Salina Quotes

If Cameron kidnaps you, kills you, then buries your lifeless body in a shallow grave in the desert where your remains lay decomposing for several decades until they're accidentally discovered by some guy on a journey to awaken his spirit at the Salinas Pueblo Missions, can I have your iMac?" I gaped at her. "You've really thought this out. "I love your iMac." "I love my iMac too, and you're not getting her." "But you'll be decomposing.

For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her. Then the bitch blasted me with her water magic, and I got over it.

I’m as nowhere as I can be, Could you add some somewhere to me? —THE AVETT BROTHERS, “SALINA

A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green. The water is warm too, for it has slipped twinkling over the yellow sands in the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool.

The reverse is also true: many a trip continues long after movement in time and space has ceased. I remember a man in Salinas who in his middle years traveled to Honolulu and back, and that journey continued for the rest of his life. We could watch him in his rocking chair on his front porch, his eyes squinted, half-closed, traveling to Honolulu.

Abre a porta e caminha Cá fora Na nitidez salina do real

Many a trip continues long after movement in time and space have ceased. I remember a man in Salinas who in his middle years traveled to Honolulu and back, and that journey continued for the rest of his life. We could watch him in his rocking chair on his front porch, his eyes squinted, half-closed, endlessly traveling to Honolulu.

ese es tu sino: vivirte. no hagas nada. tu obra eres tú, nada más.

Faith in God offers no insurance against tragedy. Nor does it offer insurance against feelings of doubt and betrayal. If anything, being a Christian complicates the issue. If you believe in a world of pure chance, what difference does it make whether a bus from Yuba City or one from Salina crashes? But if you believe in a world ruled by a powerful God who loves you tenderly, then it makes an awful difference.

At last he said, "Did you come out of the big mountains?" Gitano shook his head slowly. "No, I walked down the Salinas Valley." The afternoon thought would not let Joey go. "Did you ever go into the big mountains back there?" The old dark eyes grew fixed, and their light turned inward on the years that were living in Gitano's head.

Una bala mata a un hombre. Una idea revolucionaria despierta a cientos o a miles de personas.

THE SALINAS VALLEY is in Northern California. It is a long narrow swale between two ranges of mountains, and the Salinas River winds and twists up the center until it falls at last into Monterey Bay.

When I was a child growing up in Salinas we called San Francisco “the City”. Of course it was the only city we knew, but I still think of it as the City, and so does everyone else who has ever associated with it. A strange and exclusive work is “city”. Besides San Francisco, only small sections of London and Rome stay in the mind as the City. New Yorkers say they are going to town. Paris has no title but Paris. Mexico City is the Capital. Once I knew the City very well, spent my attic days there, while others were being a lost generation in Paris. I fledged in San Francisco, climbed its hills, slept in its parks, worked on its docks, marched and shouted in its revolts. In a way I felt I owned the City as much as it owned me. San Francisco put on a show for me. I saw her across the bay, from the great road that bypasses Sausalito and enters the Golden Gate Bridge. The afternoon sun painted her white and gold---rising on her hills like a noble city in a happy dream. A city on hills has it over flat-land places. New York makes its own hills with craning buildings, but this gold and white acropolis rising wave on wave against the blue of the Pacific sky was a stunning thing, a painted thing like a picture of a medieval Italian city which can never have existed. I stopped in a parking place to look at her and the necklace bridge over the entrance from the sea that led to her. Over the green higher hills to the south, the evening fog rolled like herds of sheep coming to cote in the golden city. I’ve never seen her more lovely. When I was a child and we were going to the City, I couldn’t sleep for several nights before, out of busting excitement. She leaves a mark.

[Dessie's] shop was a unique institution in Salinas. It was a woman's world. Here all the rules, and the fears that created the iron rules, went down. The door was closed to men. It was a sanctuary where women could be themselves- smelly, wanton, mystic, conceited, truthful, and interested. The whalebone corsets came off at Dessie's, the sacred corsets that moulded and warped woman-flesh into goddess-flesh. At Dessie's they were women who went to the toilet and overate and scratched and farted. And from this freedom came laughter, roars of laughter.

What did Owen ever see in you?” “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, my voice as cold and calm as hers was. “Maybe the fact that I’m not a psychotic bitch who tortures people for kicks.

Kematangan tak datang dengan bertambahnya usia. Kematangan bermula dengan sikap menerima tanggungjawab

...Quello che ti chiedo / è che la corporea / passeggera assenza, / non sia per noi dimenticanza, / né fuga, né mancanza: / ma che sia per me / possessione totale / dell’anima lontana, / eterna presenza.

A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green.

You mean before Mab Monroe staked him out and barbecued him like a pork chop for all his friends to see,” I replied. “And you too. Pity, dear old dad getting roasted like that right in front of you.

Percaya tenaga sendiri. Peganglah nasib hidup dengan kedua-dua belah tangan dan ubahlah nasib mengikut kemahuan sendiri.

Lo que eres me distrae de lo que dices

Role models or not, in the end every man has to decide for himself just what kind of man he will be.

Vivir, desde el principio, es separarse.

¿Serás, amor, un largo adiós que no se acaba?

I have spoken of the rich years when the rainfall was plentiful. But there were dry years too, and they put a terror on the valley. The water came in a thirty-year cycle. There would be five or six wet and wonderful years when there might be nineteen to twenty-five inches of rain, and the land would shout with grass. Then would come six or seven pretty good years of twelve to sixteen inches of rain. And then the dry years would come, and sometimes there would be only seven or eight inches of rain. The land dried up and the grasses headed out miserably a few inches high and great bare scabby places appeared in the valley. The live oaks got a crusty look and the sage-brush was gray. The land cracked and the springs dried up and the cattle listlessly nibbled dry twigs. Then the farmers and the ranchers would be filled with disgust for the Salinas Valley. The cows would grow thin and sometimes starve to death. People would have to haul water in barrels to their farms just for drinking. Some families would sell out for nearly nothing and move away. And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.

When I was a child growing up in Salinas we called San Francisco “the City”. Of course it was the only city we knew, but I still think of it as the City, and so does everyone else who has ever associated with it. A strange and exclusive work is “city”. Besides San Francisco, only small sections of London and Rome stay in the mind as the City. New Yorkers say they are going to town. Paris has no title but Paris. Mexico City is the Capital. p197

Wait a minute,” Billy said. “What about elections?” “What elections?” I asked. “Its easy for them to rig votes with the electronic ballets. If third world countries used archaic methods of voting, we sent in representatives from the US to ‘oversee them.’ Everybody I knew in politics didn’t give elections a thought. They knew that people would believe in the corrupted, controlled polls, and that those appointed to office in accordance with the New World Order were secure.” “So people are misled by their leaders to believe they chose them?” “Not only that,” I answered, “but figureheads are placed while the real power works behind the scenes. For example, when Salinas was Vice President of Mexico, he ran the country while dela Madrid was only a Presidential figurehead. Vice President Bush ran this country while Reagan was acting President.

...you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved.

If and when the world does not meet your expectations, pick up a pen and paper and create your own.

During the darkest days, a saying took hold in Kansas: “there is no god west of Salina.

And this is about the way the Salinas Valley was when my grandfather brought his wife and settled in the foothills to the east of King City.

Salinas for the alkali which was white as salt.

Uno empieza a saber lo que es un gobierno, se da cuenta de lo que es, cuando este gobierno lanza los tanques a la calle. •Alfonso Salinas Moya, de la Escuela de Odontología de la UNAM

¡SI me llamaras, sí, si me llamaras! Lo dejaría todo, todo lo tiraría: los precios, los catálogos, el azul del océano en los mapas, los días y sus noches, los telegramas viejos y un amor.

Charlotte never lied to others, so she made the classic mistake of the habitually honest—she assumed that other people did not lie to her, at least not to her face. In her world, people were innocent of deliberate deceit until proven otherwise, which was, of course, way too late. Even

FEBRUARY IN SALINAS is likely to be damp and cold and full of miseries. The heaviest rains fall then, and if the river is going to rise, it rises then. February of 1915 was a year heavy with water.

WAR COMES ALWAYS to someone else. In Salinas we were aware that the United States was the greatest and most powerful nation in the world. Every American was a rifleman by birth, and one American was worth ten or twenty foreigners in a fight.

A WAR COMES ALWAYS to someone else. In Salinas we were aware that the United States was the greatest and most powerful nation in the world. Every American was a rifleman by birth, and one American was worth ten or twenty foreigners in a fight.

Tom said, “Let me beg you never to tell that story to Will. He’d have you locked up.” “But the house wasn’t worth what I asked!” “I repeat what I said about Will. What’s Adam want with your house?” “He’s going to move there. Wants the twins to go to school in Salinas.” “What’ll

The first few years after Samuel came to Salinas Valley there was a vague distrust of him. And perhaps Will as a little boy heard talk in the San Lucas store. Little boys don't want their fathers to be different from other men. Will might have picked up his conservatism right then.

Los peces, los anfibios y los reptiles por un lado y las aves y los mamíferos de sangre caliente por otro, y cada uno de nosotros, llevamos en nuestras venas la corriente salina de nuestra sangre, en la cual el sodio, el potasio y el calcio se hallan en proporciones muy semejantes a las que existen en el agua del mar. Ésta es nuestra herencia desde el día, hace un número incalculable de millones de años, en que un remoto antecesor pasó de la etapa unicelular a la pluricelular y adquirió por vez primera un sistema circulatorio, en el interior del cual corría un fluido casi idéntico al agua del mar.

All in all it was a good firm-grounded family, permanent, and successfully planted in the Salinas Valley, not poorer than many and not richer than many either. It was a well-balanced family with its conservatives and its radicals, its dreamers and its realists. Samuel was well pleased with the fruit of his loins.

Saa nane za usiku timu nzima ya Vijana wa Tume ilirudi San Ángel katika helikopta ya DEA, tayari kwa safari ya Salina Cruz katika jimbo la Oaxaca. Kukamatwa kwa Gortari, Eduardo na Dongyang ulikuwa ushindi mkubwa wa kwanza wa Tume ya Dunia. Ushindi huo ukalipua wimbi la kukamatwa kwa wahalifu wa kimataifa, wa Kolonia Santita, dunia nzima.

The Salinas was only a part-time river. The summer sun drove it underground. It was not a fine river at all, but it was the only one we had and so we boasted about it—how dangerous it was in a wet winter and how dry it was in a dry summer. You can boast about anything if it’s all you have. Maybe the less you have, the more you are required to boast.

THAT YEAR THE RAINS HAD COME so gently that the Salinas River did not overflow. A slender stream twisted back and forth in its broad bed of gray sand, and the water was not milky with silt but clear and pleasant. The willows that grow in the river bed were well leafed, and the wild blackberry vines were thrusting their spiky new shoots along the ground.

Goodbye, Pinecone. You will always be in my heart.

Cuz even a gangsta rapper can find redemption For the sins committed before revelation.

Te coloqué por encima de mis sueños, de mis amistades, de mi religión, de mis placeres, de mis metas e inclusive de mi familia. Sin imaginar que todos estaban para mí, menos tú.

Y nunca te equivocaste, más que una vez, una noche, que te encaprichó una sombra -la única que te ha gustado-. Una sombra parecía. Y la quisiste abrazar. Y era yo.

Inspiration can come in many ways: words, an action, an idea, or a person. It can come at any time, and when it does, let it move you.

True love is not giving power to the other person, but instead is empowering you to make that person happy.

El hombre hizo el lenguaje. Pero luego, el lenguaje con su monumental complejidad de símbolos, contribuyó a hacer al hombre; se le impone desde que nace

Write Your Life group was a popular program at the Rainy Creek Gardens Retirement Village

Y yo sé que quererte es convertir los días, las horas, en peligros, en llamas.

I am as nowhere as I can be Could you add some somewhere to me?

Noche no hay si me hablas por la noche. Ni soledad, aquí solo en mi cuarto si tu voz llega, tan sin cuerpo, leve.

when you give love... it grows and grows.

Back in the ‘80s when I was being used to lay the groundwork for NAFTA10, I understood the close relationship between Salinas, Cheney and Bush, Sr. It was pre-determined years in advance that Salinas would take the office of President of Mexico while Bush became President of the US and Brian Mulroney Prime Minister of Canada so the three could usher in NAFTA.

I don't know what directed his steps toward the Salinas Valley. It was an unlikely place for a man from a green country to come to, but he came about thirty years before the turn of the century and brought with him his tiny Irish wife, a tight hard little woman humorless as a chicken. She had a dour Presbyterian mind and a code of morals that pinned down and beat the brains out of nearly everything that was pleasant to do.

SOMETIMES, BUT NOT OFTEN, a rain comes to the Salinas Valley in November. It is so rare that the Journal or the Index or both carry editorials about it. The hills turn to a soft green overnight and the air smells good. Rain at this time is not particularly good in an agricultural sense unless it is going to continue, and this is extremely unusual. More commonly, the dryness comes back and the fuzz of grass withers or a little frost

El tiempo me ha enseñado que hay que mirar por la misma ventana para comprender el movimiento de las estrellas, el sol y la luna, el mundo y la vida. Por eso la mejor de las casas es siempre la nuestra porque, aunque le falten habitaciones, tiene al menos el tiempo que hemos vivido en ella. El mismo que me enseñó que el amor es el único invariable. Y que el cuento que acaba mal es, como decía Salinas, porque no ha acabado de contarse.

—Emmett, you know that there is nothing I would rather do than keep Billy at my side for another three days. As God is my witness, I would be happy to keep him for another three years. But he has already spent fifteen months waiting for you to return from Salina. And in the meanwhile, he’s lost his father and his home. At this juncture, Billy’s place is at your side, and he knows it. And I imagine, by now, he thinks that you should know it too.

And for however long you do not come, I’ll wait on the brink of flights, of dreams, of comet trails, motionless. Because I know that neither wings, nor wheels nor sails can travel to where I once was. They have all gone astray. Because I know that to reach where I was can only be with you, be through you. —Pedro Salinas, from “The Voice I Owe to You,” Memory in My Hands: The Love Poetry of Pedro Salinas (Peter Lang Inc., International Academic Publishers, 2009)

No sabía de qué hablaba, pero disimulé mi ignorancia. Me informé por mis clientes, los soldados que me traían su ropa a lavar o venían a comprar empanadas, y así supe del fracasado intento de Diego de Almagro. Los hombres que sobrevivieron a esa aventura y a la batalla de Las Salinas no tenían un maravedí en la faltriquera, andaban con la ropa en hilachas y a menudo acudían sigilosos por la puerta del patio a buscar comida gratis, por eso les llamaban los «rotos chilenos».

Non ho bisogno di tempo per sapere come sei: conoscersi è luce improvvisa. Chi potrà conoscere là dove taci, o nelle parole con cui tu taci? Chi ti cerchi nella vita che stai vivendo, non sa di te che allusioni, pretesti in cui ti nascondi.

Reading takes the reader to faraway lands, new cultures, new and exciting adventures; you meet new friends and enemies; it takes the reader from the heights of the imagination to the depths of human emotions; all without taking a single step.

Some will no doubt find this acontecimiento del vivir of no special consequence. . . . For me, it is merely the poetic/political of a road well travelled; a humble,creative and retrospective recording to share with the world.—Preface of Sorts, 12/08/81, 6:00 a.m.

AT INTERVALS Salinas suffered from a mild eructation of morality. The process never varied much. One burst was like another. Sometimes it started in the pulpit and sometimes with a new ambitious president of the Women’s Civic Club. Gambling was invariably the sin to be eradicated. There were certain advantages in attacking gambling. One could discuss it, which was not true of prostitution. It was an obvious evil and most of the games were operated by Chinese. There was little chance of treading on the toes of a relative.

In these volatile times, many Americans were realizing ‘elections’ were appointed and the subject was a focus of talk radio. What did this say about Salinas? That he not only was a proven traitor to his country, he was a traitor to his brother with whom I knew he was in the drug business12, and a traitor to the world. What did this say about Cheney? That if US political crimes against humanity and/or the environment were occurring, he was in the loop giving orders while hiding behind his corporate interests such as Halliburton.

He complained that his new job took him away from his ranch too much. His wife complained even more, but the truth of the matter was that nothing much had happened in a criminal way since Horace had been deputy. He had seen himself making a name for himself and running for sheriff. The sheriff was an important officer. His job was less flighty than that of district attorney, almost as permanent and dignified as superior court judge. Horace didn’t want to stay on the ranch all his life, and his wife had an urge to live in Salinas where she had relatives.

Run if you can because, in spite of how it looks on television, it’s hard to hit a moving target. If you can’t run, fight and fight dirty. Go for the eyes. Think of every object around you as a weapon. Strike fast and hard when you get the chance because you’ll only get one chance.

There were some in Salinas who began to talk softly in the pool-rooms and the bars. These had private information from a soldier—we weren’t getting the truth. Our men were being sent in without guns. Troopships were sunk and the government wouldn’t tell us. The German army was so far superior to ours that we didn’t have a chance. That Kaiser was a smart fellow. He was getting ready to invade America. But would Wilson tell us this? He would not. And usually these carrion talkers were the same ones who had said one American was worth twenty Germans in a scrap—the same ones.

I have spoken of the rich years when the rainfall was plentiful. But there were dry youeras too, and they put a terror on the valley. The water came in a thirty-year cycle. There would be five or six wet and wonderful years when there might be nineteen to twenty-five inches of rain, and the land would shout with grass. Then would come six or seven pretty good years of twelve to sixten inches of rain. And then the dry yars would come, and sometimes thre would be only seven or eight inches of rain. The land dried up and the grasses headed out miserably a few inches high and great bare scabby places appeared in the valley. The live oaks got a crusty look and the sage-brush was gray. The land cracked and the springs dried up and the cattle listlessly nibbled dry twigs. Then the farmers and the ranchers would be filled with disgust for the Salinas Valley. The cows would grow thin and sometimes starve to death. People would have to haul water in barrels to their farms just for drinking. Some families would sell out for nearly nothing and move away. And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.

Salinas was surrounded and penetrated with swamps, with tule-filled ponds, and every pond spawned thousands of frogs. With the evening the air was so full of their song that it was a kind of roaring silence. It was a veil, a background, and its sudden disappearance, as after a clap of thunder, was a shocking thing. It is possible that if in the night the frog sound should have stopped, everyone in Salinas would have awakened, feeling that there was a great noise. In their millions the frog songs seemed to have a beat and a cadence, and perhaps it is the ears' function to do this just as it is the eyes' business to make stars twinkle.

Kwa sababu za kijiografia, Copenhagen iko mbele kwa masaa 9 (PST) kuilinganisha na Tijuana (kaskazini-magharibi mwa Meksiko) na masaa 7 (CST) kuilinganisha na Salina Cruz (kusini-magharibi mwa Meksiko). Mauaji ya Meksiko yametokea saa 4 usiku wa Jumanne, Copenhagen ikiwa saa 1 asubuhi Jumatano CET. Saa 5 usiku wa Jumanne, El Tigre anahamishwa (na ndege binafsi) kutoka katika milima ya Tijuana (alikokuwa amejificha) mpaka katika jumba la kifahari la Eduardo Chapa de Christopher (Mkurugenzi wa Usafirishaji wa Kolonia Santita) nje ya Salina Cruz – ambako Chui anafika saa 10 alfajiri na kuendesha kikao cha dharura cha Bodi ya Wakurugenzi ya Kolonia Santita.

A war always comes to someone else. In Salinas we were aware that the United States was the greatest and most powerful nation in the world. Every American was a rifleman by birth, and one American was worth ten or twenty foreigners in a fight. Pershing’s expedition into Mexico after Villa had exploded one of our myths for a little while. We had truly believed that Mexicans can’t shoot straight and besides were lazy and stupid. When our own Troop C came wearily back from the border they said that none of this was true […] Somehow we didn’t connect Germans with Mexicans. We went right back to our own myths. One American was as good as twenty Germans. This being true, we had only to act in a stern manner to bring the Kaiser to heel. He wouldn’t dare interfere with our trade--but he did. He wouldn’t stick out his neck and and sink our ships--and he did. It was stupid, but he did, and so there was nothing for it but to fight him. The war, at first anyway, was for other people. We, I, my family and friends, had kind of bleacher seats, and it was pretty exciting. And just as war is always for somebody else, so it is also that somebody else always gets killed. And Mother of God! that wasn’t true either. The dreadful telegrams began to sneak sorrowfully in, and it was everybody’s brother. Here we were, over six thousand miles from the anger and the noise, and that didn’t save us […] The draftees wouldn’t look at their mothers. They didn’t dare. We’d never thought the war could happen to us. There were some in Salinas who began to talk softly in the poolrooms and the bars. These had private information from a soldier--we weren’t getting the truth. Our men were being sent in without guns. Troopships were sunk and the government wouldn’t tell us. The German army was so far superior to ours that we didn’t have a chance. That Kaiser was a smart fellow. He was getting ready to invade America. But would Wilson tell us this? He would not. And usually these carrion talkers were the same ones who had said one American was worth twenty Germans in a scrap--the same ones.

At Rainy Creek Gardens she had finally begun to realize that, no matter your age, when you looked back it always seemed that your life had passed in the blink of an eye. The past could not be changed and the future was unknowable. The residents of Rainy Creek Gardens were teaching her that the real trick to a good life was to learn to live in the present.

Here we have to acknowledge the fact that there were ages more fortunate than ours, those of Pythagoras and Aristoxenes, when our forefathers were satisfied with the fact that their purely tuned instruments were played only in some tones, because they were not troubled by doubts, for they knew that heavenly harmonies were the province of the gods. Later, all this was not enough, unhinged arrogance wished to take possession of all the harmonies of the gods. And it was done in its own way, technicians were charged with the solution, a Praetorius, a Salinas, and finally an Andreas Werckmeister, who resolved the difficulty by dividing the octave of the harmony of the gods, the twelve half-tones, into twelve equal parts.

The high gray-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together.

I don’t want you to leave, heartache, the last form of loving. I feel myself live when you hurt me not in yourself, or here, but further: in the earth, in the year you come from, in my love for her and everything it meant. In that sunken reality which denies itself and insists that it never existed, that it was only a pretext of mine for living. If you didn’t stay with me, heartache, irrefutably, I would believe that; but you do stay with me. Your truth assures me that nothing was a lie. And as long as I feel you, heartache, you will be the proof of another life in which you didn’t hurt me. The great proof, in the distance, that it existed, that it still exists, that she loved me, yes, that I’m still loving her. —Pedro Salinas, from “The Voice I Owe to You,” Memory in My Hands: The Love Poetry of Pedro Salinas (Peter Lang Inc., International Academic Publishers, 2009)

Lettuce harvests in Salinas, melons in Brawley, grapes in Parlier, oranges in Ontario, cotton in Firebaugh -- and, finally, Santa Clara, the prune country. And because this place was pleasing to the eye, or because they were tired of their endless migration, Juan Rubio and his wife settled here to raise their children. And, remembering his country, Juan thought that his distant cousin, the great General Zapata, had been right when, in speaking of Juan, he once said to Villa, 'He will go far, that relative of mine.' Now this man who had lived by the gun all his adult life would sit on his haunches under the prune trees, rubbing his sore knees, and think, Next year we will have enough money and we will return to our country. But deep within he knew he was one of the lost ones. And as the years passed him by and his children multiplied and grew, the chant increased in volume and rate until it became a staccato NEXT YEAR! NEXT YEAR! And the chains were incrementally heavier on his heart.

Sanjay Kanaka Ramachandra, 'The Satellite', baada ya kutoka Korea ya Kaskazini na Salina Cruz kwa ajili ya kozi maalumu ya ugaidi na kwa ajili ya Kiapo cha Swastika kwa mpangilio huo, alirudi Mumbai kusimamia shughuli za Kolonia Santita za bara la Asia na Australia – kwa uaminifu wa Sheria ya Kitalifa ya Kolonia Santita. Ramachandra, anayeitwa 'The Satellite' kwa sababu ya jina lake la mwisho, alipewa pia jukumu la kuyachunga Makao Makuu ya Kanda ya Asia-Australia ya Tume ya Dunia; na kupeleka taarifa yoyote ya kijasusi (inayohusiana na WODEC-Rangoon) Mexico City kwa ajili ya maamuzi ya Mkurugenzi wa Usalama wa Kolonia Santita Gortari Manuel. Mojawapo ya operesheni kubwa alizowahi kuzifanya Ramachandra kwa niaba ya Kolonia Santita ni kuingiza nchini India mzigo wa tani 350 za majani ya koka, ijapokuwa tani 37 zilikamatwa na mamlaka za kuzuia madawa ya kulevya za India na za Tume ya Dunia, na kusambaza kilo 560 za kokeini safi (isiyokuwa na doa) katika nchi zote za Asia na Australia ndani ya siku 14.

Meli ya kwanza kuondoka katika Bandari ya Salina Cruz kusini mwa Meksiko katika Bahari ya Pasifiki ni 'La Diosa de los Mares', 'Mungu wa Bahari', au 'Goddess of the Seas', Tani 6000, iliyoondoka saa tisa kamili usiku kuelekea Miami nchini Marekani; wakati ya mwisho kuondoka ilikuwa CSS ('Colonia Santita of the Seas', Tani 10000), na SPD ('El Silencio Depredador del Profundo', 'Mnyama Mtulivu wa Kina Kirefu', 'The Silent Predator of the Deep' – nyambizi ya Panthera Tigrisi), zilizoondoka saa kumi na moja alfajiri kuelekea Guatemala na Kolombia. Salina Cruz ni sehemu iliyopo kandokando mwa Bahari ya Pasifiki kusini kabisa mwa Meksiko na kaskazini-mashariki kwa Reparo Jicara katika jimbo la Oaxaca. Kambi ya Panthera Tigrisi ilijengwa ndani ya Msitu wa Benson Bennett – katika ufuko wa bahari kubwa kuliko zote ulimwenguni, iliyopuliza hewa na kuyumbisha miti anuai juu ya maabara kubwa kuliko zote katika Hemisifia ya Magharibi; ya kokeini, heroini, bangi, eksitasi na hielo ya China na Kolombia. Panthera Tigrisi alikamatwa katika Bahari ya Pasifiki. Kahima Kankiriho alikamatwa katika Msitu wa Bennett.

When I told him that I just wanted you to be happy, he gave me his opinion of happiness. He claimed it was a superficial, fleeting sensation that most people don't even recognize when it happens to them. They only pay attention when they find themselves unhappy." ... "He went on to say that what really mattered was the ability to experience joy. He seems to feel that is the more powerful emotion because it endures, regardless of circumstances. Once you've known joy, you are never quite the same. It changes a person." - Octavia in Promise Not to Tell by Jayne Ann Krentz

In Cal the process had been so long and so slow that he felt no strangeness. He had built a wall of self-sufficiency around himself, strong enough to defend him against the world. If his wall had any weak places they may have been on the sides nearest Aron and Lee, and particularly nearest Adam. Perhaps in his father's very unawareness Cal had felt safety. Not being noticed at all was better than being noticed adversely. When he was quite small Cal had discovered a secret. If he moved very quietly to where his father was sitting and if he leaned very lightly against his father's knee, Adam's hand would rise automatically and his fingers would caress Cal's shoulder. It is probable that Adam did not even know he did it, but the caress brought such a raging flood of emotion to the boy that he saved this special joy and used it only when he needed it. It was a magic to be depended on. It was the ceremonial symbol of a dogged adoration. Things do not change with a change of scene. In Salinas, Cal had no more friends than he had in King City. Associates he had, and authority and some admiration, but friends he did not have. He lived alone and walked alone.

When I told him that I just wanted you to be happy, he gave me his opinion of happiness. He claimed it was a superficial, fleeting sensation that most people don’t even recognize when it happens to them. They only pay attention when they find themselves unhappy. And then they tend to feel resentful and angry.” “He has a point, I suppose.” “He went on to say that what really mattered was the ability to experience joy. He seems to feel that is the more powerful emotion because it endures, regardless of circumstances. Once you’ve known joy, you are never quite the same. It changes a person.

It astounds me that the media is ignoring Noriega’s extensive ties into this country, from his education at the School of the Americas4 to his well known involvement with Bush and the CIA in the cocaine business. Can’t people see that this so-called War on Drugs is no more than the CIA eliminating their competition while they take over the industry worldwide?” I paused to reflect. “If people don’t wake up soon, we’ll have a drug lord running this country.” “We already do,” Billy said, unjamming his stapling machine. I laughed. “I’m referring to Bill Clinton. In 1984, I was at the Swiss Villa Amphitheater in Lampe Missouri5 where Bush and Clinton were talking about their New World Order. Bush was really pleased with how well Clinton’s Mena cocaine operation was funding the New World Order effort, and he assured Clinton he would be rewarded politically. In those days, the groundwork for NAFTA6 was established to open the border to ‘free trade of drugs to equalize our economies,’ and Clinton was right there in the midst of it all. It was already determined that Bush would be put in the office of President at the same time Salinas was put in as President of Mexico so they could usher in NAFTA.

Sometimes in the evening when love tunes its harp and the crickets celebrate life, I am like a troubadour in search of friends, loved ones, anyone who will share with me a bit of conversation. My loneliness arrives ghost like and pretentious, it seeks my soul, it is ravenous and hurting. I admire my father who always has advice in these matters, but a game of chess won't do, or the frivolity of religion. I want to find a solution, so I write letters, poems, and sometimes I touch solitude on the shoulder and surrender to a great tranquility. I understand I need courage and sometimes, mysteriously, I feel whole.

General Mario Vargas Salinas, now retired from Bolivia’s Eighth Army Division, was one of the young army officers present at Guevara’s burial. It was his duty to accompany an old dump truck carrying the bodies of the six dead rebels, including that of “Che” Guevara, to the airstrip in Vallegrande, Bolivia. Knowing that the facts surrounding the burials were leaking out, he decided that after 28 years the world should know what had happened to “Che” Guevara’s body. At the time, Captain Vargas, who had also led the ambush in which Tamara “Tania” Bunke, Guevara’s lover, was shot dead, said that Guevara was buried early on the morning of October 11th, 1967, at the end of the town’s landing strip. After the gruesome facts became known, the Bolivian government ordered the army to find Guevara's remains for a proper burial. General Gary Prado Salmón, retired, had been the commander of the unit that had captured Guevara. He confirmed General Vargas’ statement and added that the guerrilla fighters had been burned, before dumping their bodies into a mass grave, dug by a bulldozer, at the end of the Vallegrande airstrip. He explained that the body of “Che” Guevara had been buried in a separate gravesite under the runway. The morning after the burials, “Che” Guevara’s brother arrived in Vallegrande, hoping to see his brother’s remains. Upon asking, he was told by the police that it was too late. Talking to some of the army officers, he was told lies or perhaps just differing accounts of the burial, confusing matters even more. The few peasants that were involved and knew what had happened were mysteriously unavailable. Having reached a dead end, he left for Buenos Aires not knowing much more than when he arrived….

There is no dignity in death in battle. Mostly that is a splashing about of human meat and fluid, and the result is filthy, but there is a great and almost sweet dignity in the sorrow, the helpless, the hopeless sorrow, that comes down over a family with the telegram. Nothing to say, nothing to do, and only one hope--I hope he didn't suffer--and what a forlorn and last-choice hope that is. And it is true that there were some people who, when their sorrow was beginning to lose its savor, gently it toward pride and felt increasingly important because of their loss. Some of these even made a good thing of it after the war was over. That is only natural, just as it is natural for a man whose life function is the making of money to make money out of a war. We thought we invented all of it in Salinas, even the sorrow.

Carlos Hank González es, sin duda, el político-empresario más identificable del éxito del proyecto atlacomulquense. De presidente municipal de Toluca pasó a ser diputado federal, director de la Compañía Nacional de Subsistencias Populares (Conasupo) y luego gobernador del Estado de México para el periodo de 1969 a 1975. Acto seguido fue nombrado jefe del Departamento del Distrito Federal por José López Portillo (1976-1982). En 1988 regresó a la política a nivel federal en la administración de Carlos Salinas de Gortari, al ser nombrado primero secretario de Turismo y 13 meses después secretario de Agricultura y Recursos Hidráulicos. En las décadas siguientes a los gobiernos de Fabela y Del Mazo, el Estado de México afirmó su posición como la entidad más importante del país política y económicamente, después de la Ciudad de México. Se convirtió en una entidad que no necesitó el apoyo indiscriminado del gobierno federal para poder crecer. El estado desarrolló una solidez económica y política suficiente para ser considerado modelo.

When I’m hurt and confused I start throwing a fit But shit

Su alma se desbocó al abismo de sus angustias, y el mar de penas olvidadas que residía en el fondo de su corazón, le ofreció la placidez de quienes han sufrido por amor. El tiempo haría otro tanto.

Il n'y a pas de cérémonie - ou à peine. La hutte de Mamambala est brûlée avec tout ce qu'elle contient, comme c'est l'usage. Ce que les hommes veulent transmettre doit être donné de leur vivant. Ce qu'ils possèdent le jour de leur mort est brûlé pour qu'ils l'emportent avec eux.

Susurros porfiados que corrompen nuestros nombres, nos ahogan en frenéticas fantasías, y nuestros besos, otrora mojados por desencantos ineludibles, entrechocan ahora nuestras pieles y, entonces, dejamos de ser lo que somos y nos convertimos al más puro de los placeres.

Je sais, moi, qu'une guerre ne s'achève vraiment que lorsque le vainqueur accepte de perdre à son tour. C'est pour cela que je suis venue, Salina.

From Pine Ridge to Chiapas del barrio de La Loma a la selva Lacandona" - from the poem "Amorindio

Otro intermediario para relacionarse con empresarios fue Marcial Maciel. Roberto Servitje, Alfonso Romo, Sergio Autrey y Ricardo Salinas Pliego, entre otros, son o han sido miembros del Regnum Christi.

¡Si me llamaras, sí, si me llamaras! Lo dejaría todo, todo lo tiraría; los precios, los catálogos, el azul del océano en los mapas, los días y sus noches, los telegramas viejos y un amor. Tú, que no eres mi amor, ¡si me llamaras! Y aún espero tu voz: telescopios abajo, desde la estrella, por espejos, por túneles, por los años bisiestos puede venir. No sé por dónde. Desde el prodigio, siempre. Porque si tú me llamas —¡si me llamaras, sí, si me llamaras!— será desde un milagro, incógnito, sin verlo. Nunca desde los labios que te beso, nunca desde la voz que dice: No te vayas.

Sitting in Atlantic St. grill downing early morning cup of prison-like coffee stale rolls of cinnamon while up above freeways headed for suburban slums Gold Coast dwellers/ruling class sass Goodwill truckdrivers for talkin’ simple talk. No comment on the front page news. Through painful hurt sought desperately the obit page in rage to see if was really true, ‘bout you. Winter come-togethers fill my every thought Billie sings the blues communication complete, Cable (spool) table replete w/french bread apples cheese rhineskeller wine imported elegant tabacco, discussion of ideas politculture peoples lit & art, marxist aesthetics, how best to serve. Now, savoring on Neruda’s notes i think of you & Jimmie/son savoring favorite chocolate M & M’s. Them’s the thoughts i had of you today. No lavish praise no mournful elegy, just one last Vashon Island ferry ride to pray and cast an orchid into Puget Sound to see you safely on your journey to the other side.