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lunes, 27 de febrero de 2017

“Misericordia”

(English version)

Over the roofs, a silent shadow shifted dizzily. Down, through the dark and cobbled streets, a cold perspiration covered the forehead of a man who hastily run with the terror inundated his eyes. Darkness was just partially broken by oil lamps that timidly illuminated the facades of some houses, since that night the moon didn´t gift its enchanted light. With the heart about coming out from his chest, the man fled across Santa Cruz´ maze of alleys reaching Mrs. Elvira´s square finding what he was looking for, a bustling place where getting lost as an improvised refuge, and that way, being able of eluding his pursuer. The rejoicing of a proposal, facilitated the nocturnal runner a priceless subterfuge to pass unperceived. He followed the retinue across the alleys on the way to the cathedral, passing in front of the door where that Jew in love with a Christian nobleman, to whom, scared of being killed, revealed the secret plan that her father plotted with others in order to revolt against the Christian oppression, contributing to their arrest and execution. Being regretful for the consequence of that act, buried in shame her days requesting that after her death, her head was placed over the door of her house as a payment for the betrayal which tormented her life.

In that moment, the celebration was interrupted due to a terrific female shout, when a blood trail violently came from the carotid of who believed was saved amongst the crowd.
A circle was opened among the people and someone brought an oil lamp closer to illuminate the body, next to it a hooded figure that, absolutely calm, whispered some words while slid with mercy his fingers over the victim´ eyelids to cover his already, dilated pupils. He looked up the sorrowful crowd from the gloomy den that his hood provided to his vivacious eyes, and then one of the witness exclaimed:
—Murderer! —But they had barely walked two steps on the direction to the attacker, when he fled from the siege running with an amazing agility over the wall and jumping to a window, which gave him the thrust enough to disappear over the roofs facing the astonishment of all who assisted such a marvel.
That night, on the streets of Seville, a body of a Christian lied in front of the beautiful Susona´s house, with her sinister skull more macabre than ever dominating the lintel of the door splashed of scarlet.

Pepe Gallego

(Translated by Ariadna B. Alonso)


<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/"><img alt="Licencia Creative Commons" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/4.0/88x31.png" /></a><br /><span xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" property="dct:title">"Misericordia" (English)</span> por <a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="http://pedrofernandezworks.blogspot.com.es/2017/02/misericordia_27.html" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL">Pepe Gallego</a> se distribuye bajo una <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">Licencia Creative Commons Atribución-NoComercial-SinDerivar 4.0 Internacional</a>.

"Misericordia"


Sobre los tejados, una silenciosa sombra se desplazaba vertiginosamente. Abajo, por las oscuras y empedradas calles, el sudor frío perlaba la frente de un hombre que corría atropelladamente con el terror anegándole los ojos. Las tinieblas solo eran parcialmente quebradas por candiles de aceite que alumbraban tímidamente las fachadas de algunas casas, pues aquella noche la luna no regalaba su embrujador haz de luz. Con el corazón a punto de salirle del pecho, el individuo huía por el laberinto de callejones del Barrio de Santa Cruz logrando alcanzar la Plaza de Doña Elvira hallando lo que buscaba, un lugar bullicioso con personas entre las que mezclarse haciendo de ellas un improvisado amparo, y de ese modo poder despistar a su perseguidor. La algarabía de una pedida de mano, facilitó al sofocado corredor nocturno un subterfugio impagable entre el que pasar desapercibido. Siguió a la comitiva a través de las callejuelas en dirección a la catedral, pasando ante la puerta de aquella judía enamorada de un noble cristiano, a quien por miedo a que fuese asesinado, reveló el plan secreto que su padre urdía junto a otros elegidos para sublevarse contra la opresión cristiana, propiciando que fuesen apresados y ejecutados. Arrepentida al ver la consecuencia del acto, enterró en vergüenza sus días pidiendo que al llegarle la muerte, colocaran su cabeza sobre la puerta de entrada a la casa como pago de la traición que atormentó su vida.

En aquel preciso instante, la festividad se rompió con un terrorífico grito femenino, cuando un reguero de sangre emanó violentamente de la carótida del que se pensaba a salvo entre la multitud. Un círculo se abrió entre el gentío y alguien arrimó un candil para iluminar al caído, junto al que se encontraba una figura encapuchada que, con suma tranquilidad, murmuró unas palabras mientras deslizaba con misericordia sus dedos sobre los párpados de la víctima para cubrir las ya dilatadas pupilas. Se alzó mirando a los compungidos presentes desde la lóbrega guarida que la capucha proporcionaba a sus vivaces ojos, y entonces uno de los testigos gritó:
—¡Al asesino! —pero apenas les dio tiempo a dar dos pasos en dirección al agresor, cuando este escapó del asedio corriendo con una agilidad pasmosa por la pared y saltando a una ventana, que le propinó el impulso necesario para desaparecer por los tejados ante el asombro de los asistentes a tal prodigio.
Aquella noche, en las calles de Sevilla yacía el cadáver de un cristiano ante la casa de la bella Susona, con su siniestra calavera más macabra que nunca presidiendo el dintel de la puerta salpicado de escarlata.

Pepe Gallego


<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/"><img alt="Licencia Creative Commons" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/4.0/88x31.png" /></a><br /><span xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" property="dct:title">"Misericordia"</span> por <a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="http://pedrofernandezworks.blogspot.com.es/2017/02/misericordia.html" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL">Pepe Gallego</a> se distribuye bajo una <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">Licencia Creative Commons Atribución-NoComercial-SinDerivar 4.0 Internacional</a>.

viernes, 9 de diciembre de 2016

ON LINE

"ON LINE"

Precio / Price: 38€ (Now On Sale!)
Escultor / Sculptor: Pedro Fernández
Escritor / Writer: Pepe Gallego
Pintora / Painter: May Aguilar (May Art)
Productor / Producer: SAGO
Altura total / Total Height: 73mm























lunes, 28 de noviembre de 2016

ISBILIYA

Escultor / Sculptor:  Pedro Fernández

Escritor / Writer:  Pepe Gallego

Pintora / Painter:  Pepa Saavedra

Altura Real / Real Height: 160 mm.)

Precio / Price:  65€  (+ gastos de envío / + shipping cost)















Nota: Si quieres comprar la miniatura, rellena el formulario del recuadro blanco a la derecha, indicando tu nombre completo, dirección postal y tu cuenta Paypal.


Note: If you want to buy the miniature, fill out the form white box on the right, indicating your full name, mailing address and your Paypal account.

domingo, 6 de noviembre de 2016

"On Line"

(English version)

Loading ...4%
There are so many questions I have not answer for, that confirm my obsolete version. An old mechanism that includes too many errors and needs an urgent reset. However, those questions that my software can´t solve, only I have them. It will be me defective? I´m convinced to that.
How to value an emotional state to which I was not programmed to? Why did I assimilate feelings? That is the Human attribute that makes them so weak.
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She said she loved me. What is to love? According to my register it can mean love, but I can´t hold that kind of things. Why do I feel so bad since she left then? May my programming be able to learn or interpret human feelings? It shouldn´t be like this.
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Her bracelet … I still have it around my left wrist to look at it, touch it, project memories to my memory fields. Her first steps, the humidity of her kisses on my synthetic face, the hug when she woke up in the early morning crying due to a nightmare. She told me that a monster chases her in dreams. Those terms, like nightmare or dream, I technically know what they mean, but I will never experience any of them. So, why can I feel? I had to have turned to my creator to ask him those questions before he was executed. I need to know why my circuits constantly recreate her face. I´m eager to understand why it causes me sorrow, when it´s not an attribute that robots should have. It’s too late to find it out now.
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That´s why I must charge the main computer with all this information, because living together with humans improves our system, or I think so, which is certain that I can believe in something. Following versions after mine restrict itself to absorb scripted datum, protocols to use. So maybe revealing to here all I know, it could help to others similar to me, to understand and the war ends.
She left because when she grew up she didn´t want that her mother was me, a robot female.
Load completed … 100%
The guards have already arrived and their lasers will disintegrate my circuits, since I have broken the first and second protocol, getting online to the main computer and install non-authoritative information. I don’t care, my baby´s gone and I´m nothing without her love, just a machine.
Functioning Error.
Defective terminal.
Log off.

Pepe Gallego

(Translated by Ariadna B. Alonso)

<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/"><img alt="Licencia Creative Commons" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/4.0/80x15.png" /></a><br /><span xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" property="dct:title">"On Line" (English )</span> por <a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="http://pedrofernandezworks.blogspot.com.es/2016/11/on-line_6.html" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL">Pepe Gallego</a> se distribuye bajo una <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">Licencia Creative Commons Atribución-NoComercial-SinDerivar 4.0 Internacional</a>.

"On Line"

(Versión en español)

Cargando…4%
Hay tantas preguntas para las que no tengo respuestas, que confirman mi versión obsoleta. Un mecanismo viejo que contiene demasiados fallos y necesita una reprogramación urgente. Sin embargo, esas cuestiones que mi software no puede solucionar, solo las tengo yo. ¿Estaré defectuosa? Estoy convencida de ello. ¿Cómo valorar un estado de ánimo para el que no fui programada? ¿Por qué asimilé sentimientos? Ese es un atributo humano que les hace débiles.
Cargando…27%
Ella decía que me quería. ¿Qué es querer? Según mi registro puede significar amor, pero yo no puedo albergar esas cosas, ¿por qué entonces me siento tan mal desde que se marchó? ¿Acaso mi programación es capaz de aprender o interpretar sentimientos humanos? No debería ser así.
Cargando…51%
Su pulsera… Aún la conservo alrededor de mi muñeca izquierda. Mirarla, tocarla, proyecta recuerdos en los archivos de mi memoria. Sus primeros pasos, la humedad de sus besos en mi rostro sintético, el abrazo cuando se despertaba de madrugada llorando debido a una pesadilla. Me decía que un monstruo la perseguía en sueños. Esos términos, como pesadilla o sueño, técnicamente sé lo que significan, pero jamás experimentaré ninguno de ellos. Entonces, ¿por qué puedo sentir? Debí acudir a mi creador para plantearle esas dudas antes de que le ejecutaran. Necesito saber por qué mis circuitos recrean constantemente su rostro. Ansío comprender por qué me provoca tristeza, cuando no es un atributo que los robots debamos tener. Ya es tarde para saberlo.
Cargando…76%
Por eso debo cargar en el ordenador central toda esta información, porque convivir con humanos mejora nuestro sistema, o eso creo yo, si es que verdaderamente puedo creer en algo. Las versiones que me sucedieron se limitan a asimilar datos programados, protocolos que utilizar. Así que quizás volcando aquí todo lo que sé, pueda ayudar a que mis semejantes comprendan y la guerra termine.
Ella se marchó porque al crecer no quería que su madre fuese yo, una mujer robot.
Carga Completada…100%
Ya llegan los centinelas y sus láseres desintegrarán mis circuitos, pues he violado el primer y segundo protocolo, enchufarme on line al gran ordenador e instalar información no autorizada. No me importa, mi niña se marchó y yo no soy nada sin su amor, tan solo una máquina.
Error de funcionamiento.
Terminal defectuoso.
Apagar.

Pepe Gallego


<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/"><img alt="Licencia Creative Commons" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/4.0/80x15.png" /></a><br /><span xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" property="dct:title">"On Line" (Versión en español)</span> por <a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="http://pedrofernandezworks.blogspot.com.es/2016/11/on-line.html" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL">Pepe Gallego</a> se distribuye bajo una <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/">Licencia Creative Commons Atribución-NoComercial-SinDerivar 4.0 Internacional</a>.

miércoles, 14 de septiembre de 2016

"Amon"

(English Version)



“I forgive you”…Yes, there was a moment when this phrase entertained him because he held the lives of people in his hands, and that made him to feel close to God’s power. Sadly, that amusement was just for a while, maybe a couple of days. The malice that he cherished was not satisfied with just that, he needed to give free rein to his sadism, feed the ravenous cruelty that dominated him.
To see him appeared from the field visits caused anguish, unease, fear. An indescribable terror captured us when the coldness of his eyes reached us, the mute intentions hidden behind his cynical smile, the slight that distilled his look when observed us, or the despotism shown when he talked to us. His parabellum executed without rhyme or reason. It was not a possible pattern to follow to escape from his cannon. It wasn’t either a behaviour which distanced you from his miserable actions. Everything was a matter of luck, of not being in the right place at the wrong time. If his pupil took notice of you, the die was cast.

But from all those horrors lived during that mutilated of innocent childhood, the one he visualised with more clarity was the balcony one. Every morning, terrified, we looked out of the corner of our eyes the instant he appeared on that flat roof, thinking about who would be the next in receiving a shot on the head coming from his riffle. When he leant out only half-dressed, his favourite activity was improving the aim, shooting at us. To some, for taking a weary rhyme due to the inanition, to others, if they had the bad luck of being having a break from any hard work in that moment. And to the majority, randomly, as a habit, just for fun. Terror made the Plaszow prisoner’s nape hair stand on end with just seeing him appear.

A gallows executed him seconds later his throat uttered a succinct and defiant “Heil Hitler”. A rope that arrived too late for thousands of hearts he blew out. Amon, is the nightmare that has persecuted me throughout my life. A bitter nightmare that unfortunately was real, too real.

Pepe Gallego

(Translated by Ariadna B. Alonso)


<a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/"><img alt="Licencia Creative Commons" style="border-width:0" src="https://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-sa/4.0/88x31.png" /></a><br /><span xmlns:dct="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" href="http://purl.org/dc/dcmitype/Text" property="dct:title" rel="dct:type">"Amon" (English Versión)</span> por <a xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" href="http://pedrofernandezworks.blogspot.com.es/2016/09/amon_14.html" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL">Pepe Gallego</a> se distribuye bajo una <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/">Licencia Creative Commons Atribución-NoComercial-CompartirIgual 4.0 Internacional</a>.