Ocultos en el bosque alpino los dos hombres atisbaban la rampa gigantesca de hielo que había construído el dueño de las pistas para esquiar.
---Le digo que el tipo es más que extraño inspector. Desde lo más alto forzaba a las vacas a esquiar en vuelo.
Pero me pregunto, ¿Porqué ha mandado a traer hasta acá arriba todos ésos camellos en el helicóptero?---
ENGLISH VERSION.
Hidden in the alpine forest both men spied upon the huge ice ramp that had been built by the owner of the ski resort.
----I tell you inspector. The guy is beyond weird. From the very top he forced the cows to fly downhill on skis. But I wonder why he is unloading those camels from the helicopter?----
Showing posts with label creatividad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creatividad. Show all posts
Friday, February 22, 2013
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
EUREKA. © Carlos de la Parra. ( español--english, clic down. existen 2 blogs llamados themicrostories, haga clic en mi perfil para leer el otro) There are two blogs titled themicrostories. Clic on my profile to find the other one. Avoid google translator because it does it inaccurately. Just clic down and read english version.
Resolví el dilema acerca de como decidir a quien echar fuera de la balsa cuando todos se quieren por igual, pero de no hacerlo se ahogarían.
Tomar turnos y arrastrar a los que quedan en el agua.
Quizás ésto dé luz para ser aplicado en otro tipo de emergencias.
ENGLISH VERSION.
I have solved the dilemma of deciding who gets off the lifeboat when all inside love one another, but not doing so would drown everyone.
Take turns and drag all who remain in the water.
Perhaps this might be applied to other sort of emergencies.
Tomar turnos y arrastrar a los que quedan en el agua.
Quizás ésto dé luz para ser aplicado en otro tipo de emergencias.
ENGLISH VERSION.
I have solved the dilemma of deciding who gets off the lifeboat when all inside love one another, but not doing so would drown everyone.
Take turns and drag all who remain in the water.
Perhaps this might be applied to other sort of emergencies.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
WRITERS BLOCK---BLOQUEO DE ESCRITOR,© Carlos de la Parra.(Spanish and English versions of a typical problem, clic down for unique view.)
El escritor harto de contemplar la hoja en blanco se puso a dibujar una mano huesuda como de esqueleto. Tan bien hecha le quedó que cobró vida y lo jaló de la corbata y lo fué metiendo para dentro de la hoja al tiempo que le gritaba:
--- ¡Que hartazgo tengo de tí, presionándome con la mirada, pensando que idiotez vas a escribir!,¿ Pero ya te has puesto a pensar a quien le importa lo que escribas y como lo escribas?----
----Bueno quizás a nadie más que a mí---- respondió agónicamente agarrándose de las orillas de la hoja para evitar que éste horrible esqueleto lo acabase de meter dentro del papel.---
----Por Dios, dame un respiro. Ya han pasado desfiles de premiados con el Nobel, el Goncourt, el Príncipe de Asturias,y más; ¿Y qué? Igual se mueren y a la gente no le importa, mira escribe cualquier idiotez que aparezca en el interior de tu cráneo y vete a trabajar, o prepara una buena cena, o cumple con tu deber de entretener al perro, haz cualquier cosa, pero ya.---
En éso sonó el teléfono y contestó con la mano libre y escuchó:
------Pásame al de la mano huesuda.----
Le pasó el teléfono y éste le soltó la mano. Se fué a preparar la cena.
ENGLISH VERSION.
He was at it again, enduring writer's block, sitting there like an idiot staring at the blank page.
Finally realizing this was an exercise of motionless stress and sanity doubts he opted to draw a bony skeletal hand. And he was doing such a great job at it that the hand for unbeknownst reasons came alive on it's own and proceeded to pull him from his tie into the blank page, needless to say causing the writer sheer terror at disappearing into the abyss of that sheet of paper not understanding the final intentions the bony hand had for him , so he struggled to brace himself from his desk and pulled back on the hand with so much strength that you could see the whole bony arm sticking out of the paper. Then he heard the voice of this eerie creature speak:
---Oh man! I'm so sick of you, always stalking the page, conniving to impress with all the crap you imagine, has it ever dawned on you , who gives a royal shit at what you write? Are you not aware before your performance that you have previously been bested by many of other writers who have outdone you by winning nobels, and bookers and goncourts not to mention eons of prizes designed to give them a luster as deservers of glory and money, and who cares?
----Well maybe I care. It's about doing my own version, I'm not competing with anyone, I just do my thing.----
----OH. JUST ENTIRELY SICKENING! Allow me to drown you in a sea of vomit.
Why don't you apply your sick self to something you do well like entertaining the dog or cooking dinner?----
At this point the phone rang and the writer picked it up with his free hand and heard the voice saying.
---Pass me the guy with the bony hand---.
As he handed the receiver, he let go off him ,Now he left the room to go prepare supper.
--- ¡Que hartazgo tengo de tí, presionándome con la mirada, pensando que idiotez vas a escribir!,¿ Pero ya te has puesto a pensar a quien le importa lo que escribas y como lo escribas?----
----Bueno quizás a nadie más que a mí---- respondió agónicamente agarrándose de las orillas de la hoja para evitar que éste horrible esqueleto lo acabase de meter dentro del papel.---
----Por Dios, dame un respiro. Ya han pasado desfiles de premiados con el Nobel, el Goncourt, el Príncipe de Asturias,y más; ¿Y qué? Igual se mueren y a la gente no le importa, mira escribe cualquier idiotez que aparezca en el interior de tu cráneo y vete a trabajar, o prepara una buena cena, o cumple con tu deber de entretener al perro, haz cualquier cosa, pero ya.---
En éso sonó el teléfono y contestó con la mano libre y escuchó:
------Pásame al de la mano huesuda.----
Le pasó el teléfono y éste le soltó la mano. Se fué a preparar la cena.
ENGLISH VERSION.
He was at it again, enduring writer's block, sitting there like an idiot staring at the blank page.
Finally realizing this was an exercise of motionless stress and sanity doubts he opted to draw a bony skeletal hand. And he was doing such a great job at it that the hand for unbeknownst reasons came alive on it's own and proceeded to pull him from his tie into the blank page, needless to say causing the writer sheer terror at disappearing into the abyss of that sheet of paper not understanding the final intentions the bony hand had for him , so he struggled to brace himself from his desk and pulled back on the hand with so much strength that you could see the whole bony arm sticking out of the paper. Then he heard the voice of this eerie creature speak:
---Oh man! I'm so sick of you, always stalking the page, conniving to impress with all the crap you imagine, has it ever dawned on you , who gives a royal shit at what you write? Are you not aware before your performance that you have previously been bested by many of other writers who have outdone you by winning nobels, and bookers and goncourts not to mention eons of prizes designed to give them a luster as deservers of glory and money, and who cares?
----Well maybe I care. It's about doing my own version, I'm not competing with anyone, I just do my thing.----
----OH. JUST ENTIRELY SICKENING! Allow me to drown you in a sea of vomit.
Why don't you apply your sick self to something you do well like entertaining the dog or cooking dinner?----
At this point the phone rang and the writer picked it up with his free hand and heard the voice saying.
---Pass me the guy with the bony hand---.
As he handed the receiver, he let go off him ,Now he left the room to go prepare supper.
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