(Posted on 8/24/1910, the day of the complaint on newsprint)
Today, I read a post in "The Thing and Cause" , one of those must-read blogs came to my memories of some of the happiest moments of my childhood and far away.
ran the 60 in the quiet life of Villa Dominico, Avellaneda a neighborhood where the vast majority were supporters of Red ... and still we remain.
My grandfather, a character if there were in the neighborhood who was always asking money to go to the kiosk and buy these three magazines that fed my soul: the Tony, D'Artagnan and Fantasy.
could almost say that they learned to read. And certainly I say, they made me love the story, I was introduced to a world where there were good and evil, heroes and villains, fair and unfair.
And there were characters of all kinds, from soldiers Creoles as Cape Sabine and Martin Toro, Buddhist monks white as Harry White, immortal as Gilgamesh, Sumerian warriors of Lagash and Nippur Thebans as argon or the Just.
The cartoon is not a minor issue: it is the story told otherwise, is the word and the trace of the artist, is the suggestion of meaning multiple fertilized by word and image.
The comic has anything in common with this story artificial division of the "frame by frame" artificial because it works for those who believe it but natural for the receiver. Who fixes it in a comic no pictures?
had a strong plastic with many soldiers, and they carried out the adventures that I read in magazines, this struggle reproduced third excluded from representing the good and evil itself. ;
Along with the values \u200b\u200bthat one was learning at home and at school, also was nourished by what he read in those wonderful colorful cartoons. Among all these things, I discovered the value of those stories where the hero had to go for broke everything, where life, generously offered it was decided on an act, and for a just cause.
The expiration date of the child came that day, "rite of passage, if any, gave that strong, and his soldiers at a friend's little brother. Any capitulation to adolescence, a real sacrifice, where he and his soldiers surrendered epic, "the cause."
At this point, who discuss Freud about the imprint of the adult child about what is simply in denial. O ignorant of itself.
And you did your high school, he met his love, his partner for life, college, children, the graduate. Understood in the full sense that his work was a very important support for his family, a basis for deploying wings.
What will become of that momentum to the epic, the heroic, which was taken at an early age?
Is hopelessly lost, or just hidden in the folds of life?
Will the symbolic and has surrendered unconditionally to the real, or is there, latent, waiting for revival?
Today was a day that was something else. The other had a reunion.
My adolescence, that time arbitrarily designated between childhood and adulthood, proceeded with the sound of boots; my heroic soldiers had become kidnappers, torturers, rapists, thieves, appropriators, murderers. The fort became clandestine concentration camp.
To those soldiers and handled other hands, the hands of expert puppeteers operating in the shadows. The soldiers lost all heroic dimension, all matter of justice. No longer defending the weak, and failed to protect his people. Just following orders, they should promote such unconditional surrender of my childhood.
Today was a day that was something else. The other had a reunion.
complaint today in court that an economic empire was built on blood. That blood, and too-many-others, consolidated obscene fortunes and extreme poverty.
complaint before the courts for those who were the puppeteers suffer the same fate as their own puppets. Masters of those who were masters, bloodied all deserve to share his fate, and we deserve that they share.
Today
has played a very angry letter from an immense power. Of those where he plays all an act, as in my children's comics. The court case will be called, probably, "Newsprint" could also be called "illusions recovered."
I have to thank, therefore, be living this moment in history, where time to reconnect with some epic, latent, perhaps we had given up for lost.
I have to thank, then, have recovered at some point, this beautiful forgotten treasure. Is as consolation, however, that although children have hopelessly lost some illusions are recovered.
After this encounter with the values \u200b\u200bof childhood itself, perhaps no more than begin to sketch a picture of the history we are bequeathing to our children.
A memory of 80: Report on the Situation, Victor Heredia
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