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Archive for April, 2010

TALENTO DE BARRIO. (DADDY YANKEE MUNDIAL)

April 9th, 2010 | Author: metaleisecarj

Property Developers Paralimni Cyprus

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The Last Trumpet [A Prophetic Poem: now in Spanish and English]

April 7th, 2010 | Author: metaleisecarj

Image : http://www.flickr.com

Part One

In Winter’s fog appeared the Christ,

With thorns and crown and frosted light.

For several months, like Job I cried,

As visions came like moving tides.

By providence biblical rhyme

They came, one by one, future time.

His hand was bright, His palm I saw,

Every print was visible-now!

It lit the room, filled all the space,

Filled my body, Lit my face…

Death was won, osmosis with Light,

Future sorrow was dead as night.

There was no hedge around me now…

A spinning wheel with pottery,

Did God step back I cried “O Lord!!”

Was this the steps and salvation’s door?

O Mother Shipton of long ago,

Witch, prophetess, your words come true.

Part Two

A jackal turned into a horse,

Could famine be its name? Of course!

A double-edged sword stood tall and bright,

Three times I saw its brilliant light.

Could not this be Eden’s door?

Salvation, judgment, swords of war?

A mask that cries a joker’s death

Gives a taste of Shakespeare’s Hamlet,

An unclean spirit circles its brim

Do they watch gthe wound upon the head?

Joker, joker, O mask of death,

Tarnished copper is upon your head.

In my anguish and trying tears,

The Lord spoke softly to my ears,

“Like David, you are after my heart,”

And I cried-in pretense-Ah, me!”

And I heard a stern utterance:

“Is this not so?” Yes, it’s true.

Oh angel, angel, how I try…

To be like Paul, and still alive,

And to my earthly, human ears

An angel spoke with soften tears,

“Saint Paul was human, just like you;

And your limitations are you.”

I’ve heard…no tears in heaven,

And thought: “What of my friends in hell?”

Then, within a mist of sacred dew,

I became awe stricken…alive.

I now knew, of the wonder it is to be

A touch of God’s eternity.

Visions come and yes, visions go

Yet weeping seems to be my goal,

I cry, “O Lord, give me peace!”

Two times I rest within His grace.

And like a vacuum it starts again,

Like in the book of Revelation:

One side is black, the other white;

Night and day unbalanced light.

An ancient battle now appears

Swords and soldiers fighting everywhere.

A black hand covers my dream…

Am I not to see the suffering?

Judea, Judea, is it not you?

The Battle of A.D. 70, I choose;

The mask again, warnings devise

The Prince of Darkness: out of sight.

A copper bullet, rocket speed,

Faith, faith it’s headed at me!

“And young men shall see visions,”

Cried the prophets of long ago:

Daniel, St. John, David Wilkerson…

Have you not witness them too?

Ruin awaits a word asleep:

Prophets of old, time is ripe.

Panic I see, and buildings fall.

Is it my face I witness now?

Beside a stone wall I shift and rest:

Pre-trials, earthquakes: time is short.

Trumpets, trumpets, where are you now?

Time is winding up for all….

Like molten metal in bowl

And poured to earth like plagues of gold;

Stands a husky skeleton and tall:

Babylon, Daniel’s Beast, the toes?

Oh, but you will fall, quickly now–

Hollywood cracked, Sodom’s fall!

Skulls, spirits, ships at sea;

Huddled demon standing, watching:

The Capitol, Cathedral, One?

Seattle, San Francisco, Why?

Landmarks: Florida entrenched-war or play?

White capes, death shapes, saints walk by.

Powerful looking, not feminine

Knelt the Savior in the Garden Grove,

His eyes piercing in thought.

I knew He was the Christ, confirmed,

And the spirit in me was prompted by Him.

Tarnished baked skin by the sun

He is beard, admirably kept…fine wool;

His hair-not long, like paintings shown,

But light-dark brown, like the profile of Psalms.

Unclean spirits circled the air;

No distraction, steadfast, He was in Prayer.

Avoid this vision if you can!

Christ on the Cross-Deboned like fish:

Ugly as sin, my body’s shocked,

My mind is pulsing, vomiting….

Now I know the price He paid;

No man has ever been seen this way.

Odd-looking space crafts, labs, all eerie;

Machinery unknown to me,

Demon possessed, falling from space–

Our earthly atmosphere defaced.

And the prophet prophesied:

“There will be strange things…in the sky.”

A pale arm-dreadfully thin…falling;

‘Tis called Pestilence, deadly sin:

The fourth horse of Apocalypse,

And the Lord spoke: “Repent, repent.”

And the world shall taste uncouth rime=

Ah, that is the False Prophet’s time.

Then I saw a High Priest, of sorts,

With a robe of precious stones,

Purple, prayerful-with jeering tones;

What church? Nimrod! Satan’s Prince?

“The wheat and tars shall grow together,”

Cries the Rapture and heaven’s quest….

Then I saw an eagle, a dragon–

The eagle hurt, falling form the sky!

Dragon-with a grin, abnormal–

Teeth like sharks, moping, passing by.

Oh! Darkness will befall the earth,

The Abyss is open 12:03, the curse.

Visions come and visions go,

The spiritual world becoming real;

Current events-unraveling time,

Hell’s Abyss is alive!

Symbolic signs of Revelation,

Are but future Tribulation.

“Run to the mountains and the dens,”

Cries the scriptures and friend;

For death will have its sting to see

The latter days are nearing.

Reality with life’s visions

Are witnessing Globalism.

Was it hell or the “Lake of Fire?”

Prophecy, reality, ’tis true.

As I viewed this vision, I wasn’t told–

He was preserved, consumed, and froze.

O but a joke, scorn, or jest

Is a far cry from this quest!

Oh, but this age in which we live,

Truly, this era is different, we sense;

A polarization of all things,

Neutrality doesn’t exist–

Time, relativity, the present;

Satan will soon wage war in Heaven.

The universe, like a body of cells,

Cascading like the gates of hell.

And so the science of physics

Whispers to thermodynamics:

“God’s spiritual breathe gives life…

Like the cell that subsides and dies.”

I saw Egypt, Russia, U.S.A.,

In different ways and stages, readying!

And Ezekiel cried from Scripture:

“Fire rains down on the coastlands.”

Israel, Jerusalem–You!

Two wars: China and the far North.

Two planets close to each other I see,

One like our moon the other like Mars?

A third object a comet-speeding

Through its channel, it’s leaving.

Another object, smoothly carved,

Headed towards earth’s atmosphere.

Disaster rides the horse of red:

Three times I saw Washington’s death–

Buildings, houses being attacked,

Jets, paratroopers, ablaze!

There on the coast sits Master Frog,

A satanic sprit, New York’s god.

A roaring jet around the globe,

A wounded eagle, falling slow,

A Dragon standing, teeth like sharks

Great Babylon’s in the dark.

The seeds of what shall surely be–

Daniel saw him too–the Lamb-beast.

Call now, but who will answer thee?

Control room, people, and clouds, smoke

Speeding missile (dust, hurricane);

Throwing earth like loose hay.

Two crowns, wooden bowls, long table,

An upheaval in nature–God’s anger.

The end of a serpent’s tail: shark?

A scorpion-like extension,

Flashes of faces I see, a demon,

A huge being, soaked: Neptune?

Prophecy: a beast from the sea;

And from the Abyss, tails that sting.

A mountain shows its mighty face

A pyramid, ship, fire, disgrace!

Is Egypt rising like the Nile?

In a political world like an unfed child.

Judgment bowls, with balancing scales–

One for man, and Satan’s Child?

I see a Hawk…of Palestine?

His iris is a pitiless, dark design–

A bird of prey, I am told;

“Look to the South,” cries the prophet Job.

Nations of prey, where is your light?

O Israel, you are their plight.

Angry faces that seem to die,

Four faces in torment they cry,

A wound upon a shaven head

Sectioned in four, the center spot…dread.

Hoof beats of apocalypse scorn,

Gabriel stands close to his horn.

In a moment of a vision

There they sat…ah, in deaden pews,

Indifferent, in a faithless church,

People sleeping as in a trance.

So it is written of-end days,

Apostasy–the Christian ways.

“In whose hand is the club of wrath?”

Cries the word from Isaiah:

Whose purpose is to destroy?

Who can shift nations like toys?

And the prophet cries from the past:

The nations are his to leave and cast.

Then I asked with deep affair,

To grant two visions to a friend;

The Jews were held behind glass doors–

Bargaining, readying: a black book.

And the prophet cried long ago,

“It is time; Let my people go!”

And in the jungle, a puzzle–

Ten pieces, animals, different sizes;

The riddle was all put together,

Except for one piece called the beast.

The all pieces become alive

“Set hour house in order,” Isaiah cries!

◊

I saw her cast into a bed–

Jezebel, Jezebel, I dread;

Dabble not with her system, but heed:

Darkness, the last trumpet, history.

Tears, let him hear who has an ear,

A child in prayer, and a soldiers gear.

Am I alive, in a womb…Dead?

In the sky by an angels breast?

Smoke, smoke, lots of smoke I see:

Jerusalem’s looking at me.

You’re illuminated? The White Knight

Untouchable in this darken night.

Egypt, Paris, fields of wheat;

Spacecraft, falling machinery;

Life, or death, an egg in a hand:

Starvation, war, global plans….

The bowl of judgment has arrived–

Anger and plagues are inside.

Florida, you’re dusty and dark…?

China, you’re in the news…:

People reading papers (a world event),

Poland’s red tapestry, Java, etc.

Interplanetary gloom-woe!

The blood of Armageddon.

Part Three

And now a verse of present rhyme,

The Middle East is losing time;

Believe in the Lord…His prophecies.

Do not shun them deliberately.

And from the Hawk and ships at sea,

The thunder of war is readying!

Behold! Tonight I see the Christ,

With an aging beard that wasn’t right.

Had I not been warned years ago?

Do not tread the ground that’s old.

Then I saw a Hawk, descending,

Claws, wings, expanding, readying,

And yes, I asked for prophecy,

A sign that all would know, I believe;

The shroud, the shroud: three times I see,

The Shroud of Turin a mystery.

Birth pains of Apocalypse, I see,

An eagle stunned (the U.S.A.),

A woman, standing by a desert…Why!

Eight Angel, Israel…let her by.

Visions come and visions go, be blessed;

Revelation declares this so…

IN SPANISH

Translated by Nancy Penaloza

La Última Trompeta

Un Poema Profético

Parte uno

En la neblina invernal apareció Cristo,

Con espinas y corona, y luz opaca.

Por muchos meses, como Job yo clamé

Mientras las visiones venían como mareas.

Por providencial orden bíblico

Ellas vendrán, una a una, en el futuro.

Su mano era brillante, yo vi sus palmas,

¡Cada huella estaba visible-ahora!

Esto ilumino el cuarto, lleno todo el espacio,

Lleno mi cuerpo, iluminó mi rostro.

La muerte fue ganada, penetró con fuego,

Sufrimientos futuros muertos como la noche.

No hubo ventaja alrededor mío ahora…

Una torno de hilado con alfarería,

¿Retrocedió Dios? Yo grite “OH Señor”.

¿Fueron estos los pasos y la puerta de la salvación?

Parte dos

El chacal se convirtió en caballo,

¿Podría ser la hambruna su nombre? ¡Por supuesto!

Una espada con doble filo permaneció alta y brillante,

Tres veces yo vi su luz brillante.

¿No Podría ser ésta la puerta del Edén?

¿Salvación, sentencia, espadas de guerra?

Una mascara que llora la muerte del payaso

Da un sabor de Hamlet de shakespeare,

Un espíritu impuro circula su tope

¿Observan ellos la herida sobre la cabeza?

Payaso, payaso, o mascara de la muerte,

El cobre deslucido esta sobre tu cabeza.

En mi angustia y lágrimas desapercibidas,

El señor habló suavemente a mis oídos,

“Como David, tu estas después de mi corazón”

Y yo grite- en pretensión-¡”Ah, yo”!

Y yo oí una palabra severa:

¿”No es esto así”? Si, es verdad.

OH ángel, ángel, como trato…

De ser como Pablo, y todavía vivir,

Y para mis terrenales, oídos humanos

Un ángel hablo con lágrimas enternecedoras,

“San Pablo era humano, justo como tu;

Y tus limitaciones son tuyas”.

Yo he oído, ningunas lágrimas en el cielo,

Y pensé; ¿”Qué de mis amigos en el infierno”?

Luego, entre una niebla de roció sagrado

Yo llegué a sobrecogerme afligido–vivo.

Ahora yo se, de las maravillas de ser

Un toque de la eternidad de Dios.

Visiones vienen y si, visiones van

Aun el llanto parece ser mi meta

Yo clamo, “OH señor, dame paz”

Dos veces yo reposé dentro de su gracia

Y como un vació esto empieza otra vez

Como en el libro de las revelaciones:

Un lado es negro y el otro blanco;

La noche y el día desequilibraron la luz.

Una batalla antigua ahora aparece

Espadas y soldados que luchan por todas partes.

La mano negra cubre mis sueños…

¿No veré yo el sufrimiento?

¿Judea, Judea, no eres tu?

La batalla del 70 antes de Cristo, yo decido;

La mascara nuevamente, dispositivo de alarma

El príncipe de la oscuridad: Fuera de la vista.

Una bala de cobre, a la velocidad de un cohete,

¡”Confianza, confianza esto esta dirigiéndose a mi!”

“Y los jóvenes verán las visiones”

Clamaron los profetas de hace tiempo:

Daniel, san Juan, David Wilkerson..

¿No los han presenciado también?

Las ruinas esperan una palabra dormida:

Profetas de la antigüedad, el tiempo es oportuno.

Pánico veo, y edificaciones desmoronadas.

¿Es este mi rostro yo atestiguo ahora?

Al lado de una pared de piedra me desplazo y descanso:

Antes del juicio, terremotos: el tiempo es corto.

Trompetas, trompetas, ¿”Donde están Uds. Ahora”?

El tiempo esta concluyendo para todos…

Como metal derretido en un tazón

Y vertido en la tierra como peste de oro;

Permanece un ronco y alto esqueleto:

Babilonia, la bestia de Daniel, ¿La alerta?

OH, pero tú caerás, rápidamente ahora-

Hollywood agrietado, la caída de Sodoma!

Esqueletos, espíritus, barcos del mar;

Grupo de demonios permanecen, esperando:

El capitolio, la Catedral, ¿uno?

¿Seattle, san Francisco, ¿porque?

Lugares reconocidos: Florida atrincherada-¿guerra o juego?

Capas blancas, sombras de muerte, santos pasando de largo.

Mirada poderosa, no femenina

Arrodillado el salvador en el jardín del olivo,

Sus ojos penetrantes en reflexión.

Yo se que el fue el Cristo, confirmado,

Y el espíritu en mi fue impulsado por él.

Piel deslucida quemada por el sol

El está con barba, admirablemente mantenido- buena lana;

Su cabello- no largo, como lo muestran las pinturas,

Marrón pero ligeramente oscuro, como el perfil de los salmos.

Espíritus impuros circulando por el aire;

sin distracción, firme, el esta en oración.

Evita esta visión si tu puedes!

Cristo en la cruz-deshuesado como pescado:

Horrible como el pecado, mi cuerpo esta conmocionado,

Mi mente esta empujando vomitando….

Ahora yo se el precio que el pagó;

Ningún hombre alguna vez ha sido visto de esta manera.

Extraño- parecen naves espaciales, laboratorios, todo espeluznante;

Maquinaria desconocida para mí,

Demonios poseídos, cayendo del espacio-

Nuestra atmósfera terrenal desfigurada.

Y el profeta profetizo:

“Habrán cosas entrañas… en el cielo”

Un brazo pálido- espantosamente delgado–cayendo;

“Esto es llamado pestilencia, pecado mortal:

El cuarto caballo del Apocalipsis,

Y el señor hablo, “arrepiéntanse, arrepiéntanse.”

Y el mundo probara inculta rima

Ah, ese es el tiempo del falso profeta.

Luego yo vi, un alto sacerdote, si puede llamarse así,

Con una toga de piedras preciosas,

Púrpura, piadoso orando- con tonos lastimeros:

¿Que iglesia? ¿Nimrod príncipe Satán?

“El trigo y el alquitrán crecerán juntos”,

Llora la búsqueda del cielo y el éxtasis…

Luego yo vi un águila, un dragón-

El águila herida, ¡cayendo desde el cielo!

El dragón. Con una mueca anormal-

Dientes como tiburón, abatido, pasando cerca

¡OH! La oscuridad acontecerá la tierra,

el precipicio esta abierto 12:03, la maldición.

Visiones van y visiones vienen,

El mundo espiritual llegando a ser real;

Eventos actuales-tiempo sin revelación,

¡El precipicio del infierno esta vivo!

Signos simbólicos de revelación,

Pero son futuras revelaciones.

“Corre hacia las montañas y las guaridas”,

Gritan las escrituras y amigo;

Para la muerte habrá su aguijón para ver

Los últimos días se están acercando.

Realidad con visiones de vida

Están presenciando la globalización.

Fue este el infierno o el ¿”lago del fuego”?

La profecía, la realidad, “esto es cierto”

Cuando yo vi esta visión, yo no fui dicho-

El fue preservado, consumido y congelado.

¡OH pero un chiste, menosprecio o burla!

¡Es una gran diferencia de esta búsqueda!

OH, pero esta época en la cual vivimos,

Verdaderamente, esta era es diferente, sentimos;

Una polarización de todas las cosas,

La Neutralidad no existe-

El tiempo, la relatividad, el presente;

Satanás pronto emprenderá la guerra en el cielo.

El universo, como un cuerpo de células,

Cayendo en cascada como las puertas del infierno.

Y entonces la ciencia de física

Susurros de termodinámica.

“Dios espiritual respira da la vida…

Como la célula que se hunde y muere”.

Vi a Egipto, Rusia, USA,

En diferentes formas y representaciones, ¡preparándose!

Y Ezequiel grito desde las escrituras;

“Lluvias de fuego caerán en las costas”.

Israel, Jerusalén-¡Tú!

Dos guerras: China y el polo Norte.

Dos planetas cerca uno del otro yo vi,

Uno como nuestra luna y el otro como ¿Marte?

Un tercer objeto un cometa – a exceso de velocidad

Directo a su canal, está alejándose.

Otro objeto, suavemente tallado,

Se dirige hacia la atmósfera de la tierra.

El desastre cabalga el caballo rojo:

Tres veces yo vi la muerte de Washington

Edificaciones, casas siendo atacadas,

Reactores, paracaidistas ! ardiendo!

Allí sobre la costa se sienta la Rana Magistral,

Un espíritu satánico, el Dios de Nueva York.

Un motor rugiente alrededor del globo,

Un águila herida, cayendo lentamente,

Un dragón posicionado, dientes como tiburones

La gran Babilonia en la oscuridad.

Las semillas de lo que serán seguramente

Daniel lo vio también- la bestia -de cordero.

Llama ahora, pero ¿Quién te responderá?

Sala de control, gente, y nubes, humo

Misiles velocísimos (polvo, remolino)

Lanzando la tierra como heno suelto;

Dos coronas, tazas de de madera, mesa larga,

Un trastorno, semejante a – la ira de Dios.

El final de la cola de una serpiente: ¿Tiburón?

Un escorpión-como propuesta

Los destellos de caras yo veo, un demonio,

Un enorme ser, empapado: ¿Neptuno?

Profecía: Una bestia del mar;

Y de los precipicios, colas que pican.

Una montaña muestra su cara impresionante

Una pirámide, barco, fuego, ¡vergüenza!

¿Está Egipto creciendo como el Nilo?

En un mundo político como un niño desnutrido.

¿El juicio juega a los bolos, con el equilibrio de la balanza

Uno por hombre, y el niño de Satanás?

Yo vi un halcón….¿de Palestina?

Su iris es un implacable, designio negro-

Un ave de rapiña, me dicen;

“mira hacia el sur”, clama el profeta Job.

¿Naciones de rapiña, donde esta tu luz?

O, Israel, tu situación es grave.

Rostros enfadados que parecen morir,

Cuatro rostros atormentados ellos lloran,

Un herida sobre una cabeza. Afeitada,

Seccionada en cuatro, el centro un poquito sobrecogido.

El casco golpea el desprecio del Apocalipsis,

Gabriel esta parado cerca de su cuerno.

En un momento de visión

Allí ellos sentados…ah, en bancos de iglesia amortiguados,

Indiferentemente, en una iglesia desleal,

La gente durmiendo como en un trance.

Entonces esta escrito de -los días finales,

La deslealtad- los caminos cristianos.

¿”En manos de quien esta el club de la ira”?

Clama la palabra de Isaías:

¿De quién es su objetivo destruir?

¿Quien puede cambiar naciones como juguetes?

Y los profetas clamaron desde el pasado:

Las naciones son su salida y elección.

Entonces yo pregunté con profundo desconcierto

Conceder dos visiones a un amigo;

Los judíos eran mantenidos detrás de unas puertas de vidrio.

Negociando, preparando: un libro negro.

Y el profeta clamo por mucho tiempo,

¡”Este es el tiempo; deja ir a mi gente”!

Y en la selva, un rompecabezas-

Diez piezas, animales, de diferentes tamaños;

El enigma era poner todo junto,

Excepto por una pieza llamada la bestia.

Todas las piezas transformadas en vivas

¡”Pon nuestra casa en orden”, clamo Isaías!

#9674;

Yo vi su forma dentro de una cama-

Jezabel, Jezabel, yo temo;

Interesándome no con su sistema, si no con su atención:

Oscuridad, la última trompeta, historia.

Lagrimas, déjale oír quien tenga oídos,

Un niño en oración, y soldados en marcha.

¿Estoy vivo, en un útero… muerto?

¿En el cielo amamantado por unos Ángele

Humo, humo, bastante humo veo:

Jerusalén esta mirándome.

Tu estas iluminado? El caballero blanco

Intocable en esta noche oscura.

Egipto, Paris, campos de trigo;

Naves espaciales, maquinaria cayendo;

Vida, o muerte, un huevo en una mano:

Hambre, guerra, planes globales…

Los bolos de sentencia han llegado-

Ira y plagas están dentro.

Florida, tu estas polvorienta y ¿oscura…?

China, tú estas en las noticias…:

La gente leyendo el periódico (un evento mundial),

El tapiz rojo de Polonia, Java, etc.

¡Infortunio de penumbra interplanetaria!

La sangre de Armagedon.

Parte tres

Y ahora un verso de rima actual,

El Oriente medio pierde tiempo;

Crean en el señor…sus profecías.

No los rechace deliberadamente.

Y desde el halcón y los barcos del mar,

¡Los truenos de guerra esta alistándose!

¡Contempla! Esta noche yo veo al Cristo,

Con una barba envejecida que no estaba correcta.

¿No lo había advertido hace años?

No pises la tierra que esta vieja.

Luego vi un halcón, descendiendo,

Garras, alas extendiéndose, alistándose,

Y si, le pregunte por la profecía,

Una señal que todos podríamos conocer, yo creo;

El sudario, el sudario: tres veces yo vi,

El sudario de Turín un misterio.

Nacimiento de dolores del Apocalipsis, yo veo,

Un águila aturdida (los estados unidos)

Una mujer, parada en el desierto… ¿Porque?

Ángel octavo, Israel…déjala ir.

Visiones vienen y visiones van, ser bendecido;

Revelaciones declaraciones eso es así…

#1632;#1632;#1632;

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My Old Grandpa (A Chick Evens Story) (In English and Spanish)

April 6th, 2010 | Author: metaleisecarj

Image : http://www.flickr.com

As I look back now, I suppose I could say, my grandpa was never cut out to look young, one of those guys that looked to me, all my life-in all the twenty-seven years of knowing him-he never got older, he just stayed old from day one, always looking the same; except a little towards the last months of his life, and then it wasn’t his fault, he was tiring over those long 83-years of life and work, he worked up to about three months prior to his death. I called him the Old Russian Bear; he came from Russia, in 1916 (born in 1891) and fought in WWI, in 1918, as an American Soldier.

I remember the way he’d pull on my ears as we walked down the dark gloomy streets at night to get a haircut, for seventy-five cents, at a friend’s house that was a dollar cheaper than the barbershop, back in 1955.

Early on Saturday mornings, we’d rush out of the house to go downtown to the marketplace (in St. Paul, Minnesota), it was a two mile walk, and by the time we got to the market, I’d just be waking up, with the dew from the nearby Mississippi River rising and fading, and shifting north of the city, past the market place, up Jackson Street, the street we had walked down. I’d help him carry his groceries as he went from one street trader to the next, he’d buy fresh chickens usually at the open market, but only the ones he saw himself that the butcher had cut their heads off.

“Come on, kid,” he’d say to me, moving from one spot at the marketplace to another, “let’s get going, we don’t have all day” he’d sternly grunt with his hoarse voice, “keep up, don’t fool around, we got work to do…” he’d tell me looking back from the corner of his eye to see what I was doing, while checking out the cauliflower, or asparagus, for his Russian stew.

Then we’d head on over to Wabasha Street, about four blocks from the Market, to a butcher shop he usually patronized this certain one, he’d be ahead of me, I’d almost have to run to keep pace with him. If he stopped for any reason, I’d walk ahead of him, and he’d catch up to me in a moment’s time. After a little while he’d look in back of him to see where I was, and he’d see I was sweating heavy, and slowing up some, he’d think I was dogging it, purposely, and then he’d squint his eyes, “You kids can’t do nothing nowadays,” he’d say, adding to that, “lazy as a dead mule!-keep up now!”

We’d keep right on walking toward the butcher shop, and old grandpa never once built up a sweat, only a grin, that is how I learned how to grin I do believe, and to every sentence, he’d swear once or twice, and repeat a half dozen times, “Hey, you keep up!” and then we were there. I’d look back towards the market, over towards Jackson Street, say to myself ‘It’s going to be a long haul, walking back.’

He’d now grab my nine-year old wrist, wrapping his fingers tightly around it, squeezing my wrist, then say, “Now you better stay right here, you hear me, or I’ll twist that ear of yours off your head!”

And I’d nod my head up and down, as a gesture of obedience.

Sometimes I’d find an empty chair to sit down on it, and watch my grandpa order his meat-pointing to this and that through a glass window behind a counter, it was usually sausage and beef or large portions of pork, for the Sunday get-togethers. He’d have the butcher cut special sections out of the ham or loin, or a piece of a large section of beef, cut some fat off, and trim around the bones, if they were ribs, he’d hand pick the best part out, perhaps having the butcher cut the ends off, leaving the rest for someone else, but at the end of it all, he’d have to pay double the price.

I’d have sweat pouring off my face in the morning summer heat, especially if it got past 11:00 a.m., before we headed back.

In a way it was a treat to be with my old Grandpa, skip along in back of him, and if he looked, I’d smile and walk normal. Hauling all that meat back in our arms, and by the time we got back home, my arms were hurting as if they were tied up like steers and then untied and I needed to stretch them out. I never thought of it as a burden, or even a task, perhaps more on the line of a morning mission, an adventurous undertaking; I liked meeting the people, and being introduced as his grandson.

He’d start the stew that Saturday evening, and in the dead of night, he’d get up and cook it some more, stirring it for an hour or so; if I was awake, I’d watch him for a while, go back and forth from the kitchen into the living room, and back to the kitchen again, until I fell back to sleep. I did this from the edge of my bed, kept the door open a crack, I’d watch him smoking his cigar or pipe also, as he paced the floor waiting for the stew to get the right thickness (so he could go back to bed, wake up early and put the potatoes and tomatoes, in the stew-and noodles in the chicken soup, and put the sausage around the stew), and I always knew when he was smoking, it left a tail it seemed, that seep into the side bedroom, and more often than not it would wake me up, and I’d love to smell the aroma of the stew, and if he had a good cigar, or tobacco, I’d live the scent of that likewise. My brother and mother and I lived with him in those far-off days, kind of an extended family situation.

He sure seemed to be having fun-I’d tell myself on the edge of our bed (my brother and I both slept in the same big bed for a few years, during those days), and he done his work, and so did I that day, hard work for me with sweat, and all that leg work, and by 11:00 a.m., the next day, he’d finish, chicken and noodles, with Russian stew, and some long links of sausage. Hard burnt bread and all the family members came over to his house, perhaps fifteen or twenty, every Sunday of every week of every year that was a lot of kilos of food.

And then one day, I was then twenty-seven years old, in 1974, I stopped by to see my mother and grandpa, and he was dead my mother told me, he had died that afternoon. I sat in his sofa chair, gathering my thoughts, I was stunned, “He had a stroke, they were going to take him to the hospital, but he was dead already when the ambulance came. He was lying on the floor when I got home from work.” My mother explained to me.

I went outside in the backyard, tried to hold back some tears, I was angry, and he was awfully dead, and I couldn’t help feeling angry.

And then a couple of family members came over, patted me on the shoulder, my aunts and uncles, and wanted to look around to see what they might find (explore), see what they wanted to take of his, personal things, items, everything. And I couldn’t stop being angry, angry and more angry, sort of mad because everyone was around the house trying to get what they could get before the other person got it. And then some arguments started over how much money he had hidden in the house, and how much money one of the aunts (or sisters) was holding for him before he died. And almost everyone called everyone else a liar, and a feud started between a few of the sisters and brothers-and there were six or seven of them, and it would last for twenty-years, or more.

My brother and I went to the funeral, we parked the car outside the cemetery gates, across the street, and sat in the car, didn’t join the others, as the cars seemed to chugalug in like a wagon train. I wiped my eyes, my face with a handkerchief, waiting for the last car to go through the gates.

“Well, Mike what now, should we go or stay?” I said.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

He looked at me, I at him, “All right,” he said,” we’ll go.”

“Old grandpa sure could swear a lot,” I said as we rode down the street, away from the cemetery, I couldn’t think of anything else to say, at the time, but I was thinking nonetheless, thinking: ‘Boy, when someone dies, the scavengers sure come around like hounds after a pound of flesh, come around like hornets buzzing and ready to sting anyone who gets in their way, they don’t miss a thing, or leave a thing behind, nothing unaccounted for, they grab it all, and they do it quickly.’

3-4-2009o ds (dedicated to Anton Siluk)

Spanish Version

Mi Viejo Abuelo

(Una historia de Chick Evens)

Por el Dr. Dennis L. Siluk

Ahora que miro al pasado, supongo que podría decir que mi abuelo no fue hecho para lucir joven, era una de esas personas que nunca envejecen-a mi me pareció, toda mi vida, durante los veintisiete años que lo conocí-él estaba viejo desde el primer día que lo vi, siempre luciendo el mismo; excepto un poquito más viejo en los últimos meses de su vida; y desde luego, esto no era su culpa, él estaba cansado por esos largos ochenta y tres años de vida y trabajo, él trabajó hasta cerca de tres meses antes de su muerte. Yo lo llamaba el Viejo Oso Ruso; él vino de Rusia a Norteamérica en 1916 (nació en 1891) y combatió en la Primera Guerra Mundial en 1918, como un soldado americano.

Me acuerdo de la forma cómo él jalaría mis orejas mientras caminábamos en las noches por las calles sombrías y oscuras yendo a la casa de su amigo para mi corte de pelo por setenta y cinco centavos, que era un dólar más barato que en el peluquero, allá por el año 1955.

Los sábados muy temprano, saldríamos rápido de la casa para ir al mercado que estaba en el centro de la ciudad en San Pablo, Minnesota; era una caminata de más de tres kilómetros y para el tiempo en que llegábamos al mercado, yo estaría terminando de despertarme con la neblina del cercano río Mississippi subiendo y alejándose, y moviéndose hacia el norte de la ciudad, pasando por el mercado hacia arriba de la calle Jackson, la calle que bajábamos. Yo lo ayudaría a cargar los comestibles mientras íbamos de una calle a otra haciendo las compras, él solía comprar pollo fresco generalmente en el mercado abierto, pero sólo aquellos a los que él mismo vio al carnicero cortarles la cabeza.

“Date prisa niño” él me diría, moviéndonos de una punto a otro en el mercado, “sigamos yendo, no tenemos todo el día” él refunfuñaría severamente con su voz ronca, “sigue, no estés tonteando, tenemos que trabajar…” él me diría mirando atrás por el rabillo de sus ojos para ver qué estaría yo haciendo, mientras que al mismo tiempo examinaba las coliflores o espárragos, para su guiso ruso.

Luego nos dirigiríamos hacia la calle Wabasha, aproximadamente a cuatro cuadras del mercado, a una carnicería que él por lo general frecuentaba, él iría delante de mí, yo casi tendría que correr para seguirlo. Si él, por algún motivo, se detenía, yo avanzaría delante de él pero él me alcanzaría en un momento. Al cabo de un rato el miraría atrás para ver dónde yo estaba, y al ver que yo estaba sudando bastante él iría más despacio, él pensaría que yo me estaba haciendo y entonces él movería sus ojos diciendo “ustedes chicos no pueden hacer nada en estos días” añadiendo “ociosos como una mula muerta” – ¡ahora continúa!

Nosotros continuaríamos caminando hacia la tienda del carnicero, y mi viejo abuelo nunca sudaría, sólo una mueca, es así como aprendí a hacer muecas, yo creo. Y a cada frase, él diría una o dos groserías, y repetiría una media docena de veces “¡eh, tú continúa!” y entonces llegaríamos allí. Yo miraría atrás hacia el mercado, hacia la calle Jackson, me diría a mi mismo “Va a ser un largo recorrido caminar de regreso”.

Ahora el cogería mi muñeca de nueve años, apretándola fuertemente con sus dedos, luego diría: “Ahora es mejor que tú estés aquí, me oíste, o voy a sacarte esas orejas”

Y yo movería mi cabeza hacia arriba y abajo, como un gesto de obediencia.

A veces encontraría una silla vacía para sentarme y ver a mi abuelo ordenar su carne-apuntando aquí y allá a través de la vitrina de vidrio, era generalmente embutido o res, o trozos grandes de cerdo para las reuniones de los domingos. Él le haría cortar al carnicero partes especiales de lomo o jamón, o un trozo grande de res, sacándole algo de la grasa y cortándolo alrededor de los huesos, si eran costillas, él escogería la mejor parte talvez haciendo que el carnicero cortara las puntas dejando el resto para alguien más; pero al final de todo esto, él tendría que pagar el doble de precio.

Antes de que regresáramos yo estaría sudando a chorros por el calor del verano, si eran pasadas las once de la mañana.

De alguna forma era un gusto estar con mi viejo abuelo, saltar detrás de él y por su costado, y si él me miraba yo sonreiría y caminaría normal, jalando toda esa carne con nuestros brazos y, para el rato en que llegábamos a casa, mis brazos estarían adoloridos como si hubieran sido atados como a un novillo y luego soltados y necesitaba estirarlos. Nunca pensé de esto como una carga, ni siquiera un trabajo, talvez más como una misión en la mañana, una tarea aventurera; me gustaba conocer a las personas y ser presentado como su nieto.

Él empezaría a cocinar el guiso el sábado por la noche y a altas horas de la madrugada él se levantaría y cocinaría un poco más, moviéndolo como por una hora. Si yo estaba despierto, lo miraría durante un rato ir y venir de la cocina a su cuarto, y de su cuarto a la cocina de nuevo, hasta que me quedaba dormido. Yo lo miraba desde el filo de mi cama, mantenía la puerta abierta, una abertura, lo miraría fumando su puro o su pipa mientras se paseaba por la cocina, esperando a que el guiso obtuviera la espesura correcta (entonces volvería a su cama, y se levantaría muy temprano a poner las papas y los tomates en el guiso-y los fideos en la sopa de pollo y los embutidos alrededor del guiso). Siempre sabría cuándo él estaba fumando, éste parecería que dejaba una cola que se filtraba en mi dormitorio y muy frecuentemente éste me despertaría, y a mi me gustaría el olor del guiso, y si él tenía un buen cigarro o tabaco, me gustaría el aroma también. Mi hermano, mi madre y yo vivíamos con él en una especie de clan familiar.

Él por seguro parecía que estaba divirtiéndose-yo me diría a mi mismo al filo de nuestra cama (mi hermano y yo dormíamos en la misma cama grande por unos cuantos años, durante esos días) que él había terminado su trabajo y yo también, un trabajo duro para mi con sudor y toda esa caminata, y para las once de la mañana del día siguiente, el acabaría: pollo y fideos con un guiso ruso y algunos largos eslabones de chorizos. Había pan tostado y todos los miembros familiares venían a su casa, talvez quince o veinte personas cada domingo de cada semana durante todo el año, y eso era un montón de kilos de comida.

Entonces, un día, cuando tenía veintisiete años de edad, en 1974, me detuve para saludar a mi mamá y a mi abuelo, pero él estaba muerto, mi madre me dijo que él había muerto esa tarde. Me senté en el sofá, reuniendo mis pensamientos, estaba perplejo, “le dio derrame cerebral, ellos lo iban a llevar al hospital, pero él estaba muerto cuando la ambulancia vino. Él estaba tirado en el piso cuando volví de mi trabajo”. Mi madre me explicó.

Salí afuera al patio, traté de contener mis lágrimas, estaba enfadado, él estaba terriblemente muerto y yo no podía evitar sentirme enojado.

Y luego un par de los miembros familiares llegaron, me palmearon en los hombros; eran mis tías y tíos, querían mirar alrededor para ver qué cosas podrían encontrar (explorar), ver qué querrían tomar de él, sus cosas personales, sus artículos, todo. Y yo no podía parar de estar enfadado y más enfadado, como loco, porque todos estaban alrededor de la casa tratando de obtener lo que podrían obtener antes que la otra persona lo obtuviera. Y luego algunas discusiones empezaron, sobre cuánto dinero él tenía escondido en la casa, y cuándo dinero una de las tías (o hermanas) estaba guardándolo por él antes de que él muriera. Y casi todos llamaron a todos los demás: mentiroso, y empezó una contienda entre algunas hermanas y hermanos-y eran seis o siete de ellos, y esto duraría por algo de veinte años, o más.

Mi hermano y yo fuimos al entierro, estacionamos el carro afuera del cementerio, frente a la calle y nos sentamos en el carro, no nos unimos a los otros; mientras, los carros parecían formar un tren. Me sequé mis ojos, mi cara con un pañuelo, esperando a que el último carro pasara las puertas.

“Bien, Mike ahora qué, ¿debemos irnos o quedarnos?” dije.

“Lo que quieras” dijo él.

Él me miró, y yo lo miré, “Está bien” él dijo “Vámonos”.

“El viejo abuelo ahora si puede decir un montón de groserías” dije mientras nos alejábamos del cementerio, no podía pensar en nada más que decir en ese momento, pero estaba pensando no obstante, pensando: “¡Cielos! Cuando alguien muere, los carroñeros vienen por seguro como sabuesos tras medio kilo de carne, vienen alrededor como avispones zumbando y listos para picar a cualquiera que se le cruce en el camino, no se pierden nada, ni se olvidan de alguna cosa, nada es dejado de lado, ellos lo cogen todo y lo hacen con rapidez.

Escrito el 4 de Marzo del 2009 (dedicado a Antón Siluk)

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Football Boots (Soccer Cleats) The History

April 5th, 2010 | Author: metaleisecarj

Image : http://www.flickr.com

Football Boots: Earliest Recorded – King Henry VIII in 1526

King Henry VIII’s football boots were listed within the Great Wardrobe of 1526, a shopping list of the day. They were made by his personal shoemaker Cornelius Johnson in 1525, at a cost of 4 shillings, the equivalent of £100 in today’s money. Little is known about them, as there is no surviving example, but the royal football boots are known to have been made of strong leather, ankle high and heavier than the normal shoe of the day.

Football Boots – The 1800′s

Moving forward 300 years saw football developing and gaining popularity throughout Britain, but still remaining as an unstructured and informal pastime, with teams representing local factories and villages in a burgeoning industrial nation. Players would wear their hard, leather work boots, which were long laced and steel toe-capped as the first football boots. These football boots would also have metal studs or tacks hammered into them to increase ground grip and stability.

As laws become integrated into the game in the late 1800′s, so saw the first shift in football boots to a slipper (or soccus) style shoe, with players of the same team starting to wear the same boots for the first time. Laws also allowed for studs, which had to be rounded. These leather studs, also known as cleats, were hammered into the early football boots, which for the first time moved away from the earlier favoured work boots. These football boots weighed 500g and were made of thick, hard leather going up the ankle for increased protection. The football boots would double in weight when wet and had six studs in the sole. The football boot had arrived…

Football Boots – The 1900′s to 1940′s

Football boot styles remained relatively constant throughout the 1900′s up to the end of the second world war. The most significant events in the football boot world in the first part of the twentieth century were the formation of several football boot producers who are still making football boots today, including Gola (1905), Valsport (1920) and Danish football boot maker Hummel (1923).

Over in Germany, Dassler brothers Adolf and Rudolf formed the Gebrüder Dassler Schuhfabrik (Dassler Brothers Shoe Factory) in Herzogenaurach in 1924 and began producing football boots in 1925 which had 6 or 7 replaceable, nailed studs, which could be changed according to the weather conditions of play.

Football Boots – The 1940′s to 1960′s

Football boot styles shifted significantly after the end of the second world war, as air travel became cheaper and more international fixtures were played. This saw the lighter, more flexible football boot being worn by the South Americans being thrust onto the world stage, and their ball skills and technical ability amazed all those that watched them. Football boot production shifted to producing a lighter football boot with the focus on kicking and controlling the ball rather than simply producing a piece of protective footwear.

1948 saw the formation of the Adidas company by Adolf (Adi) Dassler after a falling out with his brother that was to form the cornerstone of football boot maker rivalry for the preceding years up to today. Brother Rudolf founded the beginnings of the Puma company in 1948, quickly producing the Puma Atom football boot. This led to interchangeable screw in studs made of plastic or rubber for the first time, reputedly by Puma in the early 1950′s but the honour is also claimed by Adidas (Read the Story on Footy-Boots). Football boots of the time were still over the ankle, but were now being made of a mixture of synthetic materials and leather, producing and even lighter shoe for the players of the day to display their skills with.

Football Boots – The 1960′s

The technological developments of the sixties bought a momentous step-change in design which saw the lower cut design introduced for the first time in football history. This change allowed players to move faster and saw the likes of Pele wearing Puma football boots in the 1962 World Cup Finals. Adidas, though, quickly emerged as the market leader, a position it claims until the present day. In the World Cup Finals of 1966, an astonishing 75% of players wore the Adidas football boot.

The 1960′s also saw several other football boot makers joining the market with their own brands and styling including Mitre (1960), Joma (1965) and Asics (1964).

Football Boots – The 1970′s

The seventies began with the iconic 1970 World Cup Finals which saw a sublime Brazilian team lift the trophy with Pele again at the helm, this time wearing the Puma King football boot. The decade itself will be remembered for the way in which football boot sponsorship took off, where players were being paid to wear only one brand. In terms of design and style, technological advancements produced lighter boots, and a variety of colours, including for the first time, the all-white football boot.

In 1979, Adidas produced the world’s best selling football boot the Copa Mundial, built of kangaroo leather and built for speed and versatility. Although Adidas remained dominant, several other football boot makers joined the fray including Italian football boot maker Diadora (1977).

Football Boots – The 1980′s

The greatest development of recent times in the design and technology of football boots was developed in the eighties by former player Craig Johnston, who created the Predator football boot, which was eventually released by Adidas in the 1990′s. Johnston designed the Predator to provide greater traction between football boot and the ball, and football boot and the ground. The design allowed for greater surface areas to come into contact with the ball when being hit by the football boot, with a series of power and swerve zones within the striking area allowing the player to create greater power and swerve when hitting the “sweet spots”. The eighties also saw football boots for the first time being made by English company Umbro (1985), Italy’s Lotto and Spain’s Kelme (1982).

Football Boots – 1990′s

1994 saw Adidas release the Craig Johnston designed Predator with its revolutionary design, styling and technology making it an instant and lasting success. The Predator by now featured polymer extrusion technologies and materials allowing for a more flexible sole as well as the conventional studs being replaced by a bladed design covering the sole, giving a more stable base for the player. In 1995 Adidas released their bladed outsole traxion technology which are tapered shaped blades. Puma hit back in 1996 with a foam-free midsole football boot, known as Puma Cell Technology, to which Adidas responded again, this time with wedge shaped studs in the same year. The nineties saw new football boot producers Mizuno release their Mizuno Wave in 1997. Other new football boots came from Reebok (1992) and Uhlsport (1993) with other companies also joining the ever increasing, lucrative and competitive market place. Most significantly the nineties saw the entry of Nike, the world’s biggest sportswear producer, immediately making an impact with its Nike Mercurial soccer boot (1998), weighing in at just 200g.

Football Boots – 2000+

As technology advanced still further, the application of the new research and developments were seen in the years into the new millennium right up to the present day and this has led to a reinforcement of the market positions of the big three football boot makers and sellers, Puma, Nike and Adidas (incorporating Reebok since 2006). Fortunately, there still remains room in the market place for the smaller producer that does not have the big money endorsement contracts at its disposal, such as Mizuno, Diadora, Lotto, Hummel and Nomis.

Recent developments since 2000 have seen the Nomis Wet control technology producing a sticky boot (2002), the Craig Johnston Pig Boot (2003), shark technology by Kelme (2006) and the exceptional design of the Lotto Zhero Gravity laceless football boots (2006) all of which underpin the successes that these smaller makers can achieve by producing specialised and technologically advanced football boots that provide a distinct differentiation from the mass produced products of the big three. Laser technology has also helped to produce the world’s first fully customised football by Prior 2 Lever, which is perhaps the most exciting and innovative of the recent developments.

Current favourite football boots include Adidas’ F50, Tunit and Predator; Nike’s Mercurial Vapor III, Air Zoom Total 90s and Tiempo Ronaldinho, Reebok Pro Rage and Umbro X Boots.

Football Boots – The Future

As the debate rages with regards the lack of protection given by modern football boots, and the repercussion in terms of player injuries, there seems little to suggest that the major manufacturers are going to give up their quest for the lightest football boot for a more protective one. The proliferation of big money sponsorship deals, namely Nike Ronaldinho, Adidas with David Beckham and Reebok with Thierry Henry, has become a huge factor that drives the success and sales of a football boot maker, but is viewed as at a cost of injury and stagnation in football boot research and development. All we can predict for the future is integration with sensor technology, lighter and more powerful football boots and more outlandish designs and styles.

Football boots have travelled a long way since King Henry strutted onto the fields of England in the 1500′s: the football boot has gone from an everyday protective apparel to a highly designed and cutting edge technological product which is a vital part of the player’s equipment. Whatever the colour, the design, the style or the player – we love footy boots!

Thanks To : Store Warehouse http://uslugi.net/blogs/richarddudley/ http://thelmasheffield.blogrepublik.ro/

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Leo Vieira x Renato Charuto

April 2nd, 2010 | Author: metaleisecarj

Leo Vieira x Renato Charuto – II Mundial de Jiu-Jitsu www.alliancebjjfrance.com

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