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Premonition

was open long before that manila envelope.

The harshness with which I reported the disappearance of his son, was transformed into the pain of my mother, when at midnight you wake up with a strange premonition

Your were entering - he told me in the middle of my dreams, I hoped to sleep on the floor, sympathize with my hunch that find you somewhere completely checked out of this awful country, alone, shivering with cold and with almost no in the stomach. Then , you push the door with violence and our eyes were in the dark of night, like two huge fireflies.

And I found myself filled with dirt and corroded, frayed shoes, hair hanging from bushes grown and my rags, I remember that when you pull the door and kissed me as if it were that easy to catch happiness. A brimming with joy that I responded with a stand , you do on the ground, then you complain about your kidneys. was from that moment that both knew that I was dead.

However we have a feeling, a strange concern that as the day goes by in a really accurate diluted, perhaps daily or maybe not. That morning, for us, had little to do with everyday life, although deep inside we knew what our actions bore a scam that we refused to recognize. Your room was on the road of hope, the worst of my troubles and worse, was young and was never going to die.

Then I went by bicycle, death always arrives on a bicycle told me an old guitar he was leaving the binges riding a bicycle and made an eyesore end collision with a truck. I instead was arrested by an army battalion required to identify, and allegedly attacked a militant guerrilla group.

I was sixteen days in captivity, full of mud and starving until one night shortly after that meeting of eyes, a coup de grace I sank into the memory. I cremated and buried in a sewer, a year after ceasing to exist for half of my people and I've been gone nine years, only exist for the hope of my mother.

remember one evening walked up and down these mountains desert where you lost me. That afternoon walked so much and find myself not you sit on a rock, in the same place where I had buried, I wanted to join my ashes in your eyes and wake up to no longer sleep on the floor. Not the case here, but yesterday came a manila envelope, in it an outline of these arid mountains where I burn and the names of my murderers.

feel that you have much work, knocking on doors and mourn in the interviews but I know that is the only way you sleep a little quieter.

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An eternal desktop

time was a foolish, lying to the feet I was suffocating, crowded streets of marches and counter-punched my little awareness about the work parapolitical, psychosocial, petrochemical and nuclear physicist. I just wanted to belong to a restful life came equipped with smoke, a chef anyone who has read the manual Acurio and clear to you with each of your excesses ...

For the various social theories he had read, not my status quo of Crazy vanal sinned. We had hoped that afternoon with all my might, was what he had longed for another week and a year ago and from ten to reduce my excited children, were not you, of course, but came from my father, seasoning my mother and the spirit Saint of the excesses and made me company.

they are probably as good parents, they gave me hedonism. Virginia, the fifth neighbor is responsible for my onanism. At a certain stage of life all the responsibilities are transferable, and lighten the baggage of this great journey that has not yet ended. Nobody wants to reach old age or loading errors committed many sins, old age and is a cruel sentence itself for recharging of unwholesome thoughts. Whatever they say the advocates of eternal life, optimistic Botox and liposuction, your mobility is hindered, your memory is reduced and some people treat you with a suspected respect. Fuck you! say the father of all vices, by the way my legitimate maker, followed by an accurate shot, would sentence: and as the countdown begins, but lewd .

The kids probably own a false experience, guardians of the "good life" the most incredulous give advice. It is impossible to fight against our nature, but this should be our reason to exist, it is impossible to escape the human tediously and start worrying about such care of our parents. It is impossible that everything can not prove to be treatable material to final today.

For these reasons, sharp fangs before death came yesterday played the voice of a writer, carefully worded my last day of life in this rambunctious show, is that I got up early (a approximately noon) stretched every joint in my body (at the time of levarme, of course) I went to the kitchen where I prepared (well actually pressed a couple buttons) and had breakfast a delicious recipe Acurio, accompanied by a formidable Château Petrus. I read the first two pages of the newspaper, the recipe of the day, the horoscope, some another notice and obituaries. I left home on that bike you'll never use and crossing the first block I made the worst of the plays, the most fatal if there is any worse, which led me to this desktop, which drafted the final pleasure of irrational emotions nice, probably unhappy for the world.

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Perhaps

was 5 am on September 1, 1999 and my mother, my brother and I, we were on the ground and ready to find a flat in Manchester, about 202 kilometers from the street Zephyr No. 4 which had hitherto lived. The reason was that there a few days later, I would start the race in Advertising and Public Relations in the School of Information Sciences.

drove about two hours my white Peugeot 205 until you reach what would be my new city for the next three years. I parked near the port and we got to work to try view all rental property that we could in a day.

Finally I loved one in the very center (as usual) behind Picasso House in Plaza de la Merced. Specifically Street Conde de Cienfuegos and there would begin an unforgettable period of my life. After two years would pass closer to the Faculty, Teatinos (when it was not even half of what is now), in Hermes Street.

Plaza de la Merced in Málaga

Before this experience just remember that I had gone twice to Malaga, one to see the Kings of small and I think the other twelve, we were at the center, near where he lived the first year.

But since I came here in 1999 I have only good memories: I met wonderful people who are still my friends, and I know they will remain so forever, although some are in London, Tres Cantos, remain in Malaga depend on where they touch to teach that year. Also finished the race in 3 years I decided, enjoy a lot, I discovered things and I was very happy, but especially for the people I met. Only I have the spine of not having been able to go travel with them to run, just to end the race earlier.

The Faculty of Communication Sciences

Malaga

Years later I kept going with some regularity: the Fair, San Juan, special occasions and when I could because he always welcomed me with open arms.

remember, for example, my first night of San Juan in Malaga in 2004, he had just found out my first finalist in the Cannes Advertising Festival and never forget how all my friends, who had been classmates are really glad for me, and even gave him more important than me. It is very difficult to meet with someone who is happy about the good things that happen and I was fortunate to find many who have been on the good, the bad and good again and always be grateful.

The penultimate good memory of what I have Málaga June 2010 when the Andalucian Short Film Competition Málaga Provincial Council, received the Award RTVA with my second short film "The Note" "The Note". It was exciting, was the first award he had received that I go to pick up and I felt in some way, as a prophet in my country, I was recognized among the mine.

Here I am with RTVA Award for "The Note / Note" in my hands right after receiving it.

This year, on March 5 last, I had another good second last time this city has given me so much, getting back RTVA Award in Short Film Contest Andaluces of the Delegation of Malaga, this case for my third short film "La Cinta" my most personal and most time I've spent so far.

picture of the winners of the 2011 edition of the Andalusian Short Film Competition of the Diputación de Málaga.

Once I felt like I never left, as if in that city open to the sea, open-minded, where I lived so much and met so many people it's worth, I say that there I will always have a place, a place to go, a beacon to help me reach my destination and so we always be grateful. I hope to return soon.

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Malaga is not doing so bad ... Maybe today

"The Note" ("The Note") continues to collect awards for the world. On this occasion, my second short film has gone to another part of the world, has gone to Australia to be selected and screened at
Prestigious Film Festival:

Byron Bay International Film Festival .

Byron Bay Festival poster this year.


Specifically, will be displayed in the Experimental section Case Show on Sunday 13 March.


Here you have the whole program:


Http://www.bbff.com.au/programme

image of my second short film "The Note" ("The Note")

When a my short film is in the other the world, in a festival as prestigious, with 2010 Oscar winner for Best Animated Short Film: "Logorama" :

O in the same category, competing with a job as "The Third & The Seventh" about which I spoke in this blog few months ago:

http://jorgemrodrigo.blogspot.com/2010/04/third-seventh-o-como-convertir-el-3d-en.html .

elaborate and fun addition to the French work "Pixel", where the city of New York is invaded by all the 8-bit video games have existed, mixing 3D and live action.

O sharing site and the Video Clip Festival " Splitting The Atom" the British group Massive Attack for which I am a fan. A different and interesting video clip, I would say that even relaxing. Done in 3D, looking for a different effect, a monochrome 3D diamond shaped.

When one of my short films in a festival and when I get this kind of news about some of my work on some of my stories I:

Well, maybe not in doing so bad ...

"The Note" has achieved the award for Best Live Action Short Film Jury of the National Press Film in the "International Festival of Poor Cinema Humberto Solas" of Cuba. E l RTVA for Best Short Film Award in the "Short Film Contest Andalusians of the Provincial de Málaga " be Finalist in the" Contest MálagaCrea Videocreation. And 22 Selections and Short Film Festival from 10 different countries as the ; important Festival "Message To Man" of St. Petersburg, Russia, the "Trail Dance Film Festival in the United States, considered one of the 25 festivals world's coolest according to trade magazine" MovieMaker Magazine's ", the" International Film Festival Zoom - Zblizenia "of Poland, the" International Film Festival Palencia ", the" Backup Festival " Germany, or "Grossmann Film and Wine Festival in Slovenia, among others.

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"La Cinta", is heard by Wim Wenders in Berlin.

This afternoon, starting at 20:30 and within the series Traveler, my third short film will be screened, " The Ribbon "in the 7 th edition of the Directors Lounge Berlin.

Home my third short film "La Cinta"


The Festival, which gives the same time that the famous Berlin Film Festival and Berlinale, is a place for filmmakers, video artists and anyone who tries to express his film experimentally.

This live two different faces of the film in one place: Berlin, a city always cultural activity.


In 2009, during the 5 th edition of the Directors Lounge, was screened twice in my first short film "Telemachus."

Image of my first short film "Telemachus"

The curious note is that while Wim Wenders released in Berlinale his documentary "Pina", work on the choreographer Pina Bausch, which is made in 3D (and, from what I've seen, has a very great visual beauty), a few yards away can be heard on the tribute to German director does in "La Cinta", particularly in the stage of dreams.
Who knows? Wenders himself may be, under the sky over Berlin, get to see or at least listen to "The Ribbon.


Here you have the link of today's program:

http : / / berlinlounge.tumblr.com/tagged/17th% 20Feb% 202011


and trailers of the two works that share space and time, "Pina" and "The Tape"

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in memory of Maria

Perhaps the sign was our hair of our meeting. The outward signs charge effect when the souls are not yet known. I'll probably just look for the first time, I remember riding a horse with long braids and look defiant. Although the truth of that memory, has more to do with a brown mule, you almost always look sad and shy, but always with these beautiful hair weaving your hair.

The existence of yours has always been a mystery, I arrived on August every year in a provincial bus, crossed the stone bridge amazed at this new place, so small and old where it happened and now both so little to fear dying of boredom. I feel you did not like the visits, because when wood was playing that little door corroded by rain and wind you and you were gone early at the farm. Always in your work did not spare one day solar calendar, highlighting the laziness that accompanies me to these times.

or not I met you by chance, how I met Ofelia in her tears, as I did with Magnolia in its arrogance, but you were going to make the connection with my present. I never knew I sensed your pain nor your joys, your relationship with summarized: a simple August each year, shy glances, to unknown thoughts, a kiss on the cheek, or earthenware dinner and warm bread. Of course I wanted, I wanted as a grandson loves the unknown that comes from afar to bother a sad life in the Andes from Cusco. I wanted to silence the senses, like the Andean love so hurt and starts crying.

Back a few years later as a teenager and learned. So is the age of consciousness tasteless, stupid and stubborn I was wondering how this arrogant teenager had spent so little known. You were in front sentadito Welcome preparing food in a kitchen with wood fire clay, speaking on so sweet a language not understood. It is hard to miss the roast rabbit you handle yourself trapped in the recesses of the room, there was much mystery as prepared by either by language or herbs that dragged them out of a wooden box. I always thought that was a magical stew recipe that made me special.

do not think I remember, you were very drunk that day of our birthday. It was a beautiful morning, do not miss your magic recipe, or Andean melodies that accompanied the fall of night. The guests cheered as the liquor ran their bodies and the two danced like never before do it again. Huaynos old sad that only you dared to sing and dance in the privacy of the field. That night was the exception to our lives, your song, my dance, that night I was born to my past and you enfold me with that red poncho. Know that I let go of the red poncho in many years, took place as it walked, ran or crawled until he lost his color and it became frayed inside me, your memory, the memory of where I come from, the love my past.

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The Poncho Colorado City Gold Seeker

had the need to crush the city, wander to force small discoveries that allow me to savor the unknown ingredient of which were made crusted streets, desolate, boiling of a tropical sun, so full of stories minimum that could perhaps be found.

How to find a trace buried in oblivion? How to find this nonsense that do not make me a sad archaeologist who imagine in science a great story? But every step brings me to new landfills, wrapped in very rare bug antennas anal mouth and teeth. Again the sun appalled that provides me more tired, it is useless, stumbling, find no more outlaws and melancholy of the revolution, it is not possible any love affair or new plans to attack that your damn quiet. Only you may sleep in the city.

Finder ruins, should justify that even to see them must have a high measure against presbyopia, but the truth is that an employee of the municipality does not need much to clean the filth and find a skull Pleistocene. May have come late to important events or maybe not these events are so promising, sort of like sending a trainee to an inhospitable area where he is believed to have sighted a mother ship, only to escape their presence. Perhaps it is my kind of a cosmonaut reporter, someone that has recycled stories magic concoction, cachivachero market of the invention in huge high-ceilinged rooms of the hospice where nothing ever happened.

Morning surprise me at the table in a bar, with arms folded above his forehead, looking directly at my broken ankle. React and then I review the frayed and stained pants suit me home, I pass the slow look of the old style Westers and concluded that all together gives me away: Filibuster, vagabond, confused, storyteller, search gold.

And to be happy I need to support my hopes on a metaphysical truth, then I lie religiously every morning with a divine truth.