Quantum Forest logs are written by Luis A. Apiolaza in Christchurch, New Zealand and powered by TextPattern.

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About a name and language
Published Thursday March 3, 2005 · Permalink

Some times Orlando appears in this web log and people ask why did you choose that name? Well, Orlando has the advantage that is spelled the same (and with similar pronunciation) in English and Spanish. No, I do not have any relatives with that name and did not know anybody with the name.

Other Orlandos

There is Tony Orlando, but I didn’t know about his existence before Orlando was born. More popular is Orlando in Shakespeare’s As you like it play. Funnily enough, the most well known Orlandos these days are Orlando Bloom (Legolas in the Lord of the rings movie) and Orlando, the city where Disney World is located. I say funnily because I am not interested in any of these two. Orlando is related to Orly and seems to be related to Rolando and Rowland.

I am writing this in Rotorua (New Zealand), where English and Maori meet in a big way. Maoris are often surprised by my pronunciation of Maori words, that appears to sound very well. Vowels in Maori are quite close to Spanish, so it is not really a reflection of my language skills, but just another linguistic accident.

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Bello Barrio
Published Wednesday January 5, 2005 · Permalink

My previous post makes reference to a poem by Mauricio Redolés. It is difficult to explain the beauty of some of Mauricio’s writings, particularly when you hear him singing (it’s crap). It is hard to find his poems in the web, so here there is one—I know, in Spanish, although I have tried to include as many links as possible in English—that I find particularly interesting. This is a transcription from a reading, so most probably the verses are a bit off.

Bello barrio (Mauricio Redolés 1987)

Descubrí un bello barrio en Santiago de Chile
Es un bello barrio en que los camaradas no han desaparecido aún y los bares son color anilina que puede leerse al revés igual.

Descubrí un bello barrio de luces antiguas y gente amable
Las mujeres son bellas ánimas aún más que una madre, atraviesan las calles en aeroplano.

Y hay avisos, y hay avisos, y hay avisos, y hay avisos antiguos envueltos en gasa y paños sencillos

Y el blues vive en la sangre y aún no ha llegado la hora de los asesinatos
Es más aún, la banda de asesinos todavía es tramitada en las fronteras del Polo Sur.

Descubrí un bello frágil barrio al suroeste de Santiago de Chile
Su belleza es tal que aún mi hermano tiene el rostro recompuesto antes de la fiebre verde y los fierrazos.

Es bello, porque parece ser Londres 1956 por Bethnal Green
O Buenos Aires 1950, con equipos de fútbol y barras de emigrantes
y Gato Barbieri es chico, con olor a chocolate y naranjas

Hay arreglos de guitarra imaginativos y tengo amores con una muchacha que es casi de este barrio.

Hay la alegría de esa utopía que nos negó este siglo

Ven a vivir esta fragilidad peligrosa de corromperse

Aquí nadie discrimina a los negros porque todos somos negros
Aquí nadie discrimina a los obreros porque todos somos obreros
Aquí nadie discrimina a las mujeres porque todos somos mujeres
Aquí nadie discrimina a los chicanos porque todos somos chicanos
Aquí nadie discrimina a los comunistas porque todos somos comunistas
Aquí nadie discrimina a los chilenos porque todos somos chilenos
Aquí nadie discrimina a los cabros chicos porque todos somos cabros chicos
Aquí nadie discrimina a los rockeros porque todos somos rockeros
Aquí nadie discrimina a los punkies porque todos somos punkies
Aquí nadie discrimina a los mapuches porque todos somos mapuches
Aquí nadie discrimina a los hindúes porque todos somos hindúes

Ven a vivir esta fragilidad peligrosa de corromperse

Bello barrio, bello barrio, bello barrio, bello barrio bello

En que los cines dan las películas del Guatón Ruiz
Y la música de Los Jaivas no ha sido destruida a hachazos

Bello barrio con b larga y a corta, en que el proyecto cultural no ha sido culeado,
ni tampoco nos borraron los murales
que anuncian la venida del afamado grupo chicano de rock Los Lobos
y la emigración de viejos chipriotas y hermanas negras traen la comida y la música que nadie les pisoteará
Porque acá nadie discrimina a los chipriotas porque todos somos chipriotas
Y en donde tú vas con tu sueño y la ternura viva en los labios
Porque acá nadie discrimina a los que van con su sueño y la ternura viva en los labios.

Bello barrio en que los dinamitados aún tienen los dedos pegados a las manos y el páncreas dentro de su cuerpo y van por ahí tranquilos
Más tranquilos que son esos

Barrio donde existen horas que después no fuerán necesarias
Barrio de lluvia y gotas como estufa y hay una sinceridad de panadería que me pone nostálgico y sureño
Y la guerra no está ni en las historietas del kiosco
Porque en esas historietas vienen sólo colores y gritos de gozo

Iba un hombre mitad pez y mitad hombre y todos lo quieren y le preguntan:
¿Cuál es tu nombre amigo?
Y él ríe con sus ojos anaranjados de pez

Barrio donde ese loco de Miraflores y Merced salió hace cincuenta siglos, la mañana en que el tiempo ajeno fue el tiempo

Ven a vivir esta fragilidad peligrosa de corromperse

Barrio con cuadernos de hojas verdes y gruesas
donde el lápiz conversa con el cuaderno al escribir y son amigos

Barrio donde Soledad Fariña pinta su primer libro
Barrio donde Téllez organiza un primer tucaneo

Descubrí un bello barrio en que el oxigeno es bello y puedo llorar cuando escribo

Descubrí un bello barrio donde nadie discrimina a los allanados porque todos nos hemos hallado

Ven a vivir esta fragilidad peligrosa de corromperse

Barrio donde los misterios son misterios bellos y entretenidos
Barrio donde las chimeneas echan oxígeno y la gente puede perder un paraguas, pero nadie le devuelve una metralleta, conchetumadre

Barrio en que en la tele aún sale el Perro Olivares y Cortázar y Arlen Siu y Víctor Jara y Roque Dalton y John Lennon. Están posibles con la posibilidad que vivieron

Barrio en donde los accidentes son accidentales

Acá el presente no ha acontecido, es más aún, las balas que desgarrarán los tiernos pezones de los desaparecidos aún son plomo en lejanas minas de un continente aún no descubierto

Ven a vivir esta fragilidad peligrosa de corromperse

En donde las librerías de viejos están llenas de obras que luego la memoria tendrá que someter a la fantasía
Barrio en donde los poetas aún dialogan con la muerte, de madrugada, bebiendo pisco y no se han enemistado con ella

Acá el futuro se vive en su pasado, noticias vulgares en radios vulgares

Ven a vivir esta fragilidad peligrosa de corromperse

Se llega por recorridos de micros inexistentes
Se llega por calles subterráneas
Ven a esta bella barriada a encender el ultimo fuego
amor

Bello Barrio certainly reminds me of Barrio Bellavista, where I used to live with my parents in Dardignac Street.

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Holy coincidence Batman!
Published Wednesday January 5, 2005 · Permalink

Just before Christmas I contacted Dorian (now in Colorado, USA) about some questions I had on the simulation of breeding strategies. He pointed out that Ric and him had done some work on the area, and that I should contact Ric to get some examples.

I wrote to Ric (suppossedly in New Zealand) and he replied from Switzerland, where he is on sabbatical. That would not be coincidental at all if he were not sharing an office with Yongjun, who used to work with me as a postdoc. Yongjun called me two days ago from Zurich and we had a chat about a paper that we need to finish.

Almost at the same time I was contacted by Gustavo (from Mexico), with whom I went to high school while living in Argentina. As far as I know, Gustavo has no relationship whatsover with genetics—apart from his own genes, of course—but hardly ever write to me, even in Christmas time.

Coincidence (from Latin co-incidere, to co-occur) is somewhat related in meaning to one of my favorite words: serendipity. Incidentally, the ‘holy’ part of the title is a contribution from that classic 1966 TV show: Batman; the one with Adam West, the best Batman ever…

I have to acknowledge, Christmas always makes me feel ‘nostálgico y sureño’ (with thanks to Mauricio Redolés—or in this old site—Bello Barrio, 1987).

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Lively conversation and internet communities
Published Friday December 10, 2004 · Permalink

We had some wondeful conversations with Peter in Wakefield, New Zealand. We were talking about the links between optimism and optimum and later Peter was telling me about the relationship between adventious events and religion. Then he mentioned the connection between Chrestos (sense auspicious, good) and Christianity. The word chrestos sounded familiar to me, when I remembered the word chrestomathy (a selection of literary passages).

Luis, Orlando and Peter in Pitfure House, NZ

While we were talking about the etymology of these words I mentioned that I thought there was a name for words of mixed etymology. I could not remember the word, and the closest I have got is to macaronic (yes, it sounds like pasta). Do you know the word I was thinking of? If you do, please contact me using this form. This is just another case of loganamnosis.

Sadly, my problems to find the word relate to the disappearance of The Agora (following the link you may get a ‘page not found’ error message). It is hard to create a vibrant internet community and it is so easy to destroy it. First it was the electronic implosion where there were thousands of posts lost. Then another minor implosion and then total disappearance. A real shame.

PS. 2004-12-10. The Agora seems to be working again…

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The virtue of selfishness
Published Friday November 19, 2004 · Permalink

This morning I finished reading Ayn Rand’s ‘The Fountainhead’, a 1943 novel about the battle between individualism and collectivism. I bought the second edition (1947) of the book three weeks ago in a second-hand bookshop. A sticker showed that the book had been sitting on a shelve since July 2001.

The story is compelling, although the dialogues are sometimes a bit artificial, particularly when Rand is pushing the philosophical (and ideological) aspects of her thought. For example, Ellsworth Toohey’s final conversation with Peter Keating reminded me of a villain confessing his abject plans to Batman: a long and detailed explanation, although Keating is no Batman but a beaten man.

Nevertheless, I tend to agree with Rand’s diagnostic: second-handers have condemned creators, and their ideals for centuries. As Howard Roark (the protagonist) puts it in his trial:

No man can live for another. He cannot share his spirit just as he cannot share his body. But the second-hander has used altruism as a weapon of exploitation and reversed the base of mankind’s moral principles. Men have been taught every precept that destroys the creator. Men have been taught dependence as a virtue.

...

Men have been taught that the ego is synonym of evil, and selflessness the ideal of virtue. But the creator is the egotist in the absolute sense, and the selfless man is the one who does not think, feel, judge or act. These are functions of the self.

...

A man thinks and works alone. A man cannot rob, exploit or rule—alone. Robbery, exploitation and ruling presuppose victims. They imply dependence. They are the province of the second-hander.

I did enjoy the book and will go back to the second-hand bookshop to look for Atlas shrugged. By the way, the title of this post comes from a book of essays I am reading at the moment. As with any philosophy, I will treat Ayn Rand’s objectivism with a pinch of salt: it has valuable ideas, but it is not the ‘one size fits all’ solution for all the problems of the world.

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