first day's trials. I was sidetracked once in a blind alley, but recovered the main trail with the aid of my chart and notes. The trouble with these jottings is that there are so many of them. They must cover three feet of the record scroll, and I have to stop for long periods to untangle them.

My head is weak from thirst, suffocation, and exhaustion, and I cannot understand all I have set down. Those damnable green things keep staring and laughing with their tentacles, and sometimes they gesticulate in a way that makes me think they share some terrible joke just beyond my perception.

It was three o'clock when I really struck my stride. There was a doorway which, according to my notes, I had not traversed before; and when I tried it I found I could crawl circuitously toward the weed-twined skeleton. The route was a sort of spiral, much like that by which I had first reached the central chamber. Whenever I came to a lateral doorway or junction I would keep to the course which seemed best to repeat that original journey. As I circled nearer and nearer to my gruesome landmark, the watchers outside intensified their cryptic gesticulations and sardonic silent laughter. Evidently they saw something grimly amusing in my progress - perceiving no doubt how helpless I would be in any encounter with them. I was content to leave them to their mirth; for although I realized my extreme weakness, I counted on the flame pistol and its numerous extra magazines to get me through the vile reptilian phalanx.

Hope now soared high, but I did not attempt to rise to my feet. Better crawl now, and save my strength for the coming encounter with the man-lizards. My advance was very slow, and the danger of straying into some blind alley very great, but nonetheless I seemed to curve steadily toward my osseous goal. The prospect gave me new strength, and for the nonce I ceased to worry about my pain, my thirst, and my scant supply of cubes. The creatures were now all massing around the entrance - gesturing, leaping, and laughing with their tentacles. Soon, I reflected, I would have to face the entire horde - and perhaps such reinforcements as they would receive from the forest.

I am now only a few yards from the skeleton, and am pausing to make this entry before emerging and breaking through the noxious band of entities. I feel confident that with my last ounce of strength I can put them to flight despite their numbers, for the range of this pistol is tremendous. Then a camp on the dry moss at the plateau's edge, and in the morning a weary trip through the jungle to Terra Nova. I shall be glad to see living men and the buildings of human beings again. The teeth of that skull gleam
and grin horribly.

TOWARD NIGHT - VI, I 5

Horror and despair. Baffled again! After making the previous entry I approached still closer to the skeleton, but suddenly encountered an intervening wall. I had been deceived once more, and was apparently back where I had been three days before, on my first futile attempt to leave the labyrinth. Whether I screamed aloud I do not know - perhaps I was too weak to utter a sound. I merely lay dazed in the mud for a long period, while the greenish things outside leaped and laughed and gestured.

After a time I became more fully conscious. My thirst and weakness and suffocation were fast gaining on me, and with my last bit of strength I put a new cube in the electrolyser - recklessly, and without regard for the needs of my journey to Terra Nova. The fresh oxygen revived me slightly, and enabled me to look about more alertly.

It seemed as if I were slightly more distant from poor Dwight than I had been at that first disappointment, and I dully wondered if I could be in some other corridor a trifle more remote. With this faint shadow of hope I laboriously dragged myself forward - but after a few feet encountered a dead end as I had on the former occasion.

This, then, was the end. Three days had taken me nowhere, and my strength was gone. I would soon go mad from thirst, and I could no longer count on cubes enough to get me back. I feebly wondered why the nightmare things had gathered so thickly around the entrance as they mocked me. Probably this was part of the mockery - to make me think I was approaching an egress which they knew did not exist.

I shall not last long, though I am resolved not to hasten matters as Dwight did. His grinning skull has just turned toward me, shifted by the groping of one of the efjeh-weeds that are devouring his leather suit. The ghoulish stare of those empty eye-sockets is worse than the staring of those lizard horrors. It lends a hideous meaning to that dead, white-toothed grin.

I shall lie very still in the mud and save all the strength I can. This record - which I hope may reach and warn those who come after me - will soon be done. After I stop writing I shall rest a long while. Then, when it is too dark for those frightful creatures to see, I shall muster up my last reserves of strength and try to toss the record scroll over the wall and the intervening corridor to the plain outside. I shall take care to send it toward the left, where it will not hit the leaping band of mocking beleaguers. Perhaps it will be lost forever in the thin mud - but perhaps it will land in some widespread clump of weeds and ultimately reach the hands of men.

If it does survive to be read, I hope it may do more than merely warn men of this trap. I hope it may teach our race to let those shining crystals stay where they are. They belong to Venus alone. Our planet does not truly need them, and I believe we have violated some obscure and mysterious law - some law buried deep in the arcane of the cosmos - in our attempts to take them. Who can tell what dark, potent, and widespread forces spur on these reptilian things who guard their treasure so strangely? Dwight and I have paid, as others have paid and will pay. But it may be that these scattered deaths are only the prelude of greater horrors to come. Let us leave to Venus that which belongs only to Venus.

I am very near death now, and fear I may not be able to throw the scroll when dusk comes. If I cannot, I suppose the man-lizards will seize it, for they will probably realize what it is. They will not wish anyone to be warned of the labyrinth - and they will not know that my message holds a plea in their own behalf. As the end approaches I feel more kindly towards the things. In the scale of cosmic entity who can say which species stands higher, or more nearly ap-proaches a space-wide organic norm - theirs or mine?

I have just taken the great crystal out of my pouch to look at in my last moments. It shines fiercely and menacingly in the red rays of the dying day. The leaping horde have noticed it, and their gestures have changed in a way I cannot understand. I wonder why they keep clustered around the entrance instead of concentrating at a still closer point in the transparent wall.

I am growing numb and cannot write much more. Things whirl around me, yet I do not lose consciousness. Can I throw this over the wall? That crystal glows so, yet the twilight is deepening.

Dark. Very weak. They are still laughing and leaping around the doorway, and have started those hellish glow-torches.

Are they going away? I dreamed I heard a sound... light in the sky.

REPORT OF WESLEY P. MILLER, SUPT. GROUP A, VENUS CRYSTAL CO.

(TERRA NOVA ON VENUS - Vl, 16)

Our Operative A-49, Kenton J. Stanfield of 5317 Marshall Street, Richmond, Va., left Terra Nova early on VI, 12, for a short-term trip indicated by detector. Due back 13th or 14th. Did not appear by evening of 15th, so Scouting Plane FR-58 with five men under my command set out at 8 P.M. to follow route with detector. Needle showed no change from earlier readings.

Followed needle to Erycinian Highland, played strong searchlights all the way. Triple-range flame-guns and D-radiation cylinders could have dispersed any ordinary hostile force of natives, or any dangerous aggregation of carnivorous skorahs.

When over the open plain on Eryx we saw a group of moving lights which we knew were native glow-torches. As we approached, they scattered into the forest. Probably seventy-five to a hundred in all. Detector indicated crystal on spot where they had been. Sailing low over this spot, our lights picked out objects on the ground. Skeleton tangled in efjeh-weeds, and complete body ten feet from it. Brought plane down near bodies, and corner of wing crashed on unseen obstruction.

Approaching bodies on foot, we came up short against a smooth, invisible barrier which puzzled us enormously. Feeling along it near the skeleton, we struck an opening, beyond which was a space with another opening leading to the skeleton. The latter, though robbed of clothing by weeds, had one of the company's numbered metal helmets beside it. It was Operative B-9, Frederick N. Dwight of Koenig's division, who had been out of Terra Nova for two months on a long commission.

Between this skeleton and the complete body there seemed to be another wall, but we could easily identify the second man as Stanfield. He had a record scroll in his left hand and a pen in his right, and seemed to have been writing when he died. No crystal was visible, but the detector indicated a huge specimen near Stanfield's body.

We had great difficulty in getting at Stanfield, but finally succeeded. The body was still warm, and a great crystal lay beside it, covered by the shallow mud. We at once studied the record scroll in the left hand, and prepared to take certain steps based on its data. The contents of the scroll forms the long narrative prefixed to this report; a narrative whose main descriptions we have verified, and which we append as an explanation of what was found. The later parts of this account show mental decay, but there is no reason to doubt the bulk of it. Stanfield obviously died of a combination of thirst, suffocation, cardiac strain, and psychological depression. His mask was in place, and freely generating oxygen despite an alarmingly low cube supply.

Our plane being damaged, we sent a wireless and called out Anderson with Repair Plane PG-7, a crew of wreckers, and a set of blasting materials. By morning FH-58 was fixed, and went back under Anderson carrying the two bodies and the crystal. We shall bury Dwight and Stanfield in the company graveyard, and ship the crystal to Chicago on the next earth-bound liner. Later, we shall adopt Stanfield's suggestion - the sound one in the saner, earlier part of his report - and bring across enough troops to wipe out the natives altogether. With a clear field, there can be scarcely any limit to the amount of crystal we can secure.

In the afternoon we studied the invisible building or trap with great care, exploring it with the aid of long guiding cords, and preparing a complete chart for our archives. We were much impressed by the design, and shall keep specimens of the substance for chemical analysis. All such knowledge will be useful when we take over the various cities of the natives. Our type C diamond drills were able to bite into the unseen material, and wreckers are now planting dynamite preparatory to a thorough blasting. Nothing will be left when we are done. The edifice forms a distinct menace to aerial and otter possible traffic.

In considering the plan of the labyrinth one is impressed not only with the irony of Dwight's fate, but with that of Stanfield as well. When trying to reach the second body from the skeleton, we could find no access on the right, but Markheim found a doorway from the first inner space some fifteen feet past Dwight and four or five past Stanfield. Beyond this was a long hall which we did not explore till later, but on the right-hand side of that hall was another doorway leading directly to the body. Stanfield could have reached the outside entrance by walking twenty-two or twenty-three feet if he had found the opening which lay directly behind him - an opening which he overlooked in his exhaustion and despair.


Written Jan 1936
Published October 1939 in Weird Tales, Vol. 34, No. 4, p. 50-68.