Psicoanalista clínico de tiempo completo, profesor de la UNAM y de la UIC, amante de la palabra, poeta y loco, buscando otro modo de ser humano y libre...
Taddei se lanzó contra Somos.
El problema en el INE es que es la propia presidenta la que rompe el reglamento
Y ese desorden es el que lleva a casos intolerables como los del PRI
Baños no ofendió, no gritó, no insultó.
Pero la cabeza del árbitro lo mandó a conseguir votos. Así.
Así nació la primera pulsión, la de regresar a lo inanimado”, escribe Freud. Partiendo de la clínica, formula su carácter originario. Klein retoma esta hipótesis y piensa su acción desde el comienzo de la vida psíquica, como angustia de aniquilación.
Un día como hoy, hace 38 años comenzaba sus transmisiones ECO, el primer sistema de noticias en español que transmitía vía satélite desde México a toda América, Europa y norte de África.
"Hace tiempo que nos dimos cuenta de que ya no era posible dar la vuelta a este mundo, ni remodelarlo, ni detener su desafortunado curso hacia adelante. Sólo había una resistencia posible: no tomarlo en serio". Milan Kundera
@tesiture ¿Maltrato?... ojalá la generación que entra entienda la importancia de la honestidad y de la frustración. Ambas cosas son igualmente formativas.
UNA HERENCIA CRIMINAL ‼️
El legado de López Obrador está caracterizado por la pauperización del Estado y la destrucción de todo lo público.
Pactó con los criminales y metió a los narcos y al crimen organizado a gobernar.
@SomosMxMexico@azucenau
A Voice That Needs Almost Nothing
Black-and-white footage. An empty stage. Joan Baez stands alone with an acoustic guitar, long hair falling to one side, a dark dress, no band. She begins “500 Miles.” The first notes are enough to explain why first-time listeners, even more than sixty years later, are still often caught off guard.
Joan’s 1965 voice does not live on volume, grit, or obvious emotional display. It is a clear, high soprano that places each note close to center. Very little vibrato. Almost no edge. No deliberate curves meant to “sell” the feeling. The sound is held flat and precise, so the force does not come from pushing air. It comes from clarity: every vowel is fully exposed.
“500 Miles” is a traditional American folk song, shaped by Hedy West from older variants and then carried into the folk revival. The lyric is plain: no money, no way to cover the distance home, still too far to go. Peter, Paul and Mary brought it to a wider audience with warm three-part harmony. Joan does something else. She sings as if she does not need a second layer of storytelling. The melodic intervals and the rests between lines do the narrating. The longing is not interpreted. It is left bare.
The stage in the clip does one job: it removes every place to lean. One guitar. One microphone. Flat light. No backing harmony, no drums to pull the tempo, no camera moves engineered for a climax. Each note has to stand in the air on its own. The silence between phrases registers like a second rhythm. Fingers on the fretboard, the slight tilt of a shoulder, a glance that drifts off-camera — details modern production usually swallows — become the entire visual language.
The audience in the old footage sits still. No applause between verses. No one performing enjoyment for the lens. Early-’60s folk asked for that kind of attention: listening the way you listen to someone speak, not the way you watch a number. The quiet of the room is not a side effect. It is the environment that lets the soprano travel the full distance without needing more volume.
Other versions of “500 Miles” often take the opposite path. Some are warmer, denser with harmony, more willing to keep the sadness close to the surface. Bobby Bare turned it into a country hit with a clear narrative pulse. Later recordings frequently add pads or studio atmosphere for a sense of space. Joan’s early reading does not manufacture space. The space is already there: the room, the gap between her and the seats, the miles named in the lyric. The voice simply moves through those distances.
Not every singer can work this way. Most voices need arrangement, texture, other instruments to feel complete. The 1965 clip shows a narrower case: when a voice already has enough clarity and control, adding layers can start to cover more than it lifts. The black-and-white footage does not argue the point with a statement. It simply leaves Joan Baez, a guitar, and a song about not being able to get home.
Sixty years on, the performance does not feel like a finished musical number from the past. It feels more like a held silence that was preserved. Joan Baez does not try to close the five hundred miles in the lyric. She only sets a microphone in the middle of that open distance, sings the song once, and lets the quiet finish the rest.
Perdón por tropezar en tu camino
Vengo de vuelta de muchos lugares
Sitios oscuros
Que jamás te desearía
Te conté que fui enamorado
De una estrella oscura maldita
Te dije alguna vez
Que soñé que el brazo de mi madre
Se extendía como un rayo
Por un lago oscuro donde yo dormía
Perdón por tropezar en tu camino
A veces suelo parecer estúpido
Desgarrado
Insumiso y algo delirante
Perdona por preguntar demasiado
Acerca de temores insufribles
La pedantería
El orgullo
La apatía
La risa de los vivos por todos los muertos en tierra santa desangrados
Perdón por parecer una vieja anciana
De lágrimas resecas
Que pronto vio todo
Y perdió la fe
Y la magia de todo atisbo de plegaria
Perdón ante el Altísimo
Aunque no me vea
Aunque no me escuche
Aunque le asqueen mis gracias