Distintas visiones sobre los Hijras de India y Paquistán:

The Hijras -men who dress and act like women- have been a presence in India for generations. Within South Asian society they maintain a third-gender role that has become institutionalized through tradition.

Hijras are often defined as eunuchs (castrated males) and acknowledged both in Hindu and Muslim cultures. Numerous references to eunuchs in the royal courts of India's Muslim rulers are cited as the Hijras' legacy. The fact that many don't consider themselves true Hijras until they have undergone the "emasculation operation" links them to this tradition, as do elements of Islamic practice that they observe, such as burying rather than cremating their dead.

Dual-gender figures in Hinduism provide other sources of identification in a religious context. The deity Shiva sometimes assumes the form of a woman; Arjuna in the Mahabharata epic lived as a eunuch during his exile. Both Hindu and Muslim Hijras are devotees of the mother goddess Bahuchara Mata; her temple in the state of Gujarat is one of their cultural centers.

Hijras refer to themselves using feminine pronouns and expect others to do so. They typically live together in the traditional commune arrangement of five or more "chelas" (disciples), supervised by a "guru." When a new chela is accepted into a Hijra household, she assumes not only the guru's surname but also membership in the guru's "house," one of seven fictive lineages that confer a sense of kinship and identity, each house having its own history and rules of behavior. She receives training in singing, dancing, and other activities to enable her to earn a livelihood.

Chelas are expected to turn their earnings over to the guru, who manages the funds for household upkeep. Gurus are expected to meet chelas' needs for food, clothing, and pocket allowance. Sources of livelihood include performing at marriage and birth celebrations, begging for alms, and prostitution.[link]

---

(Hijras) are for the most part kidnapped and forcibly castrated without their consent. This takes place in crude surgeries that kill a large percentage of those who undergo them. Hijra gangs target good-looking or effeminate teenagers or youth. Once they are castrated and brainwashed, they become part of and help propagate the (quite well-organized) hijra gangs. They have very few options at this point anyway, since not even their own families would want them back.

'Culturally accepted' - hardly. Hijras are treated with revulsion and disgust. They beg for money, but people only pay them to make the embarrassing creatures go away. The only exception to this is at weddings, where their presence is sought as being conducive to good luck. [link]

---

Another way of stigmatization stemming from colonial times is the ideas that "hijras kidnap children and force them to be castrated and become hijra". This is a parallel to the western legend that "transgenders could have a bad influence on our children". The Indian police has investigated acclaimed cases of "hijras kidnapping children" and has found none of them to be true. In fact, many mukhannathun in India and Pakistan care for children that have been left alone by their families with much love. (...)

Today hijras are very active in local politics. Especially in India, but also in Pakistan.

And, besides having been stigmatized during colonial times, many have an impressive amount of voters. A new slogan arose: "There is one solution to useless politicians, give the mandate to eunuchs." (...)

In hindu-folk-lore there is an old legend according to which "in the end of time there will be an age in which the hijras will rule", because of a blessing from God. Many hijras believe this time has come! [link]

---

"The people have checked out the gentleman politicians, they have tried out the lady politicians, but all of them have failed them," said Mausi, 28. "Now, they want to try us." [link]

---

The change is most dramatic in the male domain of politics, where Ms. Nehru and other eunuchs are proving to be a positive influence. In Hissar's city hall, local officials, all men, praise Ms. Nehru; one suggests eunuchs are the perfect antidote to India's political corruption and nepotism. "Shobha doesn't have any self-interests, any children or family," says V.P. Sangwan, city council secretary. [link]

---

If a child is born with any deformity of the genitals they are destined to join the hijras, whether they want to or not. The hijras will wait until the child is twelve or thirteen and then gather outside the house demanding the child as theirs. Even if the parents do not want to part with the child, they ultimately do so.

It is a risky business being a small boy living on the streets in any part of the world, but especially so in India, as there is the added risk of being transformed into a eunuch. The eunuchs gain the child's trust by providing food, shelter and friendship. [link]

---

The style of begging is very aggressive. In groups of three or four they confront individuals, clapping and making gestures with their fingers. Give them money and they will bless you and your family and pray for increased libido for you and for male heirs for your family. Refusal is followed by abuse, and obscene gestures, and some of them will lift their "petticoats", exposing their genitals and cursing.
(...)
As we gaind the confidence of the elders in the Hijra community, some broke down and said they were contemplating suicide because they did not want to go on living in this way. We learned that well-organised gangs kidnap children in poor areas of India or buy them from starving parents for as little as 30 rupees. The boys are then brought to the cities, castrated, and set up as beggars, who will be money-making machines for up to 40 years. These Mafia-type kidnap gangs thus exploit the religious sentiments and collective psyche of the Hindu community. They provide protection and living quarters for the Hijras, who in turn pass on a percentage of their earnings to the gang in charge of their area. [link]

---

"If, in our society, a defective calf is born, such calves are donated to a temple," a kindly and helpful police detective in the city of Hyderabad tells Ms. Jaffrey. "Similarly, if an impotent boy is born, or a disabled type, such boys were donated or given to the eunuch societies." [link]

---

Credit card companies have started sending eunuchs to recover money from delinquent customers. The recovery rate is high; unlike with musclemen who use the power of fear, which can be dealt with, eunuchs use the power of shame and embarrassment, which is much more difficult to handle. Imaging ten hijras standing outside your house, clapping and singing and drawing attention to you and your problems. Eunuchs have also been used as tools to get back at enemies. If you don't like somebody, send eunuchs across to embarrass them. [link]

[link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]

Reportes de trips con honguitos [link], curiosamente categorizados en niveles que van desde:

Level 1 - This level produces a mild "stoning" effect, with some visual enhancement (i.e. brighter colours, etcetera). Some short term memory anomalies. Left/right brain communication changes causing music to sound "wider".

hasta:

Level 5 - Total loss of visual connection with reality. The senses cease to function in the normal way. Total loss of ego. Merging with space, other objects, or the universe. The loss of reality becomes so severe that it defies explanation. The earlier levels are relatively easy to explain in terms of measureable changes in perception and thought patterns. This level is different in that the actual universe within which things are normally perceived, ceases to exist! Satori enlightenment (and other such labels).

Siendo un trip nivel 5 algo como:

"(...) After I unpluged the phone I went into the bath room, there is 2 large mirrors that face each other so I grabed a seat and looked into one of the mirrors. I turned out the lights, and stared intensly into the mirror man that was a mind fuck, I saw hundreds of different worlds, each one had a consience mind trying to talk to me, (...) i wasnt scared i was happy as hell (...) I could see my soul being sucked into the spirit realm, It was so butiful there are no abjects only energy waves sound and light, by focusing on the energywaves I saw that each one was its own consience, and that I too was only made of energy at that point. (...) I could then see my soul fall into a worepool of light and energy. At this point I had complete control of time, and the universe. This new realm that I had gone too was heven to me I could travle to any point in time past prensnt and future. Not only that but i could recall past lives at will, I had visoins of wars thousands of years ago (...)" [link]

Tamara Lempicka


[link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]

Miklos Radnoti was born in Budapest in 1909, and orphaned at the age of 12. He published a number of collections of poems before the war and was a fierce anti-fascist. In the 1940's he was interned in various work camps, the last time being in Bor, Yugoslavia at a copper mine, to which he was driven in a forced march with other internees. Along the way, he and 22 other prisoners were murdered near the town of Abda sometime between November 6 and 10, 1944 and tossed into a mass grave. After the war, his body was exhumed and his last poems were found in his field jacket, written in pencil in a small Serbian exercise book.

---

¿Ves?, anochece. Feroz, erizada de púas,
la valla de roble y la barraca flotan, aspiradas por la noche.
El cuadro de nuestro cautiverio escapa a la lenta mirada,
y sólo la razón -sólo ella- conoce la tensión de la alambrada.
¿Ves, amada? Aquí hasta la fantasía sólo así cobra alas.
Nuestros cuerpos magullados serán disueltos por el sueño hermoso, liberador,
y entonces todo el campo emprenderá la marcha.

Harapientos, rapados, roncando, los prisioneros echan a volar
desde las cimas ciegas de Serbia hasta ocultos parajes de la patria.
¿Existen todavía esos parajes? ¿Y qué ha sido de nuestras casas?
¿Las omitieron las bombas? ¿Están como cuando partimos?
Y ese que gime a mi derecha y el que yace a mi izquierda, ¿regresarán?
Dime, ¿hay todavía una patria donde comprendan este hexámetro?
Sin poner los acentos, tanteando en cada renglón,
escribo en la penumbra, escribo como vivo,
casi sin ver, recorriendo el papel como una oruga:
la lámpara, el cuaderno, todo me lo quitaron los guardianes.

Ningún correo llega, sólo la niebla aplasta la barraca.
Entre falsos rumores y parásitos aquí viven franceses, polacos,
italianos ruidosos, serbios separatistas, judíos melancólicos.
Cuerpos febriles y rotos que, a pesar de todo, viven una vida,
esperan buenas nuevas, palabras femeninas, un libre destino humano,
y, mientras llega el fin, envueltos en la espesa penumbra, milagros.

Estoy tendido en la tabla, entre insectos, animal cautivo. El asedio
de las pulgas se reanuda, pero el enjambre de las moscas se ha calmado.
Ya es de noche. ¿Ves? El cautiverio es un día más corto
y la vida también es un día más corto. El campo duerme. El paisaje
se baña en la luna y los alambres se atezan de nuevo en su luz,
y, a través de la ventana, las sombras de los guardias armados
marchan proyectadas en el muro entre los rumores de la noche.

El campo duerme. ¿Ves, amada? Se escucha el susurrar del sueño,
alguien gime sobresaltado, gira en el camastro, y
cae otra vez, pálido, en el sueño. Sentado, sólo yo velo,
en mi boca una colilla reemplaza el sabor
de tus besos, y no acude el sueño sosegante
pues sin ti ya no puedo morir ni vivir.

---

Yet, I write, and I live in the midst of this insane world like
that oak there: it knows that it is to be cut down,
and although it is marked with a white cross,
indicating that tomorrow the area will be cleared
by the woodcutter - while expecting him, it puts forth a new leaf.

[es importante leer esta traducción] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]

Pleasant it is, when over the great sea the winds shake the waters,
To gaze down from shore on the trials of others;
Not because seeing other people struggle is sweet to us,
But because the fact that we ourselves are free from such ills strikes us as pleasant.
Pleasant it is also to behold great armies battling on a plain,
When we ourselves have no part in their peril.
But nothing is sweeter than to occupy a lofty sanctuary of the mind,
Well fortified with the teachings of the wise,
Where we may look down on others as they stumble along,
Vainly searching for the true path of life...

Lucrecio, extracto de "De Rerum Natura". [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]

Máquinas de presunto Movimiento Perpetuo

¿Recuerdas cuando empezaste a leer? Sin duda pensabas que algún día encontrarías la verdad en los libros, las respuestas a los interrogantes sobre la vida que ibas descubriendo a tu alrededor. Pero nunca encontraste lo que esperabas. Si hubieras estado despierto te habrías dado cuenta de que los libros no son más que convenciones, y son tan poco parecidos a la vida como una partida de ajedrez. La palabra escrita es un tamiz. Sólo la parte de realidad que se ajusta a su trama es capaz de pasar por ella y, en la mayoría de los casos, lo que pasa es insuficiente. (...) La verdadera dificultad de la comunicación proviene de las convenciones sociales, de una amplia conspiración que coincide en aceptar el mundo como algo que en absoluto se corresponde con la realidad. (...)

La literatura es un mecanismo de defensa social. Acuérdate otra vez de cuando eras niño. Creías seguramente que al crecer encontrarías un mundo de verdaderos adultos, esa clase de personas que hacen que funcionen las cosas, y también que entenderías cómo y por qué funcionan.

(...) En cambio, a medida que han ido pasando los años, te habrás dado cuenta, por tus experiencias más o menos afortunadas, de que ese tipo de personas ni existen, ni han existido jamás en ningún lugar. La vida no es más que un enredo, los adultos no son sino niños grandes que han perdido viveza y han ganado estupidez y resentimiento, y ninguno sabe qué es lo que hace seguir adelante todo esto. Pero nadie te descubre el pastel.

Henry Miller lo hace. Andersen nos cuenta la historia del niño y el traje nuevo del Emperador. Miller es el mismo niño del cuento. Nos habla del Emperador, de los granos de su culo, de las verrugas de sus partes pudendas y de la porquería que tiene entre los dedos de los pies. Naturalmente, otros escritores del pasado han hecho lo mismo, y son los grandes de la literatura, los verdaderos clásicos. Pero lo han hecho dentro de las convenciones de la literatura. Se han servido de las formas de la Gran Mentira para exponer la verdad.

---

Cuando arrastro el tronco podrido
desde el fondo del estanque,
lo siento pesado como una piedra.
Lo dejo tendido al sol
durante un mes; y luego lo desmenuzo
en trozos, que voy separando
para hacer astillas, y los extiendo
para que se sequen más...

---

Lying here quietly beside you,
My cheek against your firm, quiet thighs,
The calm music of Boccherini
Washing over us in the quiet,
As the sun leaves the housetops and goes
Out over the Pacific, quiet --
So quiet the sun moves beyond us,
So quiet as the sun always goes,
So quiet, our bodies, worn with the
Times and the penances of love, our
Brains curled, quiet in their shells, dormant,
Our hearts slow, quiet, reliable
In their interlocked rhythms, the pulse
In your thigh caressing my cheek. Quiet.

---

La televisión está concebida para despertar los impulsos más sádicos, los más perversos y los más codiciosos. Un programa infantil nos da una visión auténtica de lo que es el infierno, pero estamos tan acostumbrados a ver cosas así que, simplemente, ni nos fijamos. Si algunas personas que han tenido verdaderas visiones del infierno, como Virgilio, Dante u Homero, pudieran ver estos programas se quedarían horrorizadas.

Kenneth Rexroth: [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]

Panteísmo Científico


[link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]

Electric Sheep realizes the collective dream of sleeping computers from all over the internet. It's a distributed screen-saver that harnesses idle computers into a render farm with the purpose of animating and evolving artificial life-forms.

Each sheep is about 4 seconds long. Its shape, motion, and color are specified by a genetic code, a long string of numbers. If a user sees a sheep they like, they may press the up arrow key to vote for it. Sheep that receive more votes live longer and are more likely to reproduce. These votes form a fitness function for the esthetic evolution of the flock. [link]