SIMPLEMENTE GENIAL. Como la vida misma
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dijous, de març 20, 2014
MEDICO DE LA SEGURIDAD SOCIAL
dimecres, de març 19, 2014
JUSTICIA
La verdadera tragedia de los pueblos no consiste en el grito de un gobierno autoritario, sino en el silencio de la gente.
Autor: Martin Luther King
Donde hay poca justicia es un peligro tener razón
Autor: Quevedo
La obra maestra de la injusticia es parecer justo sin serlo.
Autor: Platón
diumenge, de març 16, 2014
VENT...AVUI FA VENT !!
Winds of the people carry me along
Wind of the people
Winds of the people carry me along, winds of the people pull me along, they sprinkle my heart about and bring air to my throat. Oxen bow down their brows, impotent and meek, when punished: lions raise theirs and at the same time they inflict punishment with their clamorous claws. I am not from a people of oxen, I am from a people who embody ancient settlements of lions, high passes of eagles and mountain ranges of bulls bearing pride as their flag. Oxen never prospered on the barren plains of Spain. Who said they would throw a yoke round the neck of this race? Who has ever yoked or hobbled a hurricane, or who has held lightning prisoner in a cage? Asturians of bravery, Basques of reinforced stone, Valencians of joy and Castilians of soul, worked like the earth and with the grace of wings; Andalusians of lightning born amongst guitars and forged on the torrential anvils of tears; Extremadurans of rye, Galicians of rain and calm, Catalans of firmness, Aragonese of age-old caste, Murcians of dynamite planted like fruit trees, Leonese, Navarrans, masters of hunger, sweat and the axe, kings of the mines, lords of labour, men who, amongst the roots, like valiant roots yourselves, go from life to death, from nothing to nothing: there are people who, like weeds, want to put a yoke on you, a yoke which you must leave broken across their backs. Twilight of the oxen dawn is breaking. Oxen die clothed in humility and the smell of the stable: eagles, lions and bulls die clothed in pride, and behind them, the sky neither clouds over nor comes to an end. The death-agony of oxen has a small face, that of the male animal enlarges all of creation. If I die, may I die with my head held high. Dead and twenty times dead, my mouth against the wild grass, I will have my teeth clenched and my jaw resolute. Singing I await death, for there are nightingales that sing above the guns and in the midst of battles.
Winds of the people carry me along, winds of the people pull me along, they sprinkle my heart about and bring air to my throat. Oxen bow down their brows, impotent and meek, when punished: lions raise theirs and at the same time they inflict punishment with their clamorous claws. I am not from a people of oxen, I am from a people who embody ancient settlements of lions, high passes of eagles and mountain ranges of bulls bearing pride as their flag. Oxen never prospered on the barren plains of Spain. Who said they would throw a yoke round the neck of this race? Who has ever yoked or hobbled a hurricane, or who has held lightning prisoner in a cage? Asturians of bravery, Basques of reinforced stone, Valencians of joy and Castilians of soul, worked like the earth and with the grace of wings; Andalusians of lightning born amongst guitars and forged on the torrential anvils of tears; Extremadurans of rye, Galicians of rain and calm, Catalans of firmness, Aragonese of age-old caste, Murcians of dynamite planted like fruit trees, Leonese, Navarrans, masters of hunger, sweat and the axe, kings of the mines, lords of labour, men who, amongst the roots, like valiant roots yourselves, go from life to death, from nothing to nothing: there are people who, like weeds, want to put a yoke on you, a yoke which you must leave broken across their backs. Twilight of the oxen dawn is breaking. Oxen die clothed in humility and the smell of the stable: eagles, lions and bulls die clothed in pride, and behind them, the sky neither clouds over nor comes to an end. The death-agony of oxen has a small face, that of the male animal enlarges all of creation. If I die, may I die with my head held high. Dead and twenty times dead, my mouth against the wild grass, I will have my teeth clenched and my jaw resolute. Singing I await death, for there are nightingales that sing above the guns and in the midst of battles.
dissabte, de març 15, 2014
VAMOS AL ZOO !!
Algunos dan gatos por liebre y otros dan perros por leones. También en Tijuana a falta de cebras pintan burros
El zoo chino que intentó hacer creer a los visitantes que mostraba leones africanos en sus jaulas, cuando en realidad eran mastines tibetanos, ha sido cerrado temporalmente para "corregir" los carteles, informó este viernes la prensa china. También hicieron pasar ratas como reptiles exóticos y un zorro como un leopardo Según el diario Beijing Times, el parque, situado en la ciudad de Luohe de la provincia central china de Henan, ha cerrado para llevar a cabo los cambios de señalización pertinentes, mientras que sus responsables han emitido una disculpa pública. El fraude, destapado un día antes por otros medios de Pekín, fue descubierto por algunos visitantes del zoo que comprobaron, con sorpresa, que un supuesto león tras las jaulas profería ladridos en vez de rugidos.
El zoo chino que intentó hacer creer a los visitantes que mostraba leones africanos en sus jaulas, cuando en realidad eran mastines tibetanos, ha sido cerrado temporalmente para "corregir" los carteles, informó este viernes la prensa china. También hicieron pasar ratas como reptiles exóticos y un zorro como un leopardo Según el diario Beijing Times, el parque, situado en la ciudad de Luohe de la provincia central china de Henan, ha cerrado para llevar a cabo los cambios de señalización pertinentes, mientras que sus responsables han emitido una disculpa pública. El fraude, destapado un día antes por otros medios de Pekín, fue descubierto por algunos visitantes del zoo que comprobaron, con sorpresa, que un supuesto león tras las jaulas profería ladridos en vez de rugidos.
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