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GOTHIC LITERATURE FROM EDGAR ALLAN POE MORELLAMorella
by Edgar Allan Poe Itself, alone by itself, eternally one, and single.
Plato. Sympos.
(This tale was published in the Southern Literary Messenger and contains the complete verses of the beautiful poem to the Mother of God, including the first four lines which are often omitted. Although this short poem is one of the most glorious tributes ever uttered to the Madonna, Rev. Rufus Griswold, leading litterateur of Poe's age, omitted it from his collection of Christian Ballads.) WITH a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never before known; but the fires were not of Eros, and bitter and tormenting to my spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met; and fate bound us together at the altar; and I never spoke of passion nor thought of love. She, however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me alone rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; it is a happiness to dream. Morella's erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents were of no common order, her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this and in many matters, became her 'pupil' I soon, however, found that, perhaps on account of her Presburg education, she placed before me a number of those mystical writings which are usually considered the mere dross of the early German literature. These, for what reason I could not imagine, were her favourite and constant study-and that in process of time they became my own, should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence of habit and example. In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism which I read to be discovered, unless I am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts. Persuaded of this, I abandoned myself implicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with an unflinching heart into the intricacies of her studies. And then-then, when poring over forbidden pages, I felt a forbidden spirit enkindling within me — would Morella place her cold band upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned themselves in upon my memory. Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes — At morn — at noon — at twilight dim When the Hours flew brightly by, Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in what might be termed theological morality they will be readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all events, be little understood, The wild Pantheism of Fichte; the modified Paliggenesia (Gr.) of Pythagoras; and above all, the doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling, were generally the points of discussion presented the most of beauty to the imaginative Morella. That identity which is termed personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to consist in the saneness of rational being. And since by person we understand an intelligent essence having reason, and since there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, it is this which makes us all to be that which we call ourselves, thereby distinguishing us from other beings that think, and giving us our personal identity. But the principium individuationis, the notion of that identity which at death is or is not lost for ever, was to me, at all times, a consideration of intense interest; not more from the perplexing and exciting nature of its consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them. But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery of my wife's manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of her musical language, 'nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all this, but did not upbraid; she seemed conscious of my weakness or my folly, and, smiling, called it fate. She seemed also conscious of a cause, to me unknown, for the gradual alienation of my regard; but she gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was- she woman, and pined away daily. In time the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale forehead became prominent; and one instant my nature melted into pity, but in the next I met the glance of her meaning eyes, and then my soul sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some dreary and unfathomable abyss. Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and consuming desire for the moment of Morella's decease? I did; but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many days, for many weeks and irksome months, until my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my mind, and I grew furious through delay, and, with the heart of a fiend, cursed the days and the hours and the bitter moments, which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life declined, like shadows in the dying of the day.
But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in heaven, Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim mist over all the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and amid the rich October leaves of the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen. "It is a day of days," she said, as I approached; "a day of all days either to live or die. It is a fair day f or the sons of earth and life~ah, more fair for the daughters of heaven and death!" I kissed her forehead, and she continued: "I am dying, yet shall I live." "Morella! " "The days have never been when thou couldst love me-but her whom ,in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore." "Morella! " "I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that affection — ah, how little!- which thou didst feel for me, Morella. And when my spirit departs shall the child live-thy child and mine, Morella's. But thy days shall be days of sorrow-that sorrow which is the most lasting of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of, trees. For the hours of thy happiness are over and joy is not gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Paestum twice in a year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian with time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on the earth, as do the Moslemin at Mecca." "Morella!" I cried, "Morella! how knowest thou this?" but she turned away her face upon the pillow and a slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more. Yet, as she had foretold, her child, to which in dying she had given birth, which breathed not until the mother breathed no more, her child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in stature and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who had departed, and I loved her with a love more fervent than I had believed it possible to feel for any denizen of earth. But, ere long the heaven of this pure affection became darkened, and gloom, and horror, and grief swept over it in clouds. I said the child grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange, indeed, was her rapid increase in bodily size, but terrible, oh! terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the development of her mental being. Could it be otherwise, when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the adult powers and faculties of the woman? when the lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy? and when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I found hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye? When, I say, all this became evident to my appalled senses, when I could no longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which trembled to receive it, is it to be wondered at that suspicions, of a nature fearful and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my thoughts fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories of the entombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of the world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore, and in the rigorous seclusion of my home, watched with an agonizing anxiety over all which concerned the beloved. And as years rolled away, and I gazed day after day upon her holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and poured over her maturing form, day after day did I discover new points of resemblance in the child to her mother, the melancholy and the dead. And hourly grew darker these shadows of similitude, and more full, and more definite, and more perplexing, and more hideously terrible in their aspect. For that her smile was like her mother's I could bear; but then I shuddered at its too perfect identity, that her eyes were like Morella's I could endure; but then they, too, often looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella's own intense and bewildering meaning. And in the contour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves therein, and in the sad musical tones of her speech, and above all — oh, above all, in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror, for a worm that would not die. Thus passed away two lustra of her life, and as yet my daughter remained nameless upon the earth. "My child," and "my love," were the designations usually prompted by a father's affection, and the rigid seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse. Morella's name died with her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to the daughter; it was impossible to speak. Indeed, during the brief period of her existence, the latter had received no impressions from the outward world, save such as might have been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. But at length the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind, in its unnerved and agitated condition, a present deliverance from the terrors of my destiny. And at the baptismal font I hesitated for a name. And many titles of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times, of my own and foreign lands, came thronging to my lips, with many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy, and the good. What prompted me then to disturb the memory of the buried dead? What demon urged me to breathe that sound, which in its very recollection was wont to make ebb the purple blood in torrents from the temples to the heart? What fiend spoke from the recesses of my soul, when amid those dim aisles, and in the silence of the night, I whispered within the ears of the holy man the syllables — Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the features of my child, and overspread them with hues of death, as starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned her glassy eyes from the earth to heaven, -and falling prostrate on the black slabs of our ancestral vault, responded-"I am here!" Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple sounds within my ear, and thence like molten lead rolled hissingly into my brain. Years-years may pass away, but the memory of that epoch never. Nor was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and the vine-but the hemlock and the cypress overshadowed me night and day. And I kept no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my fate faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and its figures passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them all I beheld only — Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed but one sound within my ears, and the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore — Morella. But she died; and with my own hands I bore her to the tomb; and I laughed with a long and bitter laugh as I found no traces of the first in the charnel where I laid the second. — Morella. -The End- Canciones para disfrutar en Halloween y dia de muertosVAMPYRE KISS Fall into my arms my love
DIA DE LOS MUERTOS Here in this dream world
I AM TNE ONE
I AM THE ONE Carta de López Obrador al pueblo mexicanoCarta de López Obrador al pueblo mexicano
Andrés Manuel López Obrador
El texto es el siguiente:
“PETROLERAS PENDIENTES
Andrés Manuel López Obrador "Cada hombre carga sobre sus hombros la responsabilidad de sus palabras y actos" Here's How to Fix the Wall Street Mess ...from Michael Moore
Friends,
The richest 400 Americans -- that's right, just four hundred people -- own MORE than the bottom 150 million Americans combined. 400 rich Americans have got more stashed away than half the entire country! Their combined net worth is $1.6 trillion. During the eight years of the Bush Administration, their wealth has increased by nearly $700 billion -- the same amount that they are now demanding we give to them for the "bailout." Why don't they just spend the money they made under Bush to bail themselves out? They'd still have nearly a trillion dollars left over to spread amongst themselves!
Of course, they are not going to do that -- at least not voluntarily. George W. Bush was handed a $127 billion surplus when Bill Clinton left office. Because that money was OUR money and not his, he did what the rich prefer to do -- spend it and never look back. Now we have a $9.5 trillion debt. Why on earth would we even think of giving these robber barons any more of our money?
I would like to propose my own bailout plan. My suggestions, listed below, are predicated on the singular and simple belief that the rich must pull themselves up by their own platinum bootstraps. Sorry, fellows, but you drilled it into our heads one too many times: There... is... no... free... lunch. And thank you for encouraging us to hate people on welfare! So, there will be no handouts from us to you. The Senate, tonight, is going to try to rush their version of a "bailout" bill to a vote. They must be stopped. We did it on Monday with the House, and we can do it again today with the Senate.
It is clear, though, that we cannot simply keep protesting without proposing exactly what it is we think Congress should do. So, after consulting with a number of people smarter than Phil Gramm, here is my proposal, now known as "Mike's Rescue Plan." It has 10 simple, straightforward points. They are:
1. APPOINT A SPECIAL PROSECUTOR TO CRIMINALLY INDICT ANYONE ON WALL STREET WHO KNOWINGLY CONTRIBUTED TO THIS COLLAPSE. Before any new money is expended, Congress must commit, by resolution, to criminally prosecute anyone who had anything to do with the attempted sacking of our economy. This means that anyone who committed insider trading, securities fraud or any action that helped bring about this collapse must go to jail. This Congress must call for a Special Prosecutor who will vigorously go after everyone who created the mess, and anyone else who attempts to scam the public in the future.
2. THE RICH MUST PAY FOR THEIR OWN BAILOUT. They may have to live in 5 houses instead of 7. They may have to drive 9 cars instead of 13. The chef for their mini-terriers may have to be reassigned. But there is no way in hell, after forcing family incomes to go down more than $2,000 dollars during the Bush years, that working people and the middle class are going to fork over one dime to underwrite the next yacht purchase.
If they truly need the $700 billion they say they need, well, here is an easy way they can raise it:
All of this combined should be enough to end the calamity. The rich will get to keep their mansions and their servants, and our United States government ("COUNTRY FIRST!") will have a little leftover to repair some roads, bridges and schools.
3. BAIL OUT THE PEOPLE LOSING THEIR HOMES, NOT THE PEOPLE WHO WILL BUILD AN EIGHTH HOME. There are 1.3 million homes in foreclosure right now. That is what is at the heart of this problem. So instead of giving the money to the banks as a gift, pay down each of these mortgages by $100,000. Force the banks to renegotiate the mortgage so the homeowner can pay on its current value. To insure that this help does no go to speculators and those who have tried to make money by flipping houses, this bailout is only for people's primary residence. And in return for the $100K paydown on the existing mortgage, the government gets to share in the holding of the mortgage so that it can get some of its money back. Thus, the total initial cost of fixing the mortgage crisis at its roots (instead of with the greedy lenders) is $150 billion, not $700 billion.
And let's set the record straight. People who have defaulted on their mortgages are not "bad risks." They are our fellow Americans, and all they wanted was what we all want and most of us still get: a home to call their own. But during the Bush years, millions of them lost the decent paying jobs they had. Six million fell into poverty. Seven million lost their health insurance. And every one of them saw their real wages go down by $2,000. Those who dare to look down on these Americans who got hit with one bad break after another should be ashamed. We are a better, stronger, safer and happier society when all of our citizens can afford to live in a home that they own.
4. IF YOUR BANK OR COMPANY GETS ANY OF OUR MONEY IN A "BAILOUT," THEN WE OWN YOU. Sorry, that's how it's done. If the bank gives me money so I can buy a house, the bank "owns" that house until I pay it all back -- with interest. Same deal for Wall Street. Whatever money you need to stay afloat, if our government considers you a safe risk -- and necessary for the good of the country -- then you can get a loan, but we will own you. If you default, we will sell you. This is how the Swedish government did it and it worked.
5. ALL REGULATIONS MUST BE RESTORED. THE REAGAN REVOLUTION IS DEAD. This catastrophe happened because we let the fox have the keys to the henhouse. In 1999, Phil Gramm authored a bill to remove all the regulations that governed Wall Street and our banking system. The bill passed and Clinton signed it. Here's what Sen. Phil Gramm, McCain's chief economic advisor, said at the bill signing:
This bill must be repealed. Bill Clinton can help by leading the effort for the repeal of the Gramm bill and the reinstating of even tougher regulations regarding our financial institutions. And when they're done with that, they can restore the regulations for the airlines, the inspection of our food, the oil industry, OSHA, and every other entity that affects our daily lives. All oversight provisions for any "bailout" must have enforcement monies attached to them and criminal penalties for all offenders.
6. IF IT'S TOO BIG TO FAIL, THEN THAT MEANS IT'S TOO BIG TO EXIST. Allowing the creation of these mega-mergers and not enforcing the monopoly and anti-trust laws has allowed a number of financial institutions and corporations to become so large, the very thought of their collapse means an even bigger collapse across the entire economy. No one or two companies should have this kind of power. The so-called "economic Pearl Harbor" can't happen when you have hundreds -- thousands -- of institutions where people have their money. When you have a dozen auto companies, if one goes belly-up, we don't face a national disaster. If you have three separately-owned daily newspapers in your town, then one media company can't call all the shots (I know... What am I thinking?! Who reads a paper anymore? Sure glad all those mergers and buyouts left us with a strong and free press!). Laws must be enacted to prevent companies from being so large and dominant that with one slingshot to the eye, the giant falls and dies. And no institution should be allowed to set up money schemes that no one can understand. If you can't explain it in two sentences, you shouldn't be taking anyone's money.
7. NO EXECUTIVE SHOULD BE PAID MORE THAN 40 TIMES THEIR AVERAGE EMPLOYEE, AND NO EXECUTIVE SHOULD RECEIVE ANY KIND OF "PARACHUTE" OTHER THAN THE VERY GENEROUS SALARY HE OR SHE MADE WHILE WORKING FOR THE COMPANY. In 1980, the average American CEO made 45 times what their employees made. By 2003, they were making 254 times what their workers made. After 8 years of Bush, they now make over 400 times what their average employee makes. How this can happen at publicly held companies is beyond reason. In Britain, the average CEO makes 28 times what their average employee makes. In Japan, it's only 17 times! The last I heard, the CEO of Toyota was living the high life in Tokyo. How does he do it on so little money? Seriously, this is an outrage. We have created the mess we're in by letting the people at the top become bloated beyond belief with millions of dollars. This has to stop. Not only should no executive who receives help out of this mess profit from it, but any executive who was in charge of running his company into the ground should be fired before the company receives any help.
8. STRENGTHEN THE FDIC AND MAKE IT A MODEL FOR PROTECTING NOT ONLY PEOPLE'S SAVINGS, BUT ALSO THEIR PENSIONS AND THEIR HOMES. Obama was correct yesterday to propose expanding FDIC protection of people's savings in their banks to $250,000. But this same sort of government insurance must be given to our nation's pension funds. People should never have to worry about whether or not the money they've put away for their old age will be there. This will mean strict government oversight of companies who manage their employees' funds -- or perhaps it means that the companies will have to turn over those funds and their management to the government. People's private retirement funds must also be protected, but perhaps it's time to consider not having one's retirement invested in the casino known as the stock market. Our government should have a solemn duty to guarantee that no one who grows old in this country has to worry about ending up destitute.
9. EVERYBODY NEEDS TO TAKE A DEEP BREATH, CALM DOWN, AND NOT LET FEAR RULE THE DAY. Turn off the TV! We are not in the Second Great Depression. The sky is not falling. Pundits and politicians are lying to us so fast and furious it's hard not to be affected by all the fear mongering. Even I, yesterday, wrote to you and repeated what I heard on the news, that the Dow had the biggest one day drop in its history. Well, that's true in terms of points, but its 7% drop came nowhere close to Black Monday in 1987 when the stock market in one day lost 23% of its value. In the '80s, 3,000 banks closed, but America didn't go out of business. These institutions have always had their ups and downs and eventually it works out. It has to, because the rich do not like their wealth being disrupted! They have a vested interest in calming things down and getting back into the Jacuzzi.
As crazy as things are right now, tens of thousands of people got a car loan this week. Thousands went to the bank and got a mortgage to buy a home. Students just back to college found banks more than happy to put them into hock for the next 15 years with a student loan. Life has gone on. Not a single person has lost any of their money if it's in a bank or a treasury note or a CD. And the most amazing thing is that the American public hasn't bought the scare campaign. The citizens didn't blink, and instead told Congress to take that bailout and shove it. THAT was impressive. Why didn't the population succumb to the fright-filled warnings from their president and his cronies? Well, you can only say 'Saddam has da bomb' so many times before the people realize you're a lying sack of shite. After eight long years, the nation is worn out and simply can't take it any longer.
10. CREATE A NATIONAL BANK, A "PEOPLE'S BANK." If we really are itching to print up a trillion dollars, instead of giving it to a few rich people, why don't we give it to ourselves? Now that we own Freddie and Fannie, why not set up a people's bank? One that can provide low-interest loans for all sorts of people who want to own a home, start a small business, go to school, come up with the cure for cancer or create the next great invention. And now that we own AIG, the country's largest insurance company, let's take the next step and provide health insurance for everyone. Medicare for all. It will save us so much money in the long run. And we won't be 12th on the life expectancy list. We'll be able to have a longer life, enjoying our government-protected pension, and living to see the day when the corporate criminals who caused so much misery are let out of prison so that we can help reacclimate them to civilian life -- a life with one nice home and a gas-free car that was invented with help from the People's Bank.
Yours, P.S. Call your Senators now. Here's a backup link in case we crash that site again. They are going to attempt their own version of the Looting of America tonight. And let your reps know if you agree with my 10-point plan. reflexiones de vida y muerteDESDE EL LECHO MALDITO EN QUE AGONIZO MUNDO GACHO, TE MANDO A LA CHINGADA ME OFRECISTE PLACERES Y RIQUEZA Y AL FINAL ME SALISTE CON MAMADAS; COMO HERENCIA TE DEJO MI AMARGURA NUNCA TUVE AMISTAD, PUROS CABRONES Y NUNCA VI LA VERDAD; SOLO BASURA RECIBI POR MIS PINCHES ILUSIONES.
CUANTA GENTE CULERA TE COMPONE PINCHE MUNDO MARTIRIO DEL JODIDO
DONDE SOMOS IGUALES SE SUPONE M
MAS LA TRISTE VERDAD QUE ME HA DOLIDO
ESQUE POBRES Y HONRADOS VALEN MIERDA
Y CAMPEON ES EL RICO HASTA QUE PIERDA.
LOS GOBIERNOS SON PULPOS DE LOS FUERTES Y LA LEY NOS ENCHUFA A LOS JODIDOS
DE MI PARTE LOS DOS CHINGUEN A VEINTE
YA ME VOY DE ESTE MUNDO DE PENDEJOS.
YA DIVISO LA MUERTE QUE ME LLAMA
MUERTE OJETE, COSTAL DE PINCHES HUESOS
YA NO SIGAS PELANDOME LOS DIENTES
VEN POR MI PARA IR A MI DESTINO
SI ES AL CIELO LO TENGO MERECIDO
PORQUE INFIERNO ES ESTE PINCHE MUNDO CORROMPIDO .
NO LES DIGO ADIOS SINO HASTA LUEGO
PORQUE UN DIA NOS VEREMOS OTRA VEZ LAS CARAS
EN OTRO MUNDO MAS PAREJO QUE ESTE
DONDE EL DINERO NO VALE PARA NADA.
JESUS LEOBARDO CARMONA BUSTILLOS
DEL BLOG DE JAVIER VELASCO: SOBRE LAS ALAS DE INDRAhttp://www.elboomeran.com/blog/10/xavier-velasco/
En la orilla final del reciente equinoccio de otoño, Tomás López Durán conducía un autobús de pasajeros por la carretera México-Tulancingo -también útil para llegar a las pirámides de Teotihuacán, que de noche dan miedo como todo lo que es inmenso y oscuro- cuando vio en su camino a una elefanta. Ya demasiado tarde para eludirla, estrelló fatalmente el autobús contra el cuerpo de cinco toneladas de Indra, que había conseguido escapar de su celda en el Circo Unión y trataba de atravesar la carretera. Según la información, antes de perecer junto a Tomás -entre los pasajeros sólo hubo lesionados y atónitos- Indra había pasado por un par de pueblos, donde evidentemente nadie atinó a detenerla, tal vez desconsolada por las dificultades insalvables que un paquidermo encuentra en este mundo ínfimo para evadirse hacia ninguna parte. La pregunta sería digna de un koan: ¿Qué haría usted si fuera un elefante y lograra esfumarse del odiado circo? Suele uno solidarizarse a la distancia con los furtivos, más todavía cuando sus probabilidades de éxito son pequeñas o nulas. Vista así, ya la fuga en sí misma es exitosa, pues representa el triunfo de la autodeterminación sobre la indignidad del cautiverio. (Da pena imaginar la vida plana de quien jamás logró -y quizá no llegara ni a pensarlo- escabullirse de situación alguna.) Nadie, por otra parte, quisiera estar en el lugar de un animal de cinco toneladas huído de su jaula hacia una realidad donde nunca conseguirá esconderse, pero todavía menos apetecible parecería vivir puertas adentro de un circo donde no hay aventura concebible, y ni siquiera la mínima opción de hacer de cuando en cuando lo que te venga en gana. Por más, pues, que le falten a uno varios miles de kilos para ubicarse en el pellejo de Indra, no es tan difícil imaginar la clase y el tamaño de las sorpresas que el pobre animalito se llevaría durante los minutos que siguieron al instante en que derribó la puerta de metal del circo y salió a correr mundo. Si, como se ha sabido, los elefantes tienen la facultad de distinguir sonidos en un radio cercano a los veinte kilómetros, calculemos la cantidad de información que llegaría hasta los tímpanos de la elefanta, en su celda de secuestrada vitalicia. Tentaciones inútiles, rebanadas de escarnio cotidiano. Puesto en lugar de Indra, que al morir ya pasaba de los cuarenta años -la tercera edad, en los elefantes- supongo que al final habría hecho lo mismo. Escapar sin un plan ni menos un destino, afirmarme una vez en el nombre de todas, ser en mí y para mí durante el último día de mi triste existencia, que con toda certeza me sabría como si fuera el primero luego de tantos años de vivir lo que nadie en sus trece apodaría vida. (Suena atrás la canción: ...mejor arder que desvanecerse.) No esperaría Indra terminar arrollada por una mole aún más pesada que ella, como tampoco se figuraría Tomás López que encontraría una muerte así de extravagante. Antes de hacer esfuerzos para entender qué diablos hace una elefanta en media carretera, valdría preguntarse qué carajos estaba haciendo en un circo. La pregunta que Indra seguramente nunca consiguió responder. [Publicado el 25/9/2008 a las 05:42] IMAGINEImagine theres no heaven, 2 DE OCTUBRE DE 1968 UN AÑO MAS RECORDANDO LA REPRESIONElena Poniatowska La noche de Tlatelolco Testimonios de historia oral
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Todos los testimonios coinciden en que la repentina aparición de luces de bengala en el cielo de la Plaza de las Tres Culturas de la Unidad habitacional Nonoalco-Tlatelolco desencadenó la balacera que convirtió el mitin estudiantil del 2 de octubre en la tragedia de Tlatelolco. A las cinco y media del miércoles 2 de octubre de 1968, aproximadamente diez mil personas se congregaron en la explanada de la Plaza de las Tres Culturas para escuchar a los oradores estudiantiles del Consejo Nacional de Huelga, los que desde el balcón del tercer piso del edificio Chihuahua se dirigián a la multitud compuesta en su gran mayoría por estudiantes, hombres y mujeres, niños y ancianos sentados en el suelo, vendedores ambulantes, amas de casa con niños en brazos, habitantes de la Unidad, transeúntes que se detuvieron a curiosear, los habituales mirones y muchas personas que vinieron a darse una “asomadita”. El ambiente era tranquilo a pesar de que la policía, el ejército y los granaderos habian hecho un gran despliegue de fuerza. Muchachos y muchachas estudiantes repartían volantes, hacían colectas en botes con las siglas CNH, vendían periódicos y carteles, y, en el tercer piso del edificio, además de los periodistas que cubren las fuentes nacionales había corresponsales y fotógrafos extranjeros enviados para informar sobre los Juegos Olímpicos que habrían de iniciarse diez días más tarde. Hablaron algunos estudiantes: un muchacho hacía las presentaciones, otro de la UNAM, dijo: “El Movimiento va a seguir a pesar de todo”, otro del IPN: “... se ha despertado la conciencia civica y se ha politizado a la familia mexicana”; una muchacha, que impresioné por su extrema juventud, habló del papel de las brigadas. Los oradores atacaron a los políticos, a algunos periódicos, y propusieron el boicot contra el diario "El Sol". Desde la rampa del tercer piso vieron cómo hacía su entrada un grupo de trabajadores que portaba una manta: “Los ferrocarrileros apoyamos el Movimiento y desconocemos las pláticas Romero Flores-GDO.” Este contingente obrero fue recìbido con aplausos. El grupo de ferrocarrileros anunció paros escalonados desde “mañana 3 de octubre en apoyo del Movimiento Estudiantil”. Cuando un estudiante apellidado Vega anunciaba que la marcha programada al Casco de Santo Tomás del Instituto Politécnico Nacional no se iba a llevar a cabo, en vista del despliegue de fuerzas públicas y de la posible represión, surgieron en el cielo las luces de bengala que hicieron que los concurrentes dirigieran automáticamente su mirada hacia arriba. Se oyeron los primeros disparos. La gente se alarmó. A pesar de que los líderes del CNH desde el tercer piso del edificio Chihuahua, gritaban por el magnavoz: “¡No corran compañeros, no corran, son salvas!… ¡No se vayan, no se vayan, calma!”, la desbandada fue general. Todos huían despavoridos y muchos caían en la plaza, en las ruinas prehispánicas frente a la iglesia de Santiago Tlatelolco. Se oía el fuego cerrado y el tableteo de ametralladoras. A partir de ese momento, la Plaza de las Tres Culturas se convertió en un infierno.
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