| |  |  | |||||||||||||||||
| | | ||||||||||||||||||
|
| ||||||||||||||||||
  |
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
How To Get Scorch Off A Iron
British Theatre
Friday, August 1, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
1970 Singapore Schooling
Theatre in the House Clearance
A blogger tells all how was the web sex with your ex girlfriend. A man and a woman to marry and about to explode. Two sisters looking for some redemption to the inevitable. A young married man who wakes up in bed with a boy after a night of drinking. Four stories, eight characters, many worlds.
In what feels most comfortable bed tonight?
In bed we are all vulnerable, naked or clothed. In bed we can say terrible things that maybe should not say. The bed is where they begin the most important relationships in life. Also where it ends. Or where we took refuge in times of crisis. Or where we face the final and death.
There used bed that is not in stories.
FOUR BED STORIES
Four (tragi) comedy shorts
Four (tragi) comedy shorts
A blogger tells all how was the web sex with your ex girlfriend. A man and a woman to marry and about to explode. Two sisters looking for some redemption to the inevitable. A young married man who wakes up in bed with a boy after a night of drinking. Four stories, eight characters, many worlds.
In what feels most comfortable bed tonight?
In bed we are all vulnerable, naked or clothed. In bed we can say terrible things that maybe should not say. The bed is where they begin the most important relationships in life. Also where it ends. Or where we took refuge in times of crisis. Or where we face the final and death.
There used bed that is not in stories.
SHEET
Cast: Nidia Bermejo
Franklin Dávalos
Camila MacLennan
Juan Carlos Pastor
Technique: Eagle
Federico Omar Abrill
Photo: Juan José Oviedo (9941 -27,355)
Graphic Design: Roberto Miguel
Dramaturgy: Eduardo Adrianzén
Address: Diego La Hoz
Production: AC
Clearance Cast: Nidia Bermejo
Franklin Dávalos
Camila MacLennan
Juan Carlos Pastor
Technique: Eagle
Federico Omar Abrill
Photo: Juan José Oviedo (9941 -27,355)
Graphic Design: Roberto Miguel
Dramaturgy: Eduardo Adrianzén
Address: Diego La Hoz
Production: AC
House Clearance - Av . Balta 170 / Barranco
From 20 June to 19 July / Friday and Saturday 8 pm and 10 pm
From 20 June to 19 July / Friday and Saturday 8 pm and 10 pm
REPORTS:
House Clearance Balta
Av 170 -
Barranco Phone: 249-9095
http://www.espaciolibreteatro.com/
contacto@espaciolibreteatro.com
House Clearance Balta
Av 170 -
Barranco Phone: 249-9095
http://www.espaciolibreteatro.com/
contacto@espaciolibreteatro.com
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Kates Playgraund Online
THE NUMBER SIX - THEATRE IN THE UK
Theatrical Release
Theatrical Release
is called "the number six" Gino Luque, winner with this piece of I Peruvian Playwright Contest 2007.
"A woman tries to identify a criminal from a group of alleged suspects. His story, however, is apparently contradictory. However, the police must find a culprit and, in fact, responsible for building a "
The work is a futuristic satire that occurs in a totalitarian state bureaucracy. A woman accuses a man, number six, a terrible crime, which triggers a series of absurd and chilling events that are out of control. The characters are torn between their desire to discover the culprit for that justice or to choose a victim to satisfy his need for revenge.
act Leonardo Torres Vilar, Carmen Aída Febres, Jorge Villanueva, David Almandoz, Mariano Sabato, Manuel Gold and dancers Laffaye Mariano, Jorge Ocampo Arms and Bruno. The direction is by Richard Moran
The season continues until 21 July.
Functions: from Thursday to Monday at 8:00 pm
Held British Theatre (Jr. Bellavista 527, Miraflores)
Cost
General admission S /. 35
Students and pensioners: S /. 20
popular Monday S /. 25 general admission and S /. 15 students and retirees
not miss it and spread the word !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, April 21, 2008
Ati Radeon Driver 6.14.10.6462
THE CREED OF DREAMS
This poem I posted a long time and also appeared on the blog Hunter, my twin brother. It is a beautiful poem that has gained a special meaning for me. Every time I cuelvo to read, back to a wonderful time in my life that is always present in my day to day.
THE CREED OF DREAMS
Pablo Picasso I believe in Almighty,
Creator of Heaven and Earth;
believe in Charlie Chaplin, son of violets and mice,
was crucified, died and was buried by time,
but every day resurrected in the hearts of men,
believe in love and art as means to the enjoyment of everlasting life,
believe in grinder live gold stars making their wonderful conference, I
air quality in the human being,
set in the memory of Isadora Duncan
pure swooping like a wounded dove in the sky of the Mediterranean;
believe in chocolate coins
I treasure secretly under the pillow of my childhood;
believe in the fable of Orpheus,
believe in the spell of music,
me that in the hours of my trouble I saw the spell of the Pavane by Faure,
released out fresh and radiant Eurydice the hell of my soul, believe in
Rainer Maria Rilke hero of the struggle of man for beauty,
who sacrificed his life for the act of cutting a rose for a woman,
believe in flowers flowed from the dead teenager Ophelia,
believe in the silent cry of Achilles against the sea;
believe in a slender boat that left distantísimo a century ago to meet the dawn;
captain Lord Byron, by his side the sword of the archangels,
with his temples glow stars,
believe in the dog of Ulysses, in the cat smiling from Alice in Wonderland,
in Robinson Crusoe's parrot,
believe in the mice who pulled the car of Cinderella,
the horse beralfiro Rolando,
and working bees in the hive within the heart of Martin Tinajero,
believe in friendship as the most beautiful invention of man,
believe in the creative powers of people,
believe in poetry and in short ,
believe in myself, since I know that someone loves me ..
Dedicated with love to all the people that are always present in my life 
This poem I posted a long time and also appeared on the blog Hunter, my twin brother. It is a beautiful poem that has gained a special meaning for me. Every time I cuelvo to read, back to a wonderful time in my life that is always present in my day to day.
THE CREED OF DREAMS
Pablo Picasso I believe in Almighty,
Creator of Heaven and Earth;
believe in Charlie Chaplin, son of violets and mice,
was crucified, died and was buried by time,
but every day resurrected in the hearts of men,
believe in love and art as means to the enjoyment of everlasting life,
believe in grinder live gold stars making their wonderful conference, I
air quality in the human being,
set in the memory of Isadora Duncan
pure swooping like a wounded dove in the sky of the Mediterranean;
believe in chocolate coins
I treasure secretly under the pillow of my childhood;
believe in the fable of Orpheus,
believe in the spell of music,
me that in the hours of my trouble I saw the spell of the Pavane by Faure,
released out fresh and radiant Eurydice the hell of my soul, believe in
Rainer Maria Rilke hero of the struggle of man for beauty,
who sacrificed his life for the act of cutting a rose for a woman,
believe in flowers flowed from the dead teenager Ophelia,
believe in the silent cry of Achilles against the sea;
believe in a slender boat that left distantísimo a century ago to meet the dawn;
captain Lord Byron, by his side the sword of the archangels,
with his temples glow stars,
believe in the dog of Ulysses, in the cat smiling from Alice in Wonderland,
in Robinson Crusoe's parrot,
believe in the mice who pulled the car of Cinderella,
the horse beralfiro Rolando,
and working bees in the hive within the heart of Martin Tinajero,
believe in friendship as the most beautiful invention of man,
believe in the creative powers of people,
believe in poetry and in short ,
believe in myself, since I know that someone loves me ..
Poetry: Achilles Nazoa
Dedicated with love to all the people that are always present in my life
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Lg Envy Wet Indicator
1917 - Rafael Alberti
2
and statues. In my adolescent dream of flying
a naked Aphrodite
plaster to the wing design. Unused
wonderful! Venus
My hand and face to face with my illusion
teen:
a paper and charcoal.
Given the way, was my state of pure grace
and whiteness,
pilgrim at random,
free happy and handcuffed.
Incontenible, although undecided,
curved line soars like a bird
play with the outline of the breeze. Captive
finally
that promotes black and whiteness that shading, chiaroscuro
rounded top
exact relief.
And
underwater jet adheres to the daughter of the foam, plaster mock
, light and fog
coal, rubber and disfumino.
knew nothing of the poem already in my pencil pointed. Venus
only drew my dream pristine supreme. Happy
image in my life gave his most
beautiful fixture at the academy
necessary to open its flower
if you miss.
3
El Museo del Prado! My God! I had pine
eyes and offshore
still hurt a love beaches on one side,
when I went to open the Prado Museum.
Oh shock! Who would have thought that the old painters painted
Painting with such bright colors;
life that made an open window, not a petrified
still life, Venus was
and jasmine pearl and crystal,
no shade, as I believe naively! Loss
pines and of the sea, my hand encountered
sea pines and Titian, corporeal clarities
never imagined
by the brush of the wind bare and painted. Why
my teens the ancient figures moved him sleep
mysterious and dark?
I did not know then that life had
Tintoretto (summer), Veronese (spring), or that blondes
breast Thank
love running through the halls of the Museo del Prado. Rubens
sirens, nymphs
village deities were not blushing Cadiz seas
that my children and children's virgin forests were swimming or dancing
honest.
demure
My wild eyes
marine and sank in the Greco-Roman white bodies. And I bathed
Adonis and Venus together
and liquid face of Narcissus in the source.
And - oh sudden lightning! - I felt in my blood and burn the littoral
mythology, the gods
opening myself that it struck the
Painting the Beauty her rose, the carnation Beauty. Oh
celestial Twitter! Knees, captive
gold and indigo kindest most thoughtful,
walked the rooms, the winged Angel
orchards that Fra Angelico cut brushes.
And I realized that the soul of the way was the dream
Mantegna, and grace, Rafael, and design, and I heard from so
metric windows harmonious
my Andalusian Italian springs. Traded
of that morning, those clarities
sad 'Gulf shadow "violent cavities
torn by a flash of skull bone,
tied me to the strenuous torments of Ribera.
Poverty, Tear, pregnancy, fatigue, trachoma
of Spain ragged beggar
the brush and broom, knife
light as I sweetened the graceful bee Murillo.
From his celica, paperbacks, industrious, chrome palette
swallow Mary Immaculate, penetrated the punished
verdiseco ghostly
of death and life underground Greco. He left the dreadful English
darker
through my eyes piercing the idea of \u200b\u200ba river
night that his sword would pierce his chest
runner high, rising of the dawn.
shades of dawn, the folds of the hung their clearest
cloudscape white hard to dress plainly
of human Zurbarán
monk with the same fervor that the bread and apples. Oh
just blue, oh severe snow in the distance,
transparentized fire, with such ardent cold! The hand is
breeze subject aura linen, zephyr
colors and brush thin air;
aura, breeze, breeze, air, and the whole room
Velazquez, painting painted by a wing.
Oh shock! Who thought that even the English
painted in the shade as clear sunrises;
more sinister than his pond Goya
luciferin light jets will bring more crystal!
My dark demons of hell my color
the devil took me ratoneril
del Bosco and tender, with its chemical fire of temptations
of enemas and angry winged broom. On the trail
sayings are peasants. Patinir
Azulea the dawn of the pines.
And while the death scythe to the genet, Brueghel
governs the clouds his funeral trumpet.
The smell of varnish, a polished wood, resin
a bouquet of freshly mourned;
daily candor
build and copy the color palette of the old painters
the illusion of a forgotten even blow my
Alberti corner of the Museo del Prado;
the amazing, agonizing, sleepless
joy of seeking and finding Painting Poetry
buried the penalty
bury the pain of the birth of a dying poet a painter,
distant today lead me and verse pricked,
to tell you, oh Paint!, my love interrupted.
Rafael Alberti 
1917
1
Nineteen seventeen.
My adolescence: madness
a paint box,
a blank canvas, an easel.
happy with my luggage in the morning impressionist. Divine
joy, unexpected lesson
open landscape.
candidly complicated flows
color palette,
that lights up the tree and violet
trunk in the shade of purple.
Comas are radiant flowers, leaves
points, reticent,
and water
transparent discs that play all colors.
The burning vermilion happy by marrying
and lift the yellow brick tower
under a bright orange.
The chrome green pales next to the silver white happy, but before the sun
it appears again and again assayed
greens.
light rains, and without notice
already a fugitive nymph
the eye looks nailed live on space
more accurate. Clarified
blue when dissolved
Lavad in an atmosphere that envelops
define the picture and evaporated.
now Diérame
madness at that time I had, for kids
poetry,
with the paint brush.
1
Nineteen seventeen.
My adolescence: madness
a paint box,
a blank canvas, an easel.
happy with my luggage in the morning impressionist. Divine
joy, unexpected lesson
open landscape.
candidly complicated flows
color palette,
that lights up the tree and violet
trunk in the shade of purple.
Comas are radiant flowers, leaves
points, reticent,
and water
transparent discs that play all colors.
The burning vermilion happy by marrying
and lift the yellow brick tower
under a bright orange.
The chrome green pales next to the silver white happy, but before the sun
it appears again and again assayed
greens.
light rains, and without notice
already a fugitive nymph
the eye looks nailed live on space
more accurate. Clarified
blue when dissolved
Lavad in an atmosphere that envelops
define the picture and evaporated.
now Diérame
madness at that time I had, for kids
poetry,
with the paint brush.
2
and statues. In my adolescent dream of flying
a naked Aphrodite
plaster to the wing design. Unused
wonderful! Venus
My hand and face to face with my illusion
teen:
a paper and charcoal.
Given the way, was my state of pure grace
and whiteness,
pilgrim at random,
free happy and handcuffed.
Incontenible, although undecided,
curved line soars like a bird
play with the outline of the breeze. Captive
finally
that promotes black and whiteness that shading, chiaroscuro
rounded top
exact relief.
And
underwater jet adheres to the daughter of the foam, plaster mock
, light and fog
coal, rubber and disfumino.
knew nothing of the poem already in my pencil pointed. Venus
only drew my dream pristine supreme. Happy
image in my life gave his most
beautiful fixture at the academy
necessary to open its flower
if you miss.
3
El Museo del Prado! My God! I had pine
eyes and offshore
still hurt a love beaches on one side,
when I went to open the Prado Museum.
Oh shock! Who would have thought that the old painters painted
Painting with such bright colors;
life that made an open window, not a petrified
still life, Venus was
and jasmine pearl and crystal,
no shade, as I believe naively! Loss
pines and of the sea, my hand encountered
sea pines and Titian, corporeal clarities
never imagined
by the brush of the wind bare and painted. Why
my teens the ancient figures moved him sleep
mysterious and dark?
I did not know then that life had
Tintoretto (summer), Veronese (spring), or that blondes
breast Thank
love running through the halls of the Museo del Prado. Rubens
sirens, nymphs
village deities were not blushing Cadiz seas
that my children and children's virgin forests were swimming or dancing
honest.
demure
My wild eyes
marine and sank in the Greco-Roman white bodies. And I bathed
Adonis and Venus together
and liquid face of Narcissus in the source.
And - oh sudden lightning! - I felt in my blood and burn the littoral
mythology, the gods
opening myself that it struck the
Painting the Beauty her rose, the carnation Beauty. Oh
celestial Twitter! Knees, captive
gold and indigo kindest most thoughtful,
walked the rooms, the winged Angel
orchards that Fra Angelico cut brushes.
And I realized that the soul of the way was the dream
Mantegna, and grace, Rafael, and design, and I heard from so
metric windows harmonious
my Andalusian Italian springs. Traded
of that morning, those clarities
sad 'Gulf shadow "violent cavities
torn by a flash of skull bone,
tied me to the strenuous torments of Ribera.
Poverty, Tear, pregnancy, fatigue, trachoma
of Spain ragged beggar
the brush and broom, knife
light as I sweetened the graceful bee Murillo.
From his celica, paperbacks, industrious, chrome palette
swallow Mary Immaculate, penetrated the punished
verdiseco ghostly
of death and life underground Greco. He left the dreadful English
darker
through my eyes piercing the idea of \u200b\u200ba river
night that his sword would pierce his chest
runner high, rising of the dawn.
shades of dawn, the folds of the hung their clearest
cloudscape white hard to dress plainly
of human Zurbarán
monk with the same fervor that the bread and apples. Oh
just blue, oh severe snow in the distance,
transparentized fire, with such ardent cold! The hand is
breeze subject aura linen, zephyr
colors and brush thin air;
aura, breeze, breeze, air, and the whole room
Velazquez, painting painted by a wing.
Oh shock! Who thought that even the English
painted in the shade as clear sunrises;
more sinister than his pond Goya
luciferin light jets will bring more crystal!
My dark demons of hell my color
the devil took me ratoneril
del Bosco and tender, with its chemical fire of temptations
of enemas and angry winged broom. On the trail
sayings are peasants. Patinir
Azulea the dawn of the pines.
And while the death scythe to the genet, Brueghel
governs the clouds his funeral trumpet.
The smell of varnish, a polished wood, resin
a bouquet of freshly mourned;
daily candor
build and copy the color palette of the old painters
the illusion of a forgotten even blow my
Alberti corner of the Museo del Prado;
the amazing, agonizing, sleepless
joy of seeking and finding Painting Poetry
buried the penalty
bury the pain of the birth of a dying poet a painter,
distant today lead me and verse pricked,
to tell you, oh Paint!, my love interrupted.
Rafael Alberti
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Thick Red Brownish Discharge
Any resemblance to events, people or places is purely coincidental.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)