Data-mi-hija

Post data: mi hija --10 años-- me ha pedido que ponga esta canciòn tambièn aquì. Al ver la foto, pide una y otra vez que le explique còmo esas cosas pasan...y yo ya no sè que decirle... sòlo le pido que se duerma: nana nanita nana naita ea...mi niña tiene sueño, ¡bendito sea!. Fuente Página en Facebook de #MalComidos. DETECTIVES EN EL SUPERMERCADO. HOY, FRUTIGRAN. A pedido de algunos amigos de por acá: las galletitas preferidas de los que quieren cuidarse cuando comen galletitas. Un producto bastante engañoso. En primer lugar lo que uno supone cuando lo compra es que va a comer galletitas integrales; de hecho todos… De manera contraria hay que seguir instigando al regreso de nuestros valores democraticos. Post Data. Mi hija se llama VENEZUELA y por ella soy capaz de dar mi vida. #34 (04.12.2006 10:30) Ernesto dice: Mi vida diaria, como la de muchas otras personas, es muy agitada, y más cuando tienes familia, ya que los niños te absorben mucho tiempo pues los tienes que llevar y recoger de la escuela, llevarlos a su cita con el doctor o dentista, llevarlos a sus prácticas deportivas o musicales y lo peor de todo es que son a diferentes horarios, pues cada niño tiene su propia necesidad y deseo. Post data: mi hija --10 años-- me ha pedido que ponga esta canciòn tambièn aquì. Al ver la foto, pide una y otra vez que le explique còmo esas cosas pasan...y yo ya no sè que decirle... sòlo le pido que se duerma: nana nanita nana naita ea...mi niña tiene sueño, ¡bendito sea!.nana nanita nana naita ea...mi niña tiene sueño, ¡bendito

Pensando en mudarme a Paraguay + Perfil IT

2019.11.11 20:00 eneiromatos Pensando en mudarme a Paraguay + Perfil IT

Hola amigos, estoy pensando en mudarme a Paraguay por la grave crisis que se vive en mi país de origen, Venezuela. Me gustaría vivir en una ciudad grande y de ser posible cosmopolita ya que mi perfil profesional es hacia el area de IT y en un lugar así hay mas oportunidades en ese segmento profesional, actualmente me encuentro estudiando para convertirme en Data Analyst, me gusta mucho el tema de visualización de datos. He trabajado como Soporte Técnico, Instructor de C# y SQL, entre otras cosas mas.
Por cierto, tengo una esposa e hija pequeña las cuales llevaría conmigo. ¿Que recomendaciones me darían?, tomando en cuenta que mi objetivo es trabajar en el area de IT y obtener un empleo bien pagado.
Irme a USA, Canada o algún país europeo no me es posible ya que tendría que dejar a mi esposa y a mi hija en Venezuela para poder hacerlo y no estoy dispuesto a ello; Chile no esta nada bien actualmente y el resto de países de la region no se ven tan agradables como Paraguay, excepto Brazil pero no se Portugués y aprenderlo nos tomaría tiempo, y justo eso es lo que no tengo ya que mi pequeña empresa entro en quiebra y estamos sobreviviendo como bien podemos.
submitted by eneiromatos to Paraguay [link] [comments]


2019.06.05 16:57 TMarkos Grand Design, Part 42

First Previous
“All right,” Anja said grimly. “Time to move.”
Rhuar looked up, then exchanged a glance with David. “It hasn’t been that long,” he objected. “They could just be delayed.”
“Only one thing could delay them this long,” Anja said, “and the odds of them surviving an extended engagement with Emissaries are not good. At this point they have either died or suffered a loss of mobility - and either way, that means there is no advantage to waiting for them to regroup here. We need to move.”
David swiped a hand over his face. “Shit. Can’t fault your logic,” he said tiredly. “Want me to call up Tiln?”
Anja nodded, and a moment later the Ysleli captain’s slender yellow face filled a screen. “Sir,” he said, inclining his head to Anja. “Any updates?”
“None,” Anja replied, “which means we need to head out. How are you on munitions?”
Tiln turned offscreen for a moment, listening to one of his bridge officers, then nodded and turned back. “Marginal,” he said unhappily. “We had to use most of our stores on the last portion of our assigned route.”
“All right, damn,” Anja sighed. “I suppose that means we take the remaining routes one at a time. We still have a good portion of our magazine, so save yours for combat and let us take care of the surface targets.”
“Aye sir,” Tiln confirmed. He opened his mouth to speak again before hesitating, an uncertain look on his face. “Sir, will we be leaving a marker for the Warfather, or-”
Anja gave him a curt nod. “We will drop a beacon, but we must operate under the assumption that all other ships are destroyed or disabled.”
Tiln gave Anja a vaguely mutinous look even as he indicated his acknowledgement. “Aye sir,” he replied, “but I don’t believe the Warfather would have been stopped by an attack like the one we survived.”
“Oh?”, Anja said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. “Why is that?”
“We were not,” Tiln said simply. “And I’m not the Warfather.”
Anja sighed and shook her head, looking down at the deck. The profound faith that the Ysleli troops held in Tarl was admirable, she supposed, but faith was unlikely to impress the Gestalt. “Be that as it may,” she replied, “we have to assume the worst. Form up with us and prepare to retrace the East route. We will proceed until we encounter the East group’s trail, then proceed directly to the South route and work our way back to the antipode.”
She allowed herself to glance at the small console displaying Jesri’s vitals. The graph showing her heart rate had been steadily elevating for the past while, the indicator lights blinking on and off frantically. “We may not have much more time left to operate freely,” she added, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “Our best option is to complete the East segmentation and bisect the Gestalt networks. That may buy us enough time to finish the job.”
“Understood, sir,” Tiln replied. “I will follow your course.”
“Stay alert,” she cautioned. “If an enemy group intercepted our team we will likely run right into them. And Tiln...”, she said, glaring directly at him with intensity to rival the blazing sun outside. “I forbid you to solve any problems by ramming your ship into the enemy. I told Tarl you were creative enough to be a good commander. If it comes to that, prove me right and find a better solution.”
“Noted, sir,” Tiln said dryly, closing the connection with a salute.
Rhuar snorted. “You think he’ll listen to you if things go sideways?”, he asked. “Ysleli kind of have a thing for glorious exits.”
“I don’t know, the idea of blowing up the ship is growing on me,” David deadpanned, “The Gestalt could use some competition.”
Anja gave them a reproachful look. “Just setting expectations,” she said wearily. “The middle of a firefight is not a good place to have that kind of talk.”
The tone of her voice lent a sober atmosphere to the bridge while they trundled away from the antipode with the Subtle Blade in tow. The low rumble of the cannons began once more as they engaged targets on the surface, and for a while the bridge was silent but for the roar of destruction.
The peace was broken when Rhuar gave a sudden start and snapped his head around to Anja. “Contact!”, he said urgently, commandeering a display. The image was grainy with interference from the star, but Anja could clearly see the twisted hulks of three Ysleli cruisers drifting in a haze of vented atmosphere. The sunward side of the wrecks was a glowing, melted mass of liquid alloys that clung to the remaining debris.
She didn’t bother to ask if there were survivors. Even the parts shielded from the sun were beginning to glow red with the heat. “Keep moving, keep firing,” she said darkly. “We need to reach their last position to close the loop.”
Rhuar nodded mutely and the ship continued onward, although he left the display showing the wrecks. A secondary explosion ripped through one of the hulks as something inside succumbed to the intense heat, tearing the wreckage in half and sending up a spray of metal fragments that quickly incandesced into a brilliant golden fog.
“No sign of activity,” David said quietly. “No drive traces from Emissary ships.”
Anja grimaced. “That will change,” she muttered. Her eyes darted across her consoles in sequence, suspiciously poring over each empty readout to find the telltale signs of an enemy lying in wait. None came. The bright lines of railgun fire walked their way across the glowing shell until the line of destroyed nodes met the trail left by the East group.
David let his breath out in a long sigh. “Well,” he said, “that’s that. Do you think it will be enough to slow the Gestalt down while we take out the last quadrant?”
“We have to assume the enemy is operating at full capacity,” Anja said, shaking her head. “If we had any room for error it was used up long ago.” She gazed out the viewport as Rhuar wheeled the ship ninety degrees, turning them towards the South route. “Tiln,” she said into the communicator. “Status check?”
“Fine here, sir,” his reply came back immediately. “I don’t want to complain about it being too quiet, but…” He trailed off with a significant look out the viewports.
Anja nodded. “I know what you mean,” she said. “We should make use of any time they give us, whatever their reason.” The two fell silent as both ships broke away from the debris field, the Ysleli cruiser trailing behind the Grand Design as it cleared a path through the floating bits of metal.
David cleared his throat. “How’s Jesri?”, he asked. “Any change?”
“None,” Anja said, absentmindedly caressing the display. “Heart rate is still up, but well within normal levels.”
He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “If you had asked me this morning I would have said any problems with the op would come from her end.” Seeing Anja’s face darken, he raised his hands defensively. “Because it was new territory,” he clarified hastily. “Good old ship-to-ship combat seemed like a sure bet in comparison.”
“Nothing more dangerous than the thing you assume is safe,” Anja murmured, still focused on the console. Her sister’s heart rate had inched upward again as they were talking, the indicator blinking just a touch faster.
“I can’t decide whether that level of paranoia would keep me alive longer or not,” David muttered. “How do you survive the stress?”
Anja’s grim facade softened, and she quirked an eyebrow at David’s monitor. “Says the man who exfiltrated himself from the universe in secret,” she retorted. “I think the years on the outside have made you a bit soft.”
“In more ways than one,” he agreed, patting his belly. “Maybe when this is over-”
“Incoming!”, Rhuar shouted. “Four ships just appeared to starboard, long-range.”
“...and there’s that stress again,” David said mournfully. “Four ships means it’s Emissaries.”
“The combined East and South aggressors, most likely,” Anja said, settling back into her chair and checking her consoles for battle. Targeting sensors sprang to life at her fingertips, the barrels of a hundred guns realigning themselves as she moved. The four contacts burned a bloody red on the tactical display, the Grand Design a frigid blue. Her eyes reflexively flickered back to Jesri’s small monitor, which-
She frowned. Jesri’s heart rate was dangerously elevated. She didn’t know the cause, but her sister was experiencing extreme stress. She tapped for more data, quickly paging through graphs that all showed sudden spikes. Network activity, brain function, interface power draw-
“They’re jumping!”, Rhuar called out. Anja’s attention was pulled away from the console just in time to see the four giant ovoid ships blink into existence within visual range, the slight ripple of their exit lost within the glowing hellscape around them.
“Shit, here goes,” Anja said, pushing Jesri forcefully to the back of her mind. “Tiln, keep moving and take shots of opportunity on our targets,” she broadcast. “Rhuar-”
“Be where they aren’t shooting?”, he said, his muscles twitching as he immersed fully into the shipjack. The ship’s engines roared low, a throaty and powerful chant that swelled until they were at full power. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Billions of stars swirled around her like a cloud of fireflies, a chaotic and beautiful storm of light raging as far as she could see. And she could see! In every direction, from every angle, she comprehended the swarm’s motion as mere eyesight could never convey. She was left transfixed, floating, carried away on the eddies of lambent fog until her mind danced with abandon in the joy of their turbulent flow.
A nagging worry crept in, however, scratching pitifully at the ecstasy wrapped around her. Contrary thoughts suggested that there was perhaps a greater purpose to her presence in the swarm. She pushed the doubt away, spinning through every facet of the glowing cloud with mindless glee. There was no need for a reason, she thought. The simple experience of being within the light was more than enough, it was more than she had ever aspired to before.
A pause. Than she had aspired to… before what? Before she was here? Her motion through the flow of light jerked uncomfortably, sending her mind reeling in a nauseous spiral as she lost her equilibrium. Before, before. Before she was here. Her mind clamped down, bending her expansive view into something more familiar, something more limited.
There was pain again, just as there had been when Trelir-
Her mind jolted again, suddenly flooding with burning context. Trelir, the Gestalt. Anja. Her purpose for being here - and the nature of here itself. Jesri collapsed inwards, Jesri once more, retreating behind the limits of her individuality to shiver and marvel at the vastness she had briefly been.
She took stock. The swarm still roiled around her, its beauty diminished now that she could no longer see it as she had just moments ago. Still, the rushing motes of light sparkled with facets and profound depth as they passed. Each one left her feeling as though she was walking by an open door to a hallway that stretched to endless dark and hidden passages. What had she missed before, flowing in the spaces between the lights?
She stared, suddenly fascinated by the parts more than the whole, then peered more closely at a single nearby mote to probe it. It resolved into a branching network of frozen lightning, white as starlight and changeable as water. Almost before the thought of touching it occurred, she found herself hurling towards it until the lightning wrapped around her mind.
A storm of color and sensation assaulted her, driving her sense of cohesion apart in an instant. She writhed under the tempest in a desperate struggle to control the flow, to adapt it to her brain.
-woke up, wide-eyed, screaming on the dirty floor of the apartment. She saw Papi kneeling over her, tears in his eyes as his hand gripped hers so hard she could barely stand it. “Mija,” he sobbed, “Dios, Dios por favor, es mi única hija-”
There was a blurring, and pain shot through her. She twisted in confusion as a surge of emotions stabbed into her heart. Terror, helplessness, confusion-
She sat up abruptly, looking around. “Where am I?”, she asked groggily, but instead of answering her the kneeling man recoiled with a look of horror on his face.
“Vete,” he croaked hoarsely, making the sign of the cross as sweat dripped from his pallid skin. His hand shook as he extended it to point at her. The man’s eyes shone with purest terror, his tone pleading. “¿Quién eres? Sal de mi hija, déjanos en paz-”
Jesri tore away from the assault of pain and fear, hurling herself back out into the void where she could shrink back into some semblance of calm. Her mind spun in a maelstrom for what seemed like an eternity before she could collect herself enough to think.
She regarded each point of light, each individual with a new wariness and respect. There were so many of them, each a universe unto themselves. Peering into one had been almost impossibly disorienting for her, and the effects-
She winced. The tormented look on the man’s face and the pulsing feeling of terror vibrating through her still pounded a harsh, metallic beat in her thoughts. What had she done? Seized a young girl’s mind and forcefully twisted it to match hers, injecting herself fully into the girl’s waking thoughts? No wonder she was twitching and screaming, driven beyond all reason.
No, there had to be a better way. At the very least, she reflected, it solidified her confidence that she had been right to insist on giving people a choice. For all that he griped about bandwidth, David hadn’t felt that poor girl’s fear tearing at him-
Jesri paused, looking out at the vast river of light. David. If she was going to learn how to operate here without traumatizing everyone in the universe he was her best bet - but finding him would be next to impossible, like picking out a specific grain of sand from a beach. She scrutinized the torrent flowing around her, trying to let her mind barely brush against the rushing lights.
An electric shock coursed into her, driving images into her mind like icy spikes. A man carrying a laughing child on his shoulders walked down a road on a sweltering day, feeling the sweat plaster his shirt to his chest. An ancient matriarch lay stick-thin and gasping in a hospice bed with a nurse’s hand gently caressing her bony fingers. A young boy happily chewed a warm cookie, savoring the sweet taste as it blossomed on his tongue.
Jesri recoiled once more, flinching away reflexively. Probing haphazardly was far too overwhelming. She sat for another timeless moment to consider her next move, watching the pinpoints dance in front of her. Each one cavorted on its own path, diving and gliding in concert with the others…
Except one. Jesri peered at it, not quite trusting her senses, but the shining point remained fixed as if held forcefully in place. She let herself glide over to examine it, her mind reaching out to touch it as lightly as she could. Razor-sharp purpose and resolve glinted back at her. A decrepit shell enclosed a practiced core of discipline and skill built around a furnace-flame of passion. She felt the ache of old bones and a deep fatigue permeating to her marrow, the chill air of the room seeping through her joints. Withered lips curved upwards in a smile, and she felt a sensation like eyes meeting. He had been waiting for her.
She pulled back from the contact, considering. At David’s age, she could very well kill him by inflicting the same torments she had visited upon that young girl. Slowly, carefully, she dipped a figurative toe into the eddies of his mind. The chaotic deluge of sensation rushed at her immediately, but rather than wrest control of it as she had before Jesri simply sat in the flow and experienced it. It was… uncomfortable. Awkward. She felt like she was standing too close to a stranger, all jostling elbows and bashed knees.
Well, David’s thought came unbidden. This isn’t what I was expecting at all.
His surprise cut through the chaos so clearly that it startled her as well, and Jesri felt the sudden urge to laugh. This is terrible, she giggled. I have no idea what I’m doing. I feel like-
Jesri sat at a dirty bar just off the base with five of her sisters, laughing raucously as they exulted in their successful exfiltration from the Valkyrie compound. Their brutally short military haircuts and matching jumpsuits stood out in the dingy surroundings, but the moment was too rich for any of them to notice that they were out of place. This was their bar for the hour. The cheap beer was bitter on her tongue, though she drank it stoically and tried to look like she wasn’t seventeen. When she finished it a stammering midshipman came up and asked if he could buy her another. Her sisters laughed and catcalled, but she looked him in his eyes and smiled like she imagined a normal girl would. They drank their next beer together and pretended they knew more about the world than they did, and stepped on each others toes when they tried to dance.
David’s booming laughter echoed, and Jesri could feel his amusement as he countered with a memory of his own:
In a grey, windowless room David finished paging through his presentation, having just summarized a year’s hard research into militant groups working to destabilize the Ferron chondrite mining cartels. The section chief was here personally, not just her secretary! His heart pounded in his chest and he felt uncomfortably sweaty. People began to ask questions, and he answered each one with a cool composure totally removed from the near-panic whirring in his gut. He looked towards the section chief with the stirrings of confidence, hoping to get a glimpse of her assessment of his presentation. Instead, her lips pursed and her eyes flickered down. Heart sinking, David feigned glancing at his notes and felt a pang of horror to see his fly hanging flagrantly open. The presentation was slated to continue for another thirty minutes.
Jesri fired back with her disastrous attempt to bluff her way into a slaver’s auction, and David’s riposte was a staggeringly painful recounting of the time he gave the best man’s speech at a wedding. After a few more rounds they could take no more of the memories. A moment passed while she retreated in amused exhaustion, and Jesri noted that their link no longer felt quite so confining. The harsh flow of sensation had softened, but she also found herself adjusting to accommodate it in turn.
Interesting, David’s voice mused, and her head was filled with half-impressions of network diagrams and peer-to-peer topology. Just like a mesh network. The nodes must negotiate to establish a common protocol, only then can transfer occur.
Using memories?, Jesri asked skeptically.
Experience, David replied. Context for interaction. You show me how your mind works, I reciprocate.
Jesri thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. For every one of them?, she asked. One at a time? How long will that take?
Two at a time, David replied reassuringly. Then four, then eight. We will get better as we accumulate more shared experience, more context to find common ground. She felt his intense regard for a moment, accompanied by a complex melange of respect, relief and awe. I’m glad we have you for this, he said. You have more experiences to draw from than a dozen people, and your memory feels perfect - flawless, even. It will make this easier.
She held her skepticism, but David pushed an exasperated thought her way; his epiphanies became hers, and she understood. Everyone essentially developed their own way of looking at the world in a vacuum, and bereft of context two minds were basically speaking alien languages. Language and society let them interact, but they were always abstractions overlying the base code of each individual’s mind. Normalizing each one to allow for true interaction on that most basic of levels took effort, but when that was done…
David pulsed vicarious amusement at her realization, then prodded her towards another mote of light. The resistance, he explained. They’re already our allies. Bring them in first, let them help us.
Jesri reached out again, touching the new mote and wincing as the barrage of its mind struck her. David bolstered her, though, and she was in no danger of losing herself in the chaos. She felt pulses of fear, uncertainty, giddy excitement. David began talking to the man, and she caught a glimpse of an image - a technician that had been assisting with their setup, a wiry and nervous man with a perpetually serious face. His name was Vadim, but David called him Eddie.
Slowly David fed experiences across the link, and after some hesitation Jesri saw others come back. Eddie had grown up with his mother and three brothers in Minsk. She saw his fourth birthday party, and his fortieth. His joy when he had married, and his horror when David had explained the secret behind the world to him. Jesri showed him her sisters and what the galaxy looked like from beyond the rim. She felt an understanding, and tentative thoughts greeted her across the link.
As one, they turned to the rest of David’s resistance cell. Annabel, who had cried when David told her of the Gestalt. Mark and Effie, who had never truly believed him until now. The motes of light drifted together, forming a new flow that clustered and swirled around her in a miniature halo.
They reached out for more, faster now. Another cell based in London, another still working out of Pavonis. Eddie’s brothers, confused but trusting - and then filled with righteous anger when Eddie shared his knowledge of their purpose. Annabel’s daughter, Mark’s sister. Some turned away, frightened by what they didn’t understand, and at Jesri’s insistence they did not pursue them further. More stayed and listened, however, and the swarming mass of light around them grew.
David swept up a few of his old colleagues at Naval Intelligence who still remembered Director Kincaid and shared everything he had been aching to share for so long. The hidden files, the team at Pavonis. MANTRA and the resistance. Jesri felt her connection to David overflow with tearful relief as he unburdened himself of decades-old secrets. There was no question of doubt - David gave them his sincerity, and Jesri her conviction. All at once, their recruits knew - and with grim resolve, they helped them tell others.
And then, like a fire in a dry field, there was the Navy. Jesri’s Navy, her home and her only family. Officers inducted by Naval Intelligence spread the word through the ranks as fast as lightning, calling the steel resolve of the Terran Navy into the fold. They stepped into the link almost as one - and with the terrible knowledge of their reality still burning fresh in their minds they turned to look at Jesri.
She threw herself at them with a wordless cry, feeling the rush of the familiar. They returned to her the best years of her life, the thrumming excitement of a ship underway and the easy camaraderie of crewmates. The smell of a freshly fabricated uniform, the slight chemical tickle of the galley’s banana pudding, the sound of uniform heels on a clean deck. Opening herself up fully, she gave to them in return her centuries of service. She showed them her childhood and her training, her first tentative steps into a warship’s bridge. The daring raids, the infiltrations, the boring patrols and endless stakeouts. The shared bond of her sisters.
And then, as they watched silently, the End. Earth smoldering amid a halo of wreckage. The shattered docks at Pavonis, darkened transit stations hanging lifeless in the void. Wandering, despair. Glimpses of her sisters that dwindled to just Anja, her constant light in the darkness sweeping in to rescue her when she needed it most. Nihilism, apathy. Centuries drifting from station to station, the ghost in the hallways and the curiosity of Kitan codices.
She gave them the rekindling of the spark when Anja called her to Indomitable. Her stunned disbelief as she listened to the captain’s recording, the tears glistening in her sister’s eyes as she beamed back at her. She gave them Rhuar and Qktk as they fled the station, gave them Kenet-Tel and his children - and her pain, when they were struck down in front of her.
The wonder of finding the Grand Design reverberated through the link, as did the battle at Ysl and their hasty escape through hyperspace. They shared her joy at finding Ellie and her horror at what her sister had become. The revelation of David and the resistance filled them with excitement even as the destruction at Elpis and Ysl weighed on them. They grieved with her for Qktk and Neryn, Xim Len and the Elpis resistance.
More poured out of her and they drank it in, taking in their wayward sister’s long exile and harrowing journey to a home she’d never seen. Finally, ending with the fresh memory of the pedestal and her confrontation with Trelir, she backed away from the link and waited uncertainly. The whole of the Terran Navy had seen her life in its barest form, unvarnished and unabridged. The links between them hummed with titanic forces as they shared her memories with each other, turning them over and reviewing them in minute detail.
Then, as one, they turned back to Jesri. A single emotion surged into her, nearly tearing her from existence with its power:
PRIDE.
The Navy rang with it like a great steel bell as it embraced her, and Jesri dissolved into their welcoming arms with a choked sob of gratitude. Every failure that had weighed her down, every crushing feeling of inadequacy evaporated as if it had never been. None of it mattered to them. Anja and Jesri had kept the beacon lit against all odds. They had kept humanity alive in their hearts when all else had perished, and for that her brothers and sisters loved her unreservedly.
But as the glow of their fierce approval faded and the links between them grew quiet, another emotion crept in like seeping oil. It built in a slow resonance through the joined minds, and motes of light began to fly towards the halo faster and faster as the Navy turned outward to their families and friends. It was now a blinding maelstrom, spinning with minds in their billions as they found their voice in this new and strange world.
And when that voice spoke, it spoke of vengeance. Anger swirled within the flood of light, surging through Jesri in a wave of incandescent fury. There was no thought of resistance or moderation, for it was her anger too. All of the death, the destruction and ruin visited upon them by the Gestalt - humanity had seen it in full, and now the bill was due.
The motion of the lights stopped, and Jesri drew in a breath. When she let it out, she was in a small room with a low table and a single window. The table was bare save for the empty pattern of a Go board etched into it, and Jesri stood alone.
She cocked her head and found herself looking at Trelir’s surprised face. He blinked, then stared at her as she walked over to her chair and took a seat. “You,” he breathed, an accusatory tone in his voice. “What did you do?”
Jesri smiled back at him. “Surely the Gestalt wouldn’t need to ask a pitiful thing like me for information,” she said acidly.
Trelir’s face darkened. “Humor and tricks will not save you or your sister,” he said warningly. “I was kind to you before. Tell me what you did to reclaim this space and call me here or I will send you to an industrial acid vat rather than that pleasant park.”
Rising to her feet, Jesri let her smile expand to a predatory grin. She opened her mouth to speak and a billion voices said:
“TRY IT.”
A moment passed, and Trelir’s face worked through several complicated expressions. Finally he shook his head and sat down at the table. “Impudence,” he muttered. “Do you know what you’ve done? That simulation required a considerable amount of our resources to maintain, and now you’ve disrupted it irreparably.” He steepled his fingers. “We will have to reset everything.”
Jesri said nothing, but grinned wider. In the periphery of her awareness she felt the furious masses of humanity seething through the Gestalt’s network, abusing her administrative access to wrest control over the simulation away from the Gestalt. Network links were sabotaged in an eyeblink, routing tables deleted or rewritten with nonsensical data. A second passed, and the simulation remained. Trelir looked at her with suspicion, then shock, then resigned annoyance. “Humans are nothing if not stubborn,” he sighed. “But this is still just a childish tantrum. All you change is the amount of effort needed to effect repairs after we eradicate you. The outcome is fixed. Your fate cannot be changed.”
“No outcome is fixed, Trelir,” Jesri said. “You wanted to understand our ‘penchant for hopeless holding actions’, but you can’t without understanding hope first. Helplessness, panic, all the things you left behind when you decided that you were perfect. You can’t understand not having all the facts, the uncertainty of war and conflict sowing doubt in your mind.”
“And why would we?”, he scoffed. “Why bother with coping techniques for primitives when we can choose perfection instead?”
“Because perfection is a lie,” Jesri said quietly, walking toward him. “Perfection is the rejection of improvement, a declaration that you can be no better than you are. It’s a sad, stagnant condition for a sad, stagnant being.”
Trelir seemed to swell with rage, his black eyes glittering. “Pity?”, he seethed. “You upjumped vermin have no standing to feel pity for the Confluence. You think you’re strong, wise, having discovered the most basic form of Confluence. We surpassed what you are long ago.”
Fury billowed within her, and Jesri took another step forward. She felt armies surging within her, overflowing their containment to race along the Gestalt’s network with untempered ferocity. They burned through data nodes, a cleansing poison pumping through their enemy’s veins. “Can you feel it?”, Jesri asked softly. “I couldn’t beat you, but they’re strong. They don’t care what you are or how long you’ve been ‘perfect’. Now that they’re free, now that they know the truth, they won’t stop until you’re dead.”
“They are surprisingly competent,” Trelir admitted. “But still primitives. Still bound by the weaknesses of language and society,” he said, closing the rest of the distance between them. “Still bound to form and hierarchy.”
He jabbed a bony finger at Jesri’s face, his voice a lethal hiss. “That means I don’t have to defeat them,” he whispered. “I just have to defeat you.”
Next
Well, that escalated quickly. Today’s chapter makes the story longer than The Fellowship of the Ring, another book about people spontaneously volunteering for stuff. This all got a little too abstract for my editor and she’s just been staring out the window since she finished reading it.
Thanks as always for your comments and the time you spend reading. Tune in next week as Trelir challenges Jesri to a highly metaphorical thumb wrestling match for the fate of the universe.
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2019.05.01 23:17 Trubino19 Reddit 2.0




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2019.01.16 20:43 Counterimage97 Any feedback of the sex scandals in Houston TX. around 1995?

TRANSCRIPCION DE ENTRADA DEL BLOG http://groups.msn.com/IGLESIALALUZDELMUNDOEX/mensajes.msnw
A LOS MIEMBROS DE LA LUZ DEL MUNDO, ESPECIALMENTE AQUELLOS QUE FUERON AFECTADOS COMO YO VA ESTE TESTIMONIO:
YO PERTENECI A LA LUZ DEL MUNDO EN HOUSTON TEXAS. SIN EMBARGO FUI CORROMPIDO POR UN OBRERO DE LA IGLESIA QUE ERA NUESTRO COORDINADOR EN UN GRUPO DE JOVENES QUE NOS ACOMEDIMOS A CUIDAR DE LA CASA DEL HERMANO SAMUEL DONDE TENIA HOSPEDADO A SU HIJO ASAEL DURANTE LA CONVALESCENCIA DE SU ACCIDENTE AUTOMOVILISTICO DONDE CASI PERDIO LA MITAD DE SU CEREBRO Y LA VIDA. ESTE “OBRERO” FUE PUESTO POR EL PASTOR BENJAMIN JOAQUIN PARA FORMAR UN GRUPO DE JOVENES DE 12 A 17 AÑOS DE EDAD PARA CUIDAR Y VELAR ESA CASA. ESTE “OBRERO” CUYO NOMBRE NO TE PUEDO MENCIONAR PUES MI ABOGADO ESTA PREPARANDO UNA DEMANDA POR ABUSO DE MENORES EN SU CONTRA Y CONTRA LOS QUE RESULTEN RESPONSABLES, YA QUE NO SOLO FUI YO ABUSADO, SINO TODOS LOS JOVENES DEL GRUPO (APROX. 9 O 10 JOVENES) FUIMOS INDUCIDOS A TENER RELACIONES SEXUALES CON EL Y LUEGO ENTRE TODOS NOSOTROS. YO ME ACERQUE A PEDIR CONSEJO PUES ME SENTIA “SUCIO”, CON EL PASTOR QUE EN ESE TIEMPO ERA BENJAMIN JOAQUIN GARCIA (HIJO DEL SIERVO DE DIOS), SIN EMBARGO EL ME DIJO QUE NO DIJERA NADA, NI SIQUIERA A MIS PADRES, Y QUE EL HIBA A HABLAR CON LOS DEMAS PORQUE SI DECIAN ALGO, HIBA A SER UN GRAN ESCANDALO PARA LA IGLESIA Y ESO QUEDARIA EN NUESTRAS CONCIENCIAS. YO CALLE DURANTE MUCHOS AÑOS CREYENDO QUE YO ERA EL CULPABLE DE LO QUE ME HABIA PASADO. VARIAS VECES INTENTE SUICIDARME. LA ULTIMA VEZ, HACE APROX. 1 AÑO UN SICOLOGO DEL CONDADO DE HARRIS QUE ME ESTABA TRATANDO, LOGRO ABRIR MI RESISTENCIA SICOLOGICA PARA PODER SUPERAR EL TRAUMA QUE ME ESTABA DESTRUYENDO. DESDE ENTONCES HE ESTADO TRATANDO DE CONTACTAR A LOS OTROS JOVENES DEL GRUPO DE LAS VELADAS PARA CONVENCERLOS DE PROCEDER COMO YO, SIN EMBARGO LA MAYORIA ESTAN CASADOS Y CON HIJOS Y ME DICEN QUE LES DARIA MUCHA VERGUENZA QUE SE SUPIERA, PUES ALGUNOS SON MUY CONSAGRADOS EN LA IGLESIA Y HASTA ORACIONES LLEVAN, PERO SOBRE TODO TIENEN TEMOR DE QUE SUS ESPOSAS SE ENTEREN. SIN EMBARGO LE ESTOY PIDIENDO A DIOS QUE ME DE FORTALEZA PARA SUPERAR ESTE TRAUMA. UNA AMIGA DE MI ESPOSA (QUIEN TAMBIEN DEJO LA LUZ DEL MUNDO CUANDO LE PLATIQUE MI PROBLEMA) LE PLATICO LLORANDO UNA OCASION, QUE ELLA HABIA SIDO ABUSADA POR UN PASTOR DE LA IGLESIA LLAMADO CARLOS MOTEMAYOR CUANDO ELLA TENIA APROX. 15 AÑOS. MI ESPOSA LE PREGUNTO QUE PORQUE NO LE HABIA DICHO A SUS PADRES O A ALGUNA AUTORIDAD Y ELLA LE DIJO QUE LE HABIA DICHO A SUS PADRES, PERO QUE NO LE HABIAN CREIDO LO QUE LE ACONTECIO, QUE DEJARAN DE BLASFEMAR CONTRA LA AUTORIDAD DE DIOS Y QUE EL DIABLO SE LES HABIA METIDO. DIJO ELLA QUE EL PASTOR LAS HACIA ESPERAR A ELLA Y A OTRA DE SUS HERMANAS MENOR QUE ELLA, EN LAS OFICINAS DEL TEMPLO ANTERIOR QUE FUE DEMOLIDO PARA CONSTRUIR EL NUEVO. ELLAS LES DECIAN A SUS PADRES QUE SE TENIAN QUE QUEDAR A AYUDAR AL PASTOR CON LAS COMPUTADORAS A LLEVAR EL REGISTRO DE ORACIONES Y ASISTENCIAS DE LOS MIEMBROS DE LA IGLESIA. DESPUES QUE TODOS LOS HERMANOS SE RETIRABAN, EL LES ORDENABA QUE SE METIEARAN A SU CARRO EN EL ASIENTO DE ATRAS ACOSTADAS EN EL PISO O AGACHADAS PARA QUE NADIE LAS VIERAN. DESPUES EL SALIA Y LAS LLEVABA A UN MOTEL DONDE SE PONIA A VER CANALES PORNOGRAFICOS Y DESPUES LES INDICABA QUE LE HICIERAN A EL LO QUE VEIAN EN LA PANTALLA. CUANDO ELLAS LE DIJERO QUE ESO NO ESTABA BIEN, EL PASTOR LES DECIA QUE NO HIBAN A PECAR PORQUE EL TENIA LA AUTORIDAD DEL APOSTOL DE DIOS PUES LA AUTORIDAD DE DIOS ERA “COMO UNA CADENA, DIOS ESTABA CONECTADO CON EL APOSTOL, EL PASTOR ESTABA CONECTADO AL APOSTOL Y ELLAS HIBAN A CONECTARSE CON EL” ASI QUE REALMENTE HIBAN A “CONECTARSE” CON DIOS MISMO ATRAVES DE LA CADENA DE AUTORIDAD. DESPUES DE CALMARLAS CON ESOS ARGUMENTOS, PROCEDIA A TENER SEXO ORAL CON ELLAS Y PARA TERMINAR, LAS SODOMIZABA (LAS PENETRABA POR EL RECTO). CUANDO ELLAS SE QUERIAN RESISTIR PUES ERA MUY DOLOROSO PARA ELLAS, EL LES DECIA QUE ASI, SEGUIRIAN SIENDO VIRGENES EN ALMA Y CUERPO Y SE PODRIAN CASAR DE BLANCO Y CON TODA LA HONRA EN LA IGLESIA. TODO ESTO CON LA COMPLICIDAD DE LA ESPOSA DEL PASTOR LLAMADA JUANITA. EL CONOCER ESTO ME HIZO RECAPACITAR Y HACER LO QUE ESTOY HACIENDO. NO QUIERO DAÑAR A LOS MIEMBROS DE LA IGLESIA PUES SE QUE LA MAYORIA SON SINCEROS Y NO HAN TENIDO LA DESGRACIA DE EXPERIMENTAR LO QUE YO Y OTROS MUCHOS QUE PREFIEREN CALLAR O SE ALEJAN DE LA LUZ DEL MUNDO CALLADOS Y LLORANDO EN SILENCIO, CON EL ALMA TRAUMATIZADA, PUES YA NO SE PUEDE VOLVER A CONFIAR EN NINGUNA “IGLESIA” MUCHO MENOS EN OTRO “SIERVO DE DIOS”.
A LA JERARQUIA DE LA IGLESIA LA LUZ DEL MUNDO: RECUERDEN QUE NO SOLO ES CULPABLE EL QUE COMETE EL DELITO, SINO EL QUE LO PROPICIA CON SU SILENCIO COMPLICE Y SU FALTA DE VOLUNTAD PARA ECHAR FUERA AL CORRUPTOR Y ENTREGARLO A LAS AUTORIDADES. HERMANO BENNY, VEA EL CASO DEL CARDENAL MAHONY DE LOS ANGELES, POR NO DESCUBRIR A LOS CURAS PEDOFILOS BAJO SU AUTORIDAD, AHORA ESTA TAMBIEN BAJO DEMANDAS.
POST DATA:
SE DE BUENA FUENTE QUE EL PASTOR CARLOS MOTEMAYOR FUE REINSTALADO EN EL CUERPO MINISTERIAL, AHORA ES DIACONO EN SANTA ANA, CA Y BAUTIZA Y SE DEDICA A PREDICAR CONTRA “LOS CURAS PEDOFILOS DE LA IGLESIA CATOLICA, PERVERSOS CORRUPTORES DE MENORES” (AL LADRON! AL LADRON!). CUIDADO HERMANOS DE SANTA ANA, NO DEJEN A SUS HIJAS SOLAS CON ESTE DEGENERADO, PUES SEGUN EXPERTOS EN DELITOS SEXUALES, LA PEDOFILIA ES TRATABLE PERO NO CURABLE!
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2018.07.16 22:41 HelloLurkerHere "Here five were killed" - Los Galindos Massacre (Part 1)

Hi all! After I submitted my write-up about the mysterious case of the Fausto fishing boat, and because of the positive feedback I received from most users I've decided to do another write-up; once again, I'm covering another mystery from my homecountry that is virtually unknown outside the English-speaking word (I've seen it mentioned here in Reddit, but no one seems to have gone into details so far). While in the Fausto's story I covered a missing people's case this time I'll be covering a crime, so I guess it will appeal more to those users who prefer reading about unsolved crime cases.
Los Galindos massacre took place on a scorching hot summer afternoon of 1975, in a remote farmhouse in rural Andalusia, southern Spain. Not only it was one of the most brutal murder cases of our history -war crimes aside- , but it has remained an elusive mystery for over 40 years. Once again, I'm warning that this will be a VERY long post, and I've mostly translated the information I've gathered and structured it so that it can (hopefully!) constitute an enjoyable read.
Relevant names are highlighted in bold letters. First I'll provide an introductory background text, and I'll follow with a chronological description of the chain of events. The controversy that surrounded the case will be also described in future write-ups (I'll try my best, this is one hell of a tricky case). For those users that would rather have a summarized version of the text I've included a TL;DR summary at the bottom of this post.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first part, here it goes;
Background
Los Galindos is a farmhouse located just 3 km (2 mi) northwest of the small town of Paradas, and some 50 km (32 mi) east of the Andalusian city Sevilla, Spain. Up to the late 19th century it had belonged to the church, after which the property's ownership changed to different wealthy families through the following decades. While far from being the largest farmhouse around, in 1975 it was an attractive prospect for potential buyers; 400 hectares (990 acres) of farming land, a large two-wing countryhouse for the owners -which included a spacious inner patio- and a smaller house for the foreman and his family. It also included several garages and stables, as well as a workshop equipped with all what's needed for the repairment of cars, trucks and tractors. Los Galindos had received recently also a scale for heavy machinery, a loading dock and even an underground diesel tank. Cotton, olives and beetroots were produced by its workers.
The last person to buy Los Galindos farmhouse before this mystery took place was a 20-something years old man named Francisco Delgado Durán, in 1950. He was the son of one of the most popular and wealthy couples of Madrid, and he had made a decent fortune working for his parents as a front man. In February of 1969 Delgado would die in Lisbon, Portugal, as a result of a car crash. After his death, Francisco's sister inherited Los Galindos. It's worth noting that shortly after this Francisco's sister married the Marquis of Grañina, Gonzalo Fenández de Córdoba; the Marquis was a highly respected man due his family's social status, but was also known for his bad financial decisions and tendency to spend money recklessly. Fernández had managed to sustain his flamboyant lifestyle by means of associating himself with the wealthiest people at the time -which, in turn, were looking to have friends among the most distinguished members of society, hoping to establish a powerful network of influences.
Once he had Los Galindos on his power (via his wife), Fernández hired his friend Manuel Zapata as the farmhouse's foreman. Zapata, who was 59 years-old in 1975, was a tough and stern man who, by all accounts, seemed to lack any sense of humor whatsoever. Born in Badajoz, he had had a long career in the Spanish Legion and, even though he was retired, Zapata applied army-like precision and discipline into everything he got involved into. And he expected those under his command to do the same. Everyone at Paradas described him as a very unpleasant, 'no-strikes' kind of boss. His wife Juana Martín (53 years-old in 1975) was from Huelva, but had lived in Paradas most of her life; her parents and grandparents had served at Los Galindos all their lives.
As for the July of 1975 Los Galindos had employed several workers that took care of all the duties and chores under Zapata's iron fist. Among them there was José González (27 years-old), a tractor operator. The 160 cm tall and 56 kg (5'3'' and 125 lbs) González was a meek, insecure man. He always wore thick eyeglasses because of his poor eyesight. Due to his severe lack of confidence everyone thought he'd never meet a woman willing to marry him. However, seven months earlier he married Asunción Peralta (34 years-old), a native of Paradas who had worked briefly during harvesting time at Los Galindos. Asunción had been dating a somewhat locally known flamenco singer, but when the relationship fell apart she found herself at well over 30 years of age, single and childless. So when González proposed marriage to her she took what she could have regarded as her last chance at motherhood. In fact, in July of 1975 Asunción was six months pregnant.
40 years-old Ramón Parrilla was a regular farmhand at Los Galindos. A hard-working man with a down-to-earth and warm personality, many remember him as one of the very few people capable of reaching to the almost inexistent traces of kindness and compassion in Zapata's heart, who sometimes would approach him for a friendly conversation. No one seemed to have a bad word about Parrilla, and he was a well-liked man.
Los Galindos, in 1975, seen from the end of the driveway;https://francispfernandez.files.wordpress.com/2016/10/cortijo-los-galindos.jpg
Los Galindos on Google Maps;https://www.google.fi/maps/place/Cortijo+de+los+galindos/@37.3277362,-5.5201836,602m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0xd129a8821819299:0x75c118a129b0dca0!8m2!3d37.3274809!4d-5.5200495
Noon of July 22nd, 1975. A strange break on routine
At around 12:00 pm of that day 36-years old Antonio Fenet, a farmhand who had been working at Los Galindos for years, was approached by José González. The shy tractor operator looked gloomy. Fenet didn't ask, but had a very strong guess of what had happened; as for lately Zapata had summoned -quite harshly- González about the rather careless way in which he had been working at the workshop, repairing a broken baler. The logical thing to guess was that he had been summoned once again and that had taken a toll on González's mood. Sadly, that was not a rare ocurrence.
González delivered a message from Zapata; Fenet should take a squad and go to Los Galindos' olive grove and spend the rest of the day removing weeds from the olive grove. Upon hearing this, Fenet arched his eyebrows; removing weeds was not a rare activity at Los Galindos (neither would have been at any other farmhouse in Andalusia), but it wasn't his job there; others always did it. Also, why did Zapata send González to deliver the message? The foreman always gave orders personally.
He didn't think to much at that moment; just a little variation of the daily routine. Only some eight hours later he'd change his mind about that, drastically.
Ramón Parrilla is nearby. He's asked, via González, to go to Las Hermanas spring (4 km/3 mi north of the farmhouse) and fill a drum of fresh water for the farmhouse before the end of the day.
Fenet picked all the tools he needed from a nearby shed and rode his small motorcycle towards their assigned work at the olive grove. Only Zapata, his wife Juana and González stay at the farmhouse. Without knowing it, Fenet was walking away from death.
15:00 pm. A disturbing sight at Paradas
Later, at about 15:00 pm, several people at Paradas witnessed something really strange; a cream-colored SEAT 600 speeded down the town's main street, seemingly coming from the road that leads to Los Galindos. Many were not unfamiliar with the car, as they recognized it as José González. What surprised all them was that A) at that time of the day González should be working at Los Galindos and B) he was speeding almost recklessly. Let's remember that González's eyesight was very poor which, added to his timid nature, made him a rather slow driver.
Where was González going? And why was he in such a hurry?
Those among the witnesses that knew him where still arguing about the bizarre scene they had just seen when, at around 15:15 González's car appeared again, speeding even faster this time. He's now driving back towards Los Galindos, but now he's not alone in the car; his wife Asunción is in the passenger seat. She's smartly dressed, later witnesses would say that she was dressed 'like when she attends the Sunday's mass at church'. This detail gives the whole situation an even stranger look. An acquaintance of Asunción was among the witnesses that afternoon and later provided a detailed report. She saw them exiting their home and getting into the car. She also added another detail that had caught her attention; the look on their faces.
According to her, both González and his wife looked very worried. Scared, even.
16:30 pm. Hell breaks loose
With only a cheap had to protect him from the relentless July sun, Fenet headed back to Los Galindos, riding his motorcycle. It was a short ride, only 2.5 km (1.6 mi) and all he could think about was the shower he'd take right after arriving back home, maybe he'd have also a cold beer afterwards. That day had been unusually hot; before parting to the olive grove Fenet had taken a look at the thermometer placed on the farmhouse's front wall. It read 49º C (120º F). Later it would be reported that July 22nd happened to be the hottest day of that year. Suddeny, Fenet stopped his bike, his gaze fixed in the distance ahead of him, at Los Galindos.
A column of black smoke was emanating from the farmhouse.
"Whoever is burning stuff there, Zapata's gonna rip his balls off. That's for sure", he muttered, but he didn't really believe that. No one dared to break Zapata's rules; the old man did not fool around, especially concerning work. Maybe, he thought, a fire had started due to the intense heat of that day. The air was dry, and the farmhouse was full of packed hay. Fearing this scenario, Fenet raced back to Los Galindos.
Once he stopped his bike on the front gate it was his heart what started to race. A large pile of hay in one of the sheds was indeed in flames, but that's not what frightened him; a strong smell of diesel seemed to emanate from the fire, along with a more subtle one that he could not identify, but nevertheless made him feel sick and nauseated. Also, where was Zapata? No way a man that strict would ever allow a fire that serious to grow like that. He should have been there, swearing out loud and doing whatever it takes to put the fire off.
But he wasn't there. González wasn't there either, which was also very strange. In fact, no one seemed to be at the farmhouse. What was going on? Where the hell was everyone? Besides the crackling sound of the fire, only the cicadas coud be heard. He called for Zapata, screaming. Then for his wife Juana and finally for González (whose car was parked next to the gate). He never got an answer. The place was deserted.
Fenet was scared. Something had happened there while he was away. Something horrible.
Unable to process the reality of his circumstances, Fenet paced back and forth across the front gate. He didn't know what to do. Should he put the fire off first? Or should he look for the others? Maybe take the bike and ride to Paradas to notify the firefighters -or the police? Then he looked around and spotted other workers rushing towards the farmhouse, who were as astonished as Fenet was. He waved his arms and urged them to come, relieved to see that he'd not be alone there.
The workers put their best efforts to put the fire off and eventually started to succeed. The fire had been controlled when suddenly someone made a disturbing descovery next to the foreman's house. Fenet's nausea worsened significantly; he had now a good idea of what was the source of that disgusting smell he had noticed earlier.
17:15 pm. A nightmarish day
At Paradas' Guardia Civil station there were only a few officers that evening, having their coffee break. One of them was Commander Corporal Raúl Fernández, who was in charge that day. Even though he was responsible and diligent, Fernández was still quite green -which was explained by his young age. At less than 10,000 inhabitants, Paradas was one of those towns in which life was regular, peaceful and even boring. It was the perfect place for a young officer before stepping up for higher responsibilities.
The day's routine at the station was broken in the most shocking fashion possible; a man stmbled inside, panting and asking for help. Upon taking a closer look Cpl. Fernández noticed that that man was scared to death. His name was Antonio Fenet, had arrived on his bike as quickly as possible and claimed to be a farmhand at Los Galindos. According to his near hysteric statement, something sinister had happened at the farmhouse.
"Fire at Los Galindos! A trail of blood! Help, please!" Those were Fenet's words before Cpl. Fernández managed to calm him down enough to get coherent information from him. Answering his questions, Fenet said that no injured or dead people had been seen at the scene, just the fire and the blood. The scenario described by the farmhand was however worrysome enough; the Corporal asked the radio operator to find out if anyone from Los Galindos had been admitted at any of the Sevilla's hospitals during that day. They were hoping that they'd be dealing with a case of a bizarre accident -in contrast with what everyone had in mind, a crime. Cpl. Fernández and a subordinate jumped into their Land Rover patrol car and ran towards Los Galindos, sirens on. From the car's radio he heard the imformation he had been fearing; no accident at Los Galindos had been reported that day.
Upon arrival the officers found many of the farm workers dealing with the little fire that remained. Fire was no longer a problem, but the trail of blood -without, let's remember, any hospital notification- didn't presage anything good.
Cpl. Fernández exhamined the scene; a long line of red drops seemed to start from the workshop, crossing the of the patio to end next the door of the foreman's house.
Trail of blood ; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/025-Los-Galindos-reguero-sangre.jpg
This vision on itself was terrifying enough, but fear took up a notch when the officers realized that the door had been locked from inside. It wouldn't make sense that an injured person had made their way to the house and then had locked the door. Therefore, a possibility quickly shaped in Cpl. Fernández's mind;
"Is the killer inside? Is he waiting for us?"
He pulled out his 9mm STAR S handgun and commanded everyone to back off and away from the door. After a deep breath the Corporal kicked the door with all his stregth. The lock got detached and the door opened up violently. A shaking and scared little dog was inside; it was Zapata's pet dog. Her legs and belly were covered in blood, but she didn't seem injured. Once they got the dog out of the house the officers walked inside; there was more blood on the floor.
Inside the foreman's house;
http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/026-Los-Galindos-gotas-de-sangre.jpg
The foreman's house had a main corridor whose layout resembled a mirrored 'L', so the officers made sure to cover angles in case someone was there waiting for them, ready to shoot. They found no shooter, but what they saw would appear on their dreams every night; a much larger and thicker trail of blood was painted on the floor, right next to a knocked chair. It was so big that it resembled a pond. There was no doubt that the blood's owner was very likely dead.
It seemed like the victim had been laying there and then it was dragged all the way to a room -whose door was closed. They noticed that, mid-trail the blood switched from a solid red band to a trail of drops. Why? However that question and many others would come afterwards. At that moment, both officers followed the trail towards the room, guns in their hands, expecting the worst.
The bloody trail on the corridor; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/028-Los-Galindos-huellas-arrastrar-cadaver.jpg
The door -which led to the foreman's bedroom- not only was closed, but someone had also put a heavy padlock on it. Frightened but willing to solve that nightmarish situation for once, Cpl. Fernández shoot the padlock thrice and then, holding his pistol right in front of him again, kicked the door. What he saw would haunt him in dreams for the rest of his life.
There were two beds inside, parallel to each other, but one of them had its mattress rolled up. The blankets were on the floor, in the space between both beds. The body of a woman was lying over those blankets face up. Her face was a bloody mess. She had been hit with so much force that her facial structure had collapsed completely, making her face look like a flat rubber mask. Her skull was visibly crushed. It was the body of Juana Martín, Zapata's wife. On the other bed the presumed murder weapon was found; the knotter of a baler. It was covered in blood.
Dead body of Juana Martín (WARNING! NSFW); https://ibb.co/mVnXK8
The bedroom, after Juana's body was removed; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/029-Los-Galindos-habitacion-donde-aparecio-el-cadaver-de-Juana-Macias.jpg
The murder weapon, can be seen at the left side on the bed; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/030-Los-Galindos-arma-del-crimen.jpg
There was no one else at the house, but the officers wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. They were used to deal with mundane conflicts and incidents. A murder case, especially such a brutal one, was something way beyond the things they could deal with. They exited the house, having made sure that no one else was there. It was time to report by radio the eerie finding. Unfortunately for everyone, the nightmare was far from over. The Corporal had a horrible realization; he had also noticed the horrible smell coming from the flames, right about when he also saw the blood. But if the dead woman was inside the house... what (who) was burning then? Was there another body at the farmhouse?
Not only one, but two dead bodies were uncovered when the officers and the farm workers finished putting the fire off at the shed. They were completely charred, so much that they looked like small mannequins. One of them had gotten its head detached and the other had a severed leg. Forensic study would later identify them as the bodies of José González and his wife Asunción Peralta, and they had been too bludgeoned to death. About the time the scorched bodies were found someone alerted about something else; there as another, more subtle trail of blood that started at the main gate. Upon following it, the officers were lead to a smaller pile of hay at one side of the driveway, close to the main gate. Ramón Parrilla was under it. His forearms were completely shattered, apparently as a result of shielding himself with them right before being shot with a hunting rifle. The firearm wounds on his torso seemed to be the cause of death.
Bodies of José González and Asunción Peralta. The image is low quality, but just in case I'll warn. NSFW ; https://ibb.co/eThATd
Body of Ramón Parrilla (WARNING! NSFW); https://ibb.co/cdeRZJ
José González's SEAT 600, parked right in front of the gate; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/031-Los-Galindos-Seat-600-del-tractorista-Jose-Gonzalez.jpg
The shed that had burned, where the dead bodies of González and his wife were found;http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/009-Los-Galindos.jpg
Los Galindos' driveway. Ramón Parrilla's body was found next to the tree seen on the right; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/041-Los-Galindos-situacion-cadaver-Ramon-Parrilla.jpg
With the information provided by Fenet and other farm workers, Cpl. Fernández and his subordinate looked around Los Galindos; Zapata, the foreman, should have been around. But he wasn't, and no other body was found that day. González's car was inspected; Zapata's hunting rifle was found on the back seat. The weapon was broken in half. Meanwhile, the foreman was nowhere to be found, and all attempts to contact him or locate his whereabouts were in vain.
Night of July 22nd, 1975. At large, armed and dangerous
Soon after they assesed the magnitude of what was going on, Cpl. Fernández requested backups. The conclusion seemed obvious; four dead, and the foreman was missing. Was Zapata the killer? Seemed so.
From the very start the Guardia Civil didn't take the situation lightly; Zapata had been a member of the Spanish Legion for over two decades. He was trained in the use of different firearms, hand-to-hand techniques and warfare strategies. Even though he was almost sixty years old, Zapata was still in good shape, and was a feared man in Paradas. He had a reputation of never backing off from confrontations, willing to use violence if necessary. Now it seemed that for unknown reasons he had suffered some kind of violent psychotic episode, and was out there. That night an arrest warrant was issued virtually everyone in Paradas locked their doors and windows before going to sleep. Many others also made sure their hunting rifles were loaded and ready next to their beds.
The farmhouse and the lands were thoroughly searched. At Paradas, many members of the Guardia Civil (and an investigator that had come from the larger Sevilla) questioned hundreds of people, following every possible lead they could get. The four victim's last movements were minuciosly studied, but not much came out of that. Did Zapata kill them all -including his own wife- in a fit of psychotic rage? Was he hiding somewhere in the wilderness, armed and dangerous?
It would be the least expected who finally made the case move forwards.
July 25th. A 180 degree turn
From the beginning Los Galindos' case underwent a faulty investigation. Cpl. Fernández was totally inexperienced in murder cases, and was completely overwhelmed by the situation. He hadn't set a perimeter for the crime scene and allowed everyone to roam freely there (in fact, the knotter used to kill Juana Martín was moved and touched by many farm workers).
But the most strange negligence took place on the night of July 22nd; the Marquis -Los Galindos' owner at the time- slept on the main house. This was odd mostly because he rarely came over, but that night he told the Guardia Civil officers that he wanted to spend the night there; those officers who dared to object to the Marquis' wishes would get in trouble. In 1975 the Francoist regime was falling apart, but the old policies were still alive. The Marquis came from a highly decorated military family, and had plenty of friends among the higher ranks of the Guardia Civil. Nevertheless, he spent the night at Los Galindos, along with the property manager.
On the morning of July 25th Los Galindos was still being inspected -even though it was clear that many clues had been lost. The complete lack of protocol was such that Zapata's pet dog was still around there, getting in and out of the farmhouse. Someone noticed that she seemed to go back to the same spot very often. That morning she started to howl there repeatedly, which caugh everyone's attention.
Such spot was located right behind the farmhouse, next to the wall. There was a tree there, separated from the wall by a narrow space. The dog was barking and howling at a pile of hay laying afoot of the tree. The officers removed the hay. What they found left them speechless;
Lying facedown, and already very decomposed was the body of Manuel Zapata, the farmhouse's foreman and now no longer the main suspect. His skull was visibly deformed, he had died via blunt force trauma to his head. The state of decomposition left no place for doubt -he had died on July 22nd, at the latest. In fact, forensic exhamination would later confirm TWICE that he was the first one to die at the farmhouse.
Here you can see the spot where Zapata was found. After removing the hay they found his decomposing body (WARNING! NSFW); https://ibb.co/jqjkTd
Equally as chilling was the message left with blood on the main gate's front wall. "Aquí mataron a cinco" ("Here five were killed"). Who did it? Did that person -presumedly the killer- paint the message very late into the previous night? Why?
Nobody could believe this last turn of events; the farmhouse had been searched thoroughly for three days, and one of the officers even urinated on that same tree on July 23rd, not noticing anything wrong with the spot. Did the real killer hide Zapata's body in the meantime only to place it there at some point during the night of July 24th without being seen?
And so, the mystery started.
Additional pictures
Drawing depicting the approximate layout of the farmhouse, and showing where did each body appear; https://ibb.co/n3f9od
Los Galindos' front gate; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/003-Los-Galindos.jpg
Los Galindos' patio. The foreman's house is in the background; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/004-Los-Galindos.jpg
The workshop; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/006-Los-Galindos.jpg
Antonio Fenet. He was the first one to arrive to Los Galindos during the fire; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/023-Los-Galindos-jornalero-Antonio-Fenet.jpg
The small dog on this pic is Manuel Zapata's pet dog. She was the only witness of what happened that afternoon at the farmhouse, only to find her owner's body three days later; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/044-Los-Galindos-perros.jpg
Gonzalo Fernández the Córdoba, the Marquis of Grañina. At the time he was the owner of Los Galindos and, unexpectedly, decided to spend the night there right after the murders; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/064-Los-Galindos-el-marques-de-Granina-y-su-esposa.jpg
"Here five were killed" message left with blood at some point during the night previous to the discovery of Zapata's body; https://enotroladodelmuro.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/galindos5.jpg
The victims
Manuel Zapata Villanueva. Aged 59, he was Los Galindos' foreman; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/081-Los-Galindos-victima-Manuel-Zapata-Villanueva.jpg
Juana Martín Macías. Aged 53. She was Zapata's wife; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/082-Los-Galindos-victima-Juana-Martin-Macias.jpg
José González Jiménez. Aged 27. Tractor operator at Los Galindos; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/083-Los-Galindos-victima-Jose-Gonzalez.jpg
Asunción Peralta Montero. Aged 34. González's wife, she had worked briefly at Los Galindos the year before during harvesting time. She was six months pregnant; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/084-Los-Galindos-victima-Asuncion-Peralta.jpg
Ramón Parrilla González. Aged 40. Tractor operator and farmhand; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/085-Los-Galindos-victima-Ramon-Parrilla.jpg
Wedding pic of José González and Asunción Peralta, seven months before their deaths; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/086-Los-Galindos-Jose-Gonzalez-y-su-esposa-Asuncion-Peralta.jpg
Ramón Parrilla with his wife and his daughter; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/087-Los-Galindos-Ramon-Parrilla-con-su-mujer-y-una-de-sus-hijas.jpg
Sources (Spanish)
https://francispfernandez.wordpress.com/2016/10/16/el-crimen-de-los-galindos/
https://criminalia.es/asesino/el-crimen-de-los-galindos/
El Crimen de Los Galindos - book co-authored by Francisco Gil and Ramón Reig
Documentary - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvrdEGksyac
TL;DR: At a rural farmhouse a fire ensured. When farm workers rushed to put the fire off they discovered a trail of blood. Police was called and found the foreman's wife dead by bludgeoning, the murder weapon next to her. As they managed to put the fire off they realized that what was being burnt were the bodies of a tractor operator and his pregnant wife. Another farm worker was discovered dead on the driveway, he had been shot with the foreman's hunting rifle. Since the foreman was nowhere to be found police initially suspected that he was the killer and issued an arrest warrant. However, a morning three days later the foreman's body appeared in a spot that -probably- had been looked at previously, and he was so decomposed that it was clear that he had been the first victim. That same morning a message painted with blood appeared on the farmhouse's front wall. It read "here five were killed".
Here concludes the first part. In the next writeup I'll talk about the first investigation and all the controversy that surrounded it before disident voices managed to get the victims' bodies exhumated for a second investigation in 1983. I hope I've managed to spark your interest in the case with this write-up!
submitted by HelloLurkerHere to UnresolvedMysteries [link] [comments]


2018.07.16 21:20 HelloLurkerHere "Here five were killed" - Los Galindos Massacre (Part 1)

Hi all! After I submitted my write-up about the mysterious case of the Fausto fishing boat, and because of the positive feedback I received from most users I've decided to do another write-up; once again, I'm covering another mystery from my homecountry that is virtually unknown outside the English-speaking word (I've seen it mentioned here in Reddit, but no one seems to have gone into details so far). While in the Fausto's story I covered a missing people's case this time I'll be covering a crime, so I guess it will appeal more to those users who prefer reading about unsolved crime cases.
Los Galindos massacre took place on a scorching hot summer afternoon of 1975, in a remote farmhouse in rural Andalusia, southern Spain. Not only it was one of the most brutal murder cases of our history -war crimes aside- , but it has remained an elusive mystery for over 40 years. Once again, I'm warning that this will be a VERY long post, and I've mostly translated the information I've gathered and structured it so that it can (hopefully!) constitute an enjoyable read.
Relevant names are highlighted in bold letters. First I'll provide an introductory background text, and I'll follow with a chronological description of the chain of events. The controversy that surrounded the case will be also described in future write-ups (I'll try my best, this is one hell of a tricky case). For those users that would rather have a summarized version of the text I've included a TL;DR summary at the bottom of this post.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first part, here it goes;
Background
Los Galindos is a farmhouse located just 3 km (2 mi) northwest of the small town of Paradas, and some 50 km (32 mi) east of the Andalusian city Sevilla, Spain. Up to the late 19th century it had belonged to the church, after which the property's ownership changed to different wealthy families through the following decades. While far from being the largest farmhouse around, in 1975 it was an attractive prospect for potential buyers; 400 hectares (990 acres) of farming land, a large two-wing countryhouse for the owners -which included a spacious inner patio- and a smaller house for the foreman and his family. It also included several garages and stables, as well as a workshop equipped with all what's needed for the repairment of cars, trucks and tractors. Los Galindos had received recently also a scale for heavy machinery, a loading dock and even an underground diesel tank. Cotton, olives and beetroots were produced by its workers.
The last person to buy Los Galindos farmhouse before this mystery took place was a 20-something years old man named Francisco Delgado Durán, in 1950. He was the son of one of the most popular and wealthy couples of Madrid, and he had made a decent fortune working for his parents as a front man. In February of 1969 Delgado would die in Lisbon, Portugal, as a result of a car crash. After his death, Francisco's sister inherited Los Galindos. It's worth noting that shortly after this Francisco's sister married the Marquis of Grañina, Gonzalo Fenández de Córdoba; the Marquis was a highly respected man due his family's social status, but was also known for his bad financial decisions and tendency to spend money recklessly. Fernández had managed to sustain his flamboyant lifestyle by means of associating himself with the wealthiest people at the time -which, in turn, were looking to have friends among the most distinguished members of society, hoping to establish a powerful network of influences.
Once he had Los Galindos on his power (via his wife), Fernández hired his friend Manuel Zapata as the farmhouse's foreman. Zapata, who was 59 years-old in 1975, was a tough and stern man who, by all accounts, seemed to lack any sense of humor whatsoever. Born in Badajoz, he had had a long career in the Spanish Legion and, even though he was retired, Zapata applied army-like precision and discipline into everything he got involved into. And he expected those under his command to do the same. Everyone at Paradas described him as a very unpleasant, 'no-strikes' kind of boss. His wife Juana Martín (53 years-old in 1975) was from Huelva, but had lived in Paradas most of her life; her parents and grandparents had served at Los Galindos all their lives.
As for the July of 1975 Los Galindos had employed several workers that took care of all the duties and chores under Zapata's iron fist. Among them there was José González (27 years-old), a tractor operator. The 160 cm tall and 56 kg (5'3'' and 125 lbs) González was a meek, insecure man. He always wore thick eyeglasses because of his poor eyesight. Due to his severe lack of confidence everyone thought he'd never meet a woman willing to marry him. However, seven months earlier he married Asunción Peralta (34 years-old), a native of Paradas who had worked briefly during harvesting time at Los Galindos. Asunción had been dating a somewhat locally known flamenco singer, but when the relationship fell apart she found herself at well over 30 years of age, single and childless. So when González proposed marriage to her she took what she could have regarded as her last chance at motherhood. In fact, in July of 1975 Asunción was six months pregnant.
40 years-old Ramón Parrilla was a regular farmhand at Los Galindos. A hard-working man with a down-to-earth and warm personality, many remember him as one of the very few people capable of reaching to the almost inexistent traces of kindness and compassion in Zapata's heart, who sometimes would approach him for a friendly conversation. No one seemed to have a bad word about Parrilla, and he was a well-liked man.
Los Galindos, in 1975, seen from the end of the driveway; https://francispfernandez.files.wordpress.com/2016/10/cortijo-los-galindos.jpg
Los Galindos on Google Maps; https://www.google.fi/maps/place/Cortijo+de+los+galindos/@37.3277362,-5.5201836,602m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!3m4!1s0xd129a8821819299:0x75c118a129b0dca0!8m2!3d37.3274809!4d-5.5200495
Noon of July 22nd, 1975. A strange break on routine
At around 12:00 pm of that day 36-years old Antonio Fenet, a farmhand who had been working at Los Galindos for years, was approached by José González. The shy tractor operator looked gloomy. Fenet didn't ask, but had a very strong guess of what had happened; as for lately Zapata had summoned -quite harshly- González about the rather careless way in which he had been working at the workshop, repairing a broken baler. The logical thing to guess was that he had been summoned once again and that had taken a toll on González's mood. Sadly, that was not a rare ocurrence.
González delivered a message from Zapata; Fenet should take a squad and go to Los Galindos' olive grove and spend the rest of the day removing weeds from the olive grove. Upon hearing this, Fenet arched his eyebrows; removing weeds was not a rare activity at Los Galindos (neither would have been at any other farmhouse in Andalusia), but it wasn't his job there; others always did it. Also, why did Zapata send González to deliver the message? The foreman always gave orders personally.
He didn't think to much at that moment; just a little variation of the daily routine. Only some eight hours later he'd change his mind about that, drastically.
Ramón Parrilla is nearby. He's asked, via González, to go to Las Hermanas spring (4 km/3 mi north of the farmhouse) and fill a drum of fresh water for the farmhouse before the end of the day.
Fenet picked all the tools he needed from a nearby shed and rode his small motorcycle towards their assigned work at the olive grove. Only Zapata, his wife Juana and González stay at the farmhouse. Without knowing it, Fenet was walking away from death.
15:00 pm. A disturbing sight at Paradas
Later, at about 15:00 pm, several people at Paradas witnessed something really strange; a cream-colored SEAT 600 speeded down the town's main street, seemingly coming from the road that leads to Los Galindos. Many were not unfamiliar with the car, as they recognized it as José González. What surprised all them was that A) at that time of the day González should be working at Los Galindos and B) he was speeding almost recklessly. Let's remember that González's eyesight was very poor which, added to his timid nature, made him a rather slow driver.
Where was González going? And why was he in such a hurry?
Those among the witnesses that knew him where still arguing about the bizarre scene they had just seen when, at around 15:15 González's car appeared again, speeding even faster this time. He's now driving back towards Los Galindos, but now he's not alone in the car; his wife Asunción is in the passenger seat. She's smartly dressed, later witnesses would say that she was dressed 'like when she attends the Sunday's mass at church'. This detail gives the whole situation an even stranger look. An acquaintance of Asunción was among the witnesses that afternoon and later provided a detailed report. She saw them exiting their home and getting into the car. She also added another detail that had caught her attention; the look on their faces.
According to her, both González and his wife looked very worried. Scared, even.
16:30 pm. Hell breaks loose
With only a cheap had to protect him from the relentless July sun, Fenet headed back to Los Galindos, riding his motorcycle. It was a short ride, only 2.5 km (1.6 mi) and all he could think about was the shower he'd take right after arriving back home, maybe he'd have also a cold beer afterwards. That day had been unusually hot; before parting to the olive grove Fenet had taken a look at the thermometer placed on the farmhouse's front wall. It read 49º C (120º F). Later it would be reported that July 22nd happened to be the hottest day of that year. Suddeny, Fenet stopped his bike, his gaze fixed in the distance ahead of him, at Los Galindos.
A column of black smoke was emanating from the farmhouse.
"Whoever is burning stuff there, Zapata's gonna rip his balls off. That's for sure", he muttered, but he didn't really believe that. No one dared to break Zapata's rules; the old man did not fool around, especially concerning work. Maybe, he thought, a fire had started due to the intense heat of that day. The air was dry, and the farmhouse was full of packed hay. Fearing this scenario, Fenet raced back to Los Galindos.
Once he stopped his bike on the front gate it was his heart what started to race. A large pile of hay in one of the sheds was indeed in flames, but that's not what frightened him; a strong smell of diesel seemed to emanate from the fire, along with a more subtle one that he could not identify, but nevertheless made him feel sick and nauseated. Also, where was Zapata? No way a man that strict would ever allow a fire that serious to grow like that. He should have been there, swearing out loud and doing whatever it takes to put the fire off.
But he wasn't there. González wasn't there either, which was also very strange. In fact, no one seemed to be at the farmhouse. What was going on? Where the hell was everyone? Besides the crackling sound of the fire, only the cicadas coud be heard. He called for Zapata, screaming. Then for his wife Juana and finally for González (whose car was parked next to the gate). He never got an answer. The place was deserted.
Fenet was scared. Something had happened there while he was away. Something horrible.
Unable to process the reality of his circumstances, Fenet paced back and forth across the front gate. He didn't know what to do. Should he put the fire off first? Or should he look for the others? Maybe take the bike and ride to Paradas to notify the firefighters -or the police? Then he looked around and spotted other workers rushing towards the farmhouse, who were as astonished as Fenet was. He waved his arms and urged them to come, relieved to see that he'd not be alone there.
The workers put their best efforts to put the fire off and eventually started to succeed. The fire had been controlled when suddenly someone made a disturbing descovery next to the foreman's house. Fenet's nausea worsened significantly; he had now a good idea of what was the source of that disgusting smell he had noticed earlier.
17:15 pm. A nightmarish day
At Paradas' Guardia Civil station there were only a few officers that evening, having their coffee break. One of them was Commander Corporal Raúl Fernández, who was in charge that day. Even though he was responsible and diligent, Fernández was still quite green -which was explained by his young age. At less than 10,000 inhabitants, Paradas was one of those towns in which life was regular, peaceful and even boring. It was the perfect place for a young officer before stepping up for higher responsibilities.
The day's routine at the station was broken in the most shocking fashion possible; a man stmbled inside, panting and asking for help. Upon taking a closer look Cpl. Fernández noticed that that man was scared to death. His name was Antonio Fenet, had arrived on his bike as quickly as possible and claimed to be a farmhand at Los Galindos. According to his near hysteric statement, something sinister had happened at the farmhouse.
"Fire at Los Galindos! A trail of blood! Help, please!" Those were Fenet's words before Cpl. Fernández managed to calm him down enough to get coherent information from him. Answering his questions, Fenet said that no injured or dead people had been seen at the scene, just the fire and the blood. The scenario described by the farmhand was however worrysome enough; the Corporal asked the radio operator to find out if anyone from Los Galindos had been admitted at any of the Sevilla's hospitals during that day. They were hoping that they'd be dealing with a case of a bizarre accident -in contrast with what everyone had in mind, a crime. Cpl. Fernández and a subordinate jumped into their Land Rover patrol car and ran towards Los Galindos, sirens on. From the car's radio he heard the imformation he had been fearing; no accident at Los Galindos had been reported that day.
Upon arrival the officers found many of the farm workers dealing with the little fire that remained. Fire was no longer a problem, but the trail of blood -without, let's remember, any hospital notification- didn't presage anything good.
Cpl. Fernández exhamined the scene; a long line of red drops seemed to start from the workshop, crossing the of the patio to end next the door of the foreman's house.
Trail of blood ; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/025-Los-Galindos-reguero-sangre.jpg
This vision on itself was terrifying enough, but fear took up a notch when the officers realized that the door had been locked from inside. It wouldn't make sense that an injured person had made their way to the house and then had locked the door. Therefore, a possibility quickly shaped in Cpl. Fernández's mind;
"Is the killer inside? Is he waiting for us?"
He pulled out his 9mm STAR S handgun and commanded everyone to back off and away from the door. After a deep breath the Corporal kicked the door with all his stregth. The lock got detached and the door opened up violently. A shaking and scared little dog was inside; it was Zapata's pet dog. Her legs and belly were covered in blood, but she didn't seem injured. Once they got the dog out of the house the officers walked inside; there was more blood on the floor.
Inside the foreman's house;
http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/026-Los-Galindos-gotas-de-sangre.jpg
The foreman's house had a main corridor whose layout resembled a mirrored 'L', so the officers made sure to cover angles in case someone was there waiting for them, ready to shoot. They found no shooter, but what they saw would appear on their dreams every night; a much larger and thicker trail of blood was painted on the floor, right next to a knocked chair. It was so big that it resembled a pond. There was no doubt that the blood's owner was very likely dead.
It seemed like the victim had been laying there and then it was dragged all the way to a room -whose door was closed. They noticed that, mid-trail the blood switched from a solid red band to a trail of drops. Why? However that question and many others would come afterwards. At that moment, both officers followed the trail towards the room, guns in their hands, expecting the worst.
The bloody trail on the corridor; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/028-Los-Galindos-huellas-arrastrar-cadaver.jpg
The door -which led to the foreman's bedroom- not only was closed, but someone had also put a heavy padlock on it. Frightened but willing to solve that nightmarish situation for once, Cpl. Fernández shoot the padlock thrice and then, holding his pistol right in front of him again, kicked the door. What he saw would haunt him in dreams for the rest of his life.
There were two beds inside, parallel to each other, but one of them had its mattress rolled up. The blankets were on the floor, in the space between both beds. The body of a woman was lying over those blankets face up. Her face was a bloody mess. She had been hit with so much force that her facial structure had collapsed completely, making her face look like a flat rubber mask. Her skull was visibly crushed. It was the body of Juana Martín, Zapata's wife. On the other bed the presumed murder weapon was found; the knotter of a baler. It was covered in blood.
Dead body of Juana Martín (WARNING! GRAPHIC); https://ibb.co/mVnXK8
The bedroom, after Juana's body was removed; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/029-Los-Galindos-habitacion-donde-aparecio-el-cadaver-de-Juana-Macias.jpg
The murder weapon, can be seen at the left side on the bed; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/030-Los-Galindos-arma-del-crimen.jpg
There was no one else at the house, but the officers wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. They were used to deal with mundane conflicts and incidents. A murder case, especially such a brutal one, was something way beyond the things they could deal with. They exited the house, having made sure that no one else was there. It was time to report by radio the eerie finding. Unfortunately for everyone, the nightmare was far from over. The Corporal had a horrible realization; he had also noticed the horrible smell coming from the flames, right about when he also saw the blood. But if the dead woman was inside the house... what (who) was burning then? Was there another body at the farmhouse?
Not only one, but two dead bodies were uncovered when the officers and the farm workers finished putting the fire off at the shed. They were completely charred, so much that they looked like small mannequins. One of them had gotten its head detached and the other had a severed leg. Forensic study would later identify them as the bodies of José González and his wife Asunción Peralta, and they had been too bludgeoned to death. About the time the scorched bodies were found someone alerted about something else; there as another, more subtle trail of blood that started at the main gate. Upon following it, the officers were lead to a smaller pile of hay at one side of the driveway, close to the main gate. Ramón Parrilla was under it. His forearms were completely shattered, apparently as a result of shielding himself with them right before being shot with a hunting rifle. The firearm wounds on his torso seemed to be the cause of death.
Bodies of José González and Asunción Peralta. The image is low quality, but just in case I'll warn. GRAPHIC ; https://ibb.co/eThATd
Body of Ramón Parrilla (WARNING! GRAPHIC); https://ibb.co/cdeRZJ
José González's SEAT 600, parked right in front of the gate; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/031-Los-Galindos-Seat-600-del-tractorista-Jose-Gonzalez.jpg
The shed that had burned, where the dead bodies of González and his wife were found; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/009-Los-Galindos.jpg
Los Galindos' driveway. Ramón Parrilla's body was found next to the tree seen on the right; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/041-Los-Galindos-situacion-cadaver-Ramon-Parrilla.jpg
With the information provided by Fenet and other farm workers, Cpl. Fernández and his subordinate looked around Los Galindos; Zapata, the foreman, should have been around. But he wasn't, and no other body was found that day. González's car was inspected; Zapata's hunting rifle was found on the back seat. The weapon was broken in half. Meanwhile, the foreman was nowhere to be found, and all attempts to contact him or locate his whereabouts were in vain.
Night of July 22nd, 1975. At large, armed and dangerous
Soon after they assesed the magnitude of what was going on, Cpl. Fernández requested backups. The conclusion seemed obvious; four dead, and the foreman was missing. Was Zapata the killer? Seemed so.
From the very start the Guardia Civil didn't take the situation lightly; Zapata had been a member of the Spanish Legion for over two decades. He was trained in the use of different firearms, hand-to-hand techniques and warfare strategies. Even though he was almost sixty years old, Zapata was still in good shape, and was a feared man in Paradas. He had a reputation of never backing off from confrontations, willing to use violence if necessary. Now it seemed that for unknown reasons he had suffered some kind of violent psychotic episode, and was out there. That night an arrest warrant was issued virtually everyone in Paradas locked their doors and windows before going to sleep. Many others also made sure their hunting rifles were loaded and ready next to their beds.
The farmhouse and the lands were thoroughly searched. At Paradas, many members of the Guardia Civil (and an investigator that had come from the larger Sevilla) questioned hundreds of people, following every possible lead they could get. The four victim's last movements were minuciosly studied, but not much came out of that. Did Zapata kill them all -including his own wife- in a fit of psychotic rage? Was he hiding somewhere in the wilderness, armed and dangerous?
It would be the least expected who finally made the case move forwards.
July 25th. A 180 degree turn
From the beginning Los Galindos' case underwent a faulty investigation. Cpl. Fernández was totally inexperienced in murder cases, and was completely overwhelmed by the situation. He hadn't set a perimeter for the crime scene and allowed everyone to roam freely there (in fact, the knotter used to kill Juana Martín was moved and touched by many farm workers).
But the most strange negligence took place on the night of July 22nd; the Marquis -Los Galindos' owner at the time- slept on the main house. This was odd mostly because he rarely came over, but that night he told the Guardia Civil officers that he wanted to spend the night there; those officers who dared to object to the Marquis' wishes would get in trouble. In 1975 the Francoist regime was falling apart, but the old policies were still alive. The Marquis came from a highly decorated military family, and had plenty of friends among the higher ranks of the Guardia Civil. Nevertheless, he spent the night at Los Galindos, along with the property manager.
On the morning of July 25th Los Galindos was still being inspected -even though it was clear that many clues had been lost. The complete lack of protocol was such that Zapata's pet dog was still around there, getting in and out of the farmhouse. Someone noticed that she seemed to go back to the same spot very often. That morning she started to howl there repeatedly, which caugh everyone's attention.
Such spot was located right behind the farmhouse, next to the wall. There was a tree there, separated from the wall by a narrow space. The dog was barking and howling at a pile of hay laying afoot of the tree. The officers removed the hay. What they found left them speechless;
Lying facedown, and already very decomposed was the body of Manuel Zapata, the farmhouse's foreman and now no longer the main suspect. His skull was visibly deformed, he had died via blunt force trauma to his head. The state of decomposition left no place for doubt -he had died on July 22nd, at the latest. In fact, forensic exhamination would later confirm TWICE that he was the first one to die at the farmhouse.
Here you can see the spot where Zapata was found. After removing the hay they found his decomposing body (WARNING! GRAPHIC); https://ibb.co/jqjkTd
Equally as chilling was the message left with blood on the main gate's front wall. "Aquí mataron a cinco" ("Here five were killed"). Who did it? Did that person -presumedly the killer- paint the message very late into the previous night? Why?
Nobody could believe this last turn of events; the farmhouse had been searched thoroughly for three days, and one of the officers even urinated on that same tree on July 23rd, not noticing anything wrong with the spot. Did the real killer hide Zapata's body in the meantime only to place it there at some point during the night of July 24th without being seen?
And so, the mystery started.
Additional pictures
Drawing depicting the approximate layout of the farmhouse, and showing where did each body appear; https://ibb.co/n3f9od
Los Galindos' front gate; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/003-Los-Galindos.jpg
Los Galindos' patio. The foreman's house is in the background; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/004-Los-Galindos.jpg
The workshop; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/006-Los-Galindos.jpg
Antonio Fenet. He was the first one to arrive to Los Galindos during the fire; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/023-Los-Galindos-jornalero-Antonio-Fenet.jpg
The small dog on this pic is Manuel Zapata's pet dog. She was the only witness of what happened that afternoon at the farmhouse, only to find her owner's body three days later; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/044-Los-Galindos-perros.jpg
Gonzalo Fernández the Córdoba, the Marquis of Grañina. At the time he was the owner of Los Galindos and, unexpectedly, decided to spend the night there right after the murders; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/064-Los-Galindos-el-marques-de-Granina-y-su-esposa.jpg
"Here five were killed" message left with blood at some point during the night previous to the discovery of Zapata's body; https://enotroladodelmuro.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/galindos5.jpg
The victims
Manuel Zapata Villanueva. Aged 59, he was Los Galindos' foreman; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/081-Los-Galindos-victima-Manuel-Zapata-Villanueva.jpg
Juana Martín Macías. Aged 53. She was Zapata's wife; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/082-Los-Galindos-victima-Juana-Martin-Macias.jpg
José González Jiménez. Aged 27. Tractor operator at Los Galindos; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/083-Los-Galindos-victima-Jose-Gonzalez.jpg
Asunción Peralta Montero. Aged 34. González's wife, she had worked briefly at Los Galindos the year before during harvesting time. She was six months pregnant; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/084-Los-Galindos-victima-Asuncion-Peralta.jpg
Ramón Parrilla González. Aged 40. Tractor operator and farmhand; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/085-Los-Galindos-victima-Ramon-Parrilla.jpg
Wedding pic of José González and Asunción Peralta, seven months before their deaths; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/086-Los-Galindos-Jose-Gonzalez-y-su-esposa-Asuncion-Peralta.jpg
Ramón Parrilla with his wife and his daughter; http://criminalia.es/wp-criminalia/wp-content/gallery/casos-g/El-crimen-de-Los-Galindos/087-Los-Galindos-Ramon-Parrilla-con-su-mujer-y-una-de-sus-hijas.jpg
Sources (Spanish)
https://francispfernandez.wordpress.com/2016/10/16/el-crimen-de-los-galindos/
https://criminalia.es/asesino/el-crimen-de-los-galindos/
El Crimen de Los Galindos - book co-authored by Francisco Gil and Ramón Reig
Documentary - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvrdEGksyac
TL;DR: At a rural farmhouse a fire ensured. When farm workers rushed to put the fire off they discovered a trail of blood. Police was called and found the foreman's wife dead by bludgeoning, the murder weapon next to her. As they managed to put the fire off they realized that what was being burnt were the bodies of a tractor operator and his pregnant wife. Another farm worker was discovered dead on the driveway, he had been shot with the foreman's hunting rifle. Since the foreman was nowhere to be found police initially suspected that he was the killer and issued an arrest warrant. However, a morning three days later the foreman's body appeared in a spot that -probably- had been looked at previously, and he was so decomposed that it was clear that he had been the first victim. That same morning a message painted with blood appeared on the farmhouse's front wall. It read "here five were killed".
Here concludes the first part. In the next writeup I'll talk about the first investigation and all the controversy that surrounded it before disident voices managed to get the victims' bodies exhumated for a second investigation in 1983. I hope I've managed to spark your interest in the case with this write-up!
submitted by HelloLurkerHere to UnresolvedMysteries [link] [comments]


2015.06.10 20:40 podemosvirtual PODEMOS, yendo más allá

Los partidos políticos fueron en sus inicios áreas de discusión, pero diferentes presiones instaladas en el terror (guerras/guillotina) hicieron que derivaran en totalitarios. Fue Mijail Pavlovic Tomski, máximo dirigente del Consejo de Sindicatos rusos durante 1918/1929 quien dijo:”Un partido en el poder y todos los demás en prisión”. El totalitarismo en los partidos europeos es su marca de origen.
Es verdad que la existencia de los partidos políticos data de mucho tiempo, sin embargo, eso no permite justificación alguna para seguir con ellos, salvo un balance positivo, esto es que el bien de su existencia superara al mal de la misma, se debería continuar con este esquema político dividido en partidos.
Las Constituciones, esas llamadas Cartas Magnas como el mismo Contrato Social de Rosseau son meramente intencionales, porque en ellas se habla y se dice respetar la voluntad general como supra voluntad respecto a la individual, sin embargo el olvido funcional de tanta letra convierte en constante ilicitud el procedimiento en cuanto a ellas. Solo lo justo es legítimo.
Para intentar dar voz al pueblo, dándole la posibilidad de expresarse ante problemas que afecten a la vida pública, debemos hacer una quita de pasión colectiva. La voluntad general, de alguna manera, está signada por esta premisa ya que confluye en esto una toma de conciencia que por ser tal es desapasionada.
Sin duda cuando se pensó en un sistema justo de gobierno, todo se agotó en el representativo que llega a nuestros días, sin embargo, aquellos representantes del pasado eran conocidos, cercanos y verdaderos representantes del pensamiento vivo de los pueblos. La deformación es evidente, el pueblo perdió, si es que lo poco que la tuvo merece mención, la capacidad de expresión en los problemas públicos, por aquello de que “El pueblo no gobierna ni delibera sino por medio de sus representantes” (Constitución Argentina).
¿Resistiría un partido político la lupa de la verdad, la justicia y el bien público?
Si como dijimos, se trata de quitar pasión colectiva para dar lugar a la decisión meditada, como hacerlo si el partido político es la exacerbación misma de esa pasión, donde la organización suele presionar sobre el pensamiento de sus miembros. Objetivamente un partido político se fundamenta en su propio e ilimitado crecimiento y cada vez que intentamos bucear en sus entrañas llegamos a su génesis, el totalitarismo. Prima en todo esto aquella verdad revelada de que para el fin, cualquier medio es bueno, no importa del campo en que se hable, el económico por citar un ejemplo, justifica cualquier desguace social como ser austeros en los salarios o la grandeza nacional a costa de un presupuesto sacado de una merma en un servicio social, total, el fin lo justifica, al menos eso decía Maquiavelo. Solo el bien es un fin.
El partido es en principio, un instrumento para servir a una cierta concepción del bien público. ¿Lo es? Puede que en cierto modo lo sea, ya que la vaguedad del término cumple con la función de estar presente como objeto en todos los partidos, sin embargo si queremos precisar doctrina en cada uno de ellos, entraríamos en la nebulosa, imprecisa y complaciente forma que muchas veces tiende a expresar lo que íntimamente no creemos, sino por una cierta lealtad que supone lo contrario, al menos con el representado.
Al mencionar la palabra doctrina en referencia a un partido, me retrotrajo a uno de los libros que lograron en algún momento adoctrinar mi pensamiento: “Conducción Política”, y no era más que una serie metodológica discursiva que resultaba de disertaciones del General Perón en distintos ámbitos públicos. Aunque debo decirlo, una persona con ideas, no necesariamente se ajuste a una doctrina, menos aún pueda existir en forma real una doctrina colectiva, solo se logra elevar el nivel por sobre lo demás cuando decimos por ejemplo doctrina cristiana.
Lo que sí existe es que los partidos políticos en pos de sus búsquedas, congreguen una cantidad casi omnímoda de poder, pero el poder nunca alcanza y eso marca un límite en lo interno, o en lo externo, en lo nacional o internacional.
El bien público, es de todas maneras algo difícil de definir, un término vacío que intenta armar un arquetipo ficcional y el camino hacia ello es la búsqueda inequívoca de más poder y en cuestión de poder, la palabra demasiado no existe, por lo que siempre se quiere más, esa es la tendencia en los partidos: más y más poder. De todas maneras como ese aumento de poder simula un bien porque el partido seguiría creciendo, este crecimiento es el aporte a ese bien y por consiguiente se manifiesta la tendencia de la presión colectiva del partido sobre el pensamiento de sus miembros. Y en esto la propaganda juega un papel preponderante con el matiz del intento de informar, lo que realmente se hace es persuadir. De educar, ni hablar.
Respecto al comportamiento partidario, no concuerda muchas veces con el mismo pensamiento individual, el todo difiere una vez más de la parte, pensamos de una forma y actuamos como dice el partido aunque fuera contrario a nuestra idea. Recuerdo que Perón, nos decía:”No hay que sacar los píes del plato”, algo así como hay que votar lo que dice que hay que votar el partido a riesgo de que te acusen de traidor si actúas en contrario. O sea que el bien público señalado puede ser definido individualmente de una forma y partidariamente de otra, pero aunque sea la mala forma la que define ese bien la partidaria, el corset no nos deja libertad de ser justos ni siquiera con nosotros mismos.
Estamos obligados a pensar en clave de una supuesta verdad partidaria, pero todos sabemos de la relatividad de toda verdad y si no la hay, si no hay verdad, aflora la legitimidad de pensar de cualquier manera. Por el contrario si se reconociera que hay una verdad suprema, solo estaría permitido pensar a tono con ella. Por eso muchas veces decimos como verdadero socialista que soy, pienso tal cosa, pero si damos paso a nuestra luz interior que ilumina nuestros pensamientos, entonces aparecen las contraposiciones respecto de aceptar una verdad que depende de la necesidad partidaria a que se nos obliga cuando tomamos parte en los asuntos públicos. La supuesta verdad se convierte en lo contrario, en mentira.
Tampoco es válido y esto está muy acentuado en nuestros políticos actuales, lo de aceptar la distinción entre la libertad interior y una especie de disciplina partidaria que ejerce externamente sobre nuestra persona. La obligación conveniente instala la evidencia que si digo cosas porque el partido obliga y mi mente piensa lo contrario, miento. Lo que es peor, si detento un cargo electivo, lo hago (mentir) como representante del pueblo, ergo, miento a ese pueblo que me ha elegido.
Entiendo que de alguna manera el sistema de partidos ha servido para realizar políticas que se resolvieron mal o bien hasta ahora, pero manifiesto la virtud socrática de contradecir en la búsqueda de mejorarlo todo con la discusión.
Si te ataca por un momento la locura de la sinceridad y te insubordinas a lo que dice el partido, te penalizan y terminas apartado y con penas tanto materiales cuanto al honor como persona camuflado con el honor partidario. Se entiende algo así como remar contracorriente, sería algo así como faltar a la verdad revelada que dicta el partido para todos y se comienza a ser digno de desconfianza y al apartamiento por ser distinto al grupo. No debemos perder nunca la facultad de discernimiento propia del ser humano.
El miedo al castigo, a la penalización, nos lleva inexorablemente en demasiadas ocasiones al error. Deduzco y esto puede que llegue a ser un clásico, que personas obligadas (moralmente) a ejercer de políticos manifiesten su independencia de los partidos políticos por las razones obvias eximidas. Respeto por ello a Manuela Carmena y Ángel Gabilondo, personas intachables que no quieren sentirse acorralados.
Los partidos políticos están llenos de vicios y no tienen porque ser necesarios para ejercer política. La obligación de su existencia no deja espacio a intervenir si no se participa como la mayoría dentro de unas reglas que llevan a alejarse de ejercer para el bien de la sociedad. Solo circunstancialmente se llega a algún mejoramiento de la calidad de vida de los ciudadanos, el punto de la obediencia está puesto en lo partidario, muchas veces reñido con la verdadera causa noble de representar al pueblo que la mayoría de las veces carece de elección legítima sobre candidatos, es una llanura igualitaria, son todos iguales de malos. El 15 de Mayo de 2011 procedió un cambio, quizá no a la vista de todos, porque los cambios requieren maduración y la miopía se corrige con el tiempo en base a una enseñanza que nos ha dejado aquel verdadero hito. Se puede hacer política con ausencia de partidos políticos. Demostrado. Solo con voluntad y organización.
No debemos conformarnos, la obsecuencia partidaria erradica el discernimiento, se olvida del deseo incondicionado y se pliega uno a la conformidad planeada de antemano asfixiando de alguna manera la verdad, no la revelada, sino la nuestra, nuestra verdad.
Las personas, bienintencionadas sin duda, se afilian sin saber a las claras la posición de su partido respecto a los problemas que le atañen, a la solución de los mismos y se acepta con la afiliación someterse a la autoridad que dicta las normas y suprime el discernimiento que no sea en función del propio partido. Aquel totalitarismo del que hablábamos al principio.
¿Qué tal si nos libramos de etiquetas? El balance sobre la actuación en política en base a dividirse en partidos parece ser, según ciertas reflexiones, negativo. Su principio totalitario, sus efectos contrarios al bien de la sociedad, sus prácticas referidas a un pensamiento único, evidencian que no son nada bueno para el avance social.
De esta forma podremos elegir posturas diferentes por estar sobre la mesa, no por pertenecer a un partido, porque seguramente estaremos de acuerdo con algunas cosas que diga algún partido y con otras de algún otro. Lo válido son las propuestas no los cargos ni las posturas partidarias en cada una de ellas únicamente por una especie de lealtad que se convierte en lo contrario hacia los ciudadanos.
También podemos hablar en términos materiales, económicamente los partidos (al menos debería ser así) se costean con un porcentaje sobre su cantidad de votos. ¿Cuánto le sale al erario público esta forma de dar liquidez a los partidos políticos? ¿No sería mejor aportar ese dinero en ayuda a la dignidad, tan ausente en estos tiempos? El último informe del Tribunal de Cuentas, los partidos políticos en España en 2012 han recibido 273,1 millones de euros invertidos en sus campañas y sostén, haciendo la salvedad que únicamente Podemos, desde que suma votos, ha ahorrado dinero a las arcas públicas porque ha logrado mal financiarse por medio de sus créditos mediante el método de crowdfunding. Si Podemos puede, todos pueden.
Pero dudo mucho que Podemos haya nacido para ser un partido político, sino más bien una palanca para convertir las ideas en acción por medio de mayorías populares empoderando a la gente, sin etiquetas. Es decir recuperando en hechos algo que en la práctica nunca se tuvo: soberanía. Son objetivas las palabras expresadas en “Understing Podemos” respecto a que Podemos no es un partido revolucionario, ni un movimiento asambleario, sino más bien una fuerza soberanista. De todas formas, y obviando la palabra partido, hay en todo esto algo de revolucionario, la revolución está ahí, en el cambio de manos del poder, en el intento de llevar las iniciativas populares a la mismísima Constitución Española. Cambiar para que todo cambie.
Muchos dirán que no, que es imposible cambiar lo instalado y que “tan bien” ha funcionado, el “reaccionariado” estará totalmente en contra. ¿Si es tan fácil porque no se hizo antes? Dirán otros. Difícil es tomar la decisión, pero el acto en sí de cambiar cosas que parecen magnificentes es probadamente sencillo.
Los partidos y los partidarios, los que publicitan una única manera de pensar se diluyen en una línea argumental que lleva como fin el propagandístico. Llevo dos años asistiendo a una tertulia televisiva a la que una mente amplia daría por caducado al segundo de sus programas, sin embargo, alguna que otra vez (contadas ocasiones) aparece alguien con luz propia que logra alumbrar alguna idea que es de respetar por ser idea, no por descalificar con un objetivo específico de notable bajeza.
Nos debemos librar de posturas que toman posición de una opinión sin considerar otra que le sea contraria. Me gusta cuando Manuela Carmena dice que está dispuesta a escuchar propuestas sin mirar de que partido vienen, son aportes que pueden ser mejores que los nuestros propios, claro que para ello hay que estar dispuesto, ser amplio de miras y para ello es fundamental no pertenecer a ningún partido como ella, que carece de autoridad (salvo la legal) que la mande.
Debemos intentar ser más creativos, y la creatividad es hija de la libertad, la enseñanza debe ser más libre, estimular el pensamiento desde niños sin obligarlos a debatir entre una postura u otra, hay que reflexionar y hacerlo por uno mismo. Joan Antoni Melé, subdirector de Banca Ética (Triodos Bank) explica que la educación debe ser libre, basada en los tres conceptos que dieron lugar a un cambio: libertad, fraternidad e igualdad. No se trata de tomar partido, sino de pensar por uno mismo, por eso hay que avanzar erradicando los partidos políticos donde reina actualmente la oscuridad y la hipocresía.
Pablo Iglesias, en el mencionado: artículo “Entendiendo a Podemos”, precisa: “Si algo nos ha hecho fuerte, es que no hemos permitido que los núcleos militantes que nos aíslan de los deseos de la sociedad, puedan secuestrar a una organización que está más allá de las identidades de sus líderes políticos, cuadros y militantes de un instrumento para el cambio político en España”.
Es obvio que entender ciertas cosas es vedado a personas que vienen de una educación sistemática, además de que los cambios nunca sientan bien en un principio, salvo que pertenezcas a esa generación que promueve ese cambio. De todos modos, hay una cierta permeabilidad al cambio cuando la voluntad se vuelve invencible y tanto los detractores, los obsecuentes, los incrédulos se someten al tamiz que tan bien definió Ghandi: “Primero te ignoran, después se ríen de ti, luego te atacan, entonces ganas”.
Aldo Del Zoppo Forno S/G Municipio Podemos Salt
submitted by podemosvirtual to podemos [link] [comments]


2015.03.13 16:43 Gargogly Juguetes.

Lo peor de los juguetes malos es ver cómo toda la alegría del pendejo al recibir ese regalo que estuvo pidiendo semanas y meses, se transforma en decepción. Igual, a todos nos pasó que le regalaste el super mega master 3000 y el pibe se hizo una fiesta con la bolsa, el papel donde venía envuelto y el hilo de la pizza atado a un palito.
La fábrica de helados: La usamos una vez. Todo absolutamente berreta, desde el potecito hasta el último engranaje de la manija. Pareciera que se juntaron 20 ingenieros a ver "cómo hacemos el juguete lo peor posible". Se desborda el helado por todas partes. De más está decir que es un enchastre y que ni a palos funciona, de lo que ves en la propaganda olvidate definitivamente.
La duchita para muñecas: Cometí el error de comprar la que funciona con un motorcito a pilas en vez de la que funciona con una especie de globito de goma que apretás y sale el agua por la ducha. Por supuesto que toda la parte eléctrica se mojó al primer uso y quedó inutilizada. Nota aparte para la MUSIQUITA insoportable que hacía la bañadera al encenderse. Por suerte la nena siguió usando la bañaderita un tiempo pero ni a palos cumplió con las expectativas que ella tenía. No importa hija, asi tengas 17 años te compro la bañaderita sin pilas, te lo prometo.
El kit de armar collares: Nunca me van a alcanzar las maldiciones ni las puteadas para los que fabrican esos kits de 500 perlitas y no te viene un miserable tarrito para guardarlas. O sea abris el blister y espero que tengas 10-20 frasquitos que no uses, para separar los 24 colores y variedades de perlitas. Por suerte a mi nena nunca le compramos eso y sospecho que alguna vez la abuela compró algo parecido pero pasó sin pena ni gloria, aparte de que es semiimposible que te quede un collar o pulsera medianamente usable. Cualquiera que haya tratado de enhebrar más de 5 perlas de esas sabe de lo que hablo. O hay una técnica secreta que ignoramos completamente, no sé.
Ahora lo que sí le voló la cabeza y cada vez que viene una amiguita le piden jugar a eso: Le trajeron de afuera una especie de pequeños stencils que se ponen en la piel y unos lapices de brillantina, son digamos "tatuajes", con los lápices dibujás el tatuaje con el stencil y le queda bastante lindo, hay otra variedad donde pintás con plasticola y después espolvoreás glitter, pero los lápices son mucho más manejables, 10/10 would recommend.
submitted by Gargogly to Padres_Argentina [link] [comments]


2015.02.24 12:56 Xabi_Zeberio_Laboa Propuestas que sugiero y propongo a Podemos para Hondarribia:

1) Promover, Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión para que las Compañías Aéreas Low Cost o de Bajo Coste como Ryanair, Easy Jet, y Vueling operen y se mantengan para siempre, en el Aeropuerto de Hondarribia. Teniendo destinos distintos a los ofertados por los Aeropuertos de Biarritz y Bilbo.
2) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión del Metro de Donostialdea con dos o tres paradas en Hondarribi: Aeropuerto, Alameda, e incluso Muliate o Playa, como mínimo.
3) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de Autobuses Nocturnos fluidos o frecuentes, desde Hondarribi a Irún y Donostia todos los Viernes y Sábados Noche hasta que se acabe de construir el Metro, como mínimo.
4) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de un Tranvía a Irún para conectarlo con el Aeropuerto y la estación de los Trenes de Renfe, los futuros Trenes de Alta Velocidad de Irún, y la Estación de Autobuses de Irún.
5) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión del Gaztetxe de Hondarribi en el edificio Ex-Pargulitos de alado de la vieja Sociedad Izurde. Y darle más vida, promoción, actividad e incluso independencia de uso y actividad Juvenil al Gazteleku de Saindua.
6) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión, para llenar de Viviendas VPO's, Pisos de Alquiler Protegido, y Algunas Viviendas Libres, además de algún Hotel, Parques, Jardines y Paseos; las huertas de enfrente del Aeropuerto, la zona de enfrente de Biteri, y la zona cercana al Eroski grande, además de atrás de la Alameda.
7) Construir un Puente a Hendaia (A mitad de precio, ya que la otra mitad la pagaría el Estado Francés), para que aunquesea se pueda ir andando y, o en bici.
8) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de Festivales Musicales en Hondarribia, como por ejemplo: HondaREGGAEFestival (Música de estilo Bob Marley) en Mayo, Junio, Julio o Agosto. Además de: Hondarribi ROCK Fest, Hondarribi ELECTRO Party, y Psilocybe Fest. Y los ya existentes: Hondarribia Blues & Jazz Festival.
9) Concentración, centralización y, o reubicación de los Bares de Farra y Fiesta de Hondarribia en los Bares, Locales y, o establecimientos del Kirol Kaia, creando una nueva Zona de Ocio, Fiesta, Comidas, Cenas y Turismo, allí, aprovechando y optimizando esa zona privilegiada y sin vecinos, y que además la Discoteca Q Hondarribia o Truck, esta alado.
10) Usar el Auditorio de Itsas Etxea para Sesiones de: Cine, Teatro, Conciertos, Eventos, Espectáculos, y etc... Y para que también sea una Sala de Proyecciones y, o un Cine Público, Semi-Gratuito o Muy Barato para los Hondarribitarras, en el cual se proyecten: Películas, Documentales, Partidos de Futbol o Eventos Deportivos en Directo, Gratis o Semi-Gratis, 2-3 o 4 días a la semana.
11) Mantener Nuevos, Amplios, Modernos y Actualizados: El Ambulatorio o Centro de Salud, la Musika Eskola, el Kultur-Etxe o Casa de Cultura, además de el Ayuntamiento, la Liburutegi o Biblioteca, y las Salas de Estudio, y Salas de Ordenadores con Wifi o Internet.
12) Completar todo el suelo de toda la Parte Vieja de Hondarribi con Adoquines, por ejemplo desde la Caja Rural hasta el Bar Etxeberria el suelo no está adoquinado, en la subida al Hotel Parador y al lado de la Plaza de Armas tampoco, y en la cuesta de Hijas de la Cruz tampoco hay adoquines en el suelo y carretera, por lo que propongo poner adoquines en todo dicho suelo, carretera y, o espalon o aceras de toda la Alde Zaharra o Parte Vieja de Hondarribia.
13) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de un Bar-Restaurante-Discoteca-Txiringito en la Playa. Con Verbenas de canciones Rockeras conocidas mundialmente, Fiestas Electro, Fiestas Reggae (Música de estilo Bob Marley), Conciertos Normales, y Discoteca-Txiringito de Playa...
14) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de una Zona Industrial en Hondarribia, por alguna zona o área entre el Golf, Endanea y, o Gantxurizketa.
15) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión del acercamiento del Local de Psylocybe desde su ubicación actual: Mendelu, hasta alguno de los Locales del Kirol Kaia, Ex-Edificio de Pargulitos de Puntal-Alameda, o Saindua, y sino construir un nuevo edificio Psilocybe en el terreno libre o inutilizado que aún hay en la Zona del Kirol Kaia.
16) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de unas Piscina Publicas exteriores con trampolines, toboganes, zona verde, y etc... En la Zona Verde del Kirol Kaia o enfrente del Aeropuerto o cerca de la Alameda.
17) Darle vida al Frontón Jostaldi con partidos profesionales oficiales de Asegarce y Aspe.
18) Mejora, Adecuación o Reforma del Campo de Futbol Hondartza y del Polideportivo de Hondarribia, instalando un Spa más grande, amplio, espacioso, cómodo, actualizado y mejor que el actual.
19) Adecuación y Mejora de los Grupos Musicales que se traen en las Fiestas de Hondarribia, además del Programa de Fiestas.
20) Promocionar, publicitar y proyectar Hondarribi a: Gipuzkoa, Euskadi, España, Europa y Mundo mediante un Buen Marketing, Publicidad, Comunicación y Conexiones o Transportes. Además de creando y gestionando planes y, o facilidades de atracción Turística, como por ejemplo:
21) Promover, Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación, gestión y Organización, de: Garagardo Feria, Sagardo Eguna, Ardo Eguna o Cata de Vinos, Txakoli Eguna, Euskal Jaiak, Benta Zaharreko Jaiak, Hondarribiko Jaiak, Kantineren ta Kuadrilen Eguna Irailak 6, Alarde Eguna Irailak 8, Arrantzale Eguna Irailak 10, Inauteriko Bazkaria ta Jaiak, Fiesta Cotillón en Nochevieja, HondaREGGAE Festival, Hondarribi ROCK Fest, Hondarribi ELECTRO Party, Psilocybe Fest, Hondarribia Blues & Jazz Festival, Santo Tomas Eguna, Olentzero Eguna, Belen Viente, Día de Reyes Magos, Procesión de Semana Santa, Feria Medieval, San Juan Gaua, Santiago edo Kutxa Eguna, Hondarribiko Estropaden edo Arraun Eguna...
La Gastronomía; Promover, Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación, gestión y Organización, de: Distintas y Diversas Comidas Organizadas al Aire Libre y, o con Carpas: Un día de: Parrillada de Carne: Solomillos, Entrecots o Txuletas de Ternera. Otro día: Parrillada de Pescado: Lubina, Dorada, Rodaballo, Muxarra, Erla o Besugo. Otro día: Paellada. Otro día: Alubiada. Otro día: Comida de Degustación de Pintxos de todos y cada uno de los Bares y Restaurantes de Hondarribia.
22) Adecuación reforma y mejora de: La Playa, la Campa de Guadalupe, Artzu, Justiz, y etc... Poniendo y adecuando o reformando; Parrillas o Barbacoas, Mesas y Sillas Publicas, además de reformar, adecuar y mejorar, los accesos y lugares, de: La Sagardotegi de Hondarribia, El mirador de Guadalupe, El Fuerte de Guadalupe, El mirador de Jaizkibel, El Molino, Las Bañeras de Jaizkibel, La Playa Asturiaga o “Playa de los Frailes”, La Isla Amuitz, la Zona del Faro, la Zona de la Estatua de Santxo Handia, el Puerto de Pescadores, la Benta Zaharra, la Zona de las Casas Cercanas al Aeropuerto, el espigón de la zona próxima de los Baños Públicos de Arroka o “El Caño”, y la reforestación del Monte Jaizkibel y Guadalupe...
23) Juntar los paseos del: Paseo Butrón y el Paseo del Puntal, adecuando y reformando o renovando la Benta Zaharra, “El Kapullo” de la Zona del Bar Uxoa, y la Playita de alado...
24) Recuperar el Parque Jardín que está en la zona de atrás del Bar Medievo, en la zona del mirador actualmente inutilizado, al igual que hicieron en el otro Mirador de la Reina...
25) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de un Centro Comercial del estilo de Mendibil Irun, San Martin de Donostia, Arcoo Amara, La Bretxa Donostia o Niessen de Errenteria, en el cual podría haber un Mercado de Baserritarras, Carniceros y Pescaderas, un Supermercado, Tiendas, Bares con Billar, Dardos y Futbolines, Una Sala de Juegos Recreativos, el Cine Público Gratuito que he mencionado antes, una Mini Bolera, e incluso un Mc Donlads, Burger King, Dominos Pizza, o algún establecimiento parecido de Comida Rápida...
26) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de un Circuito de Kars, Paint Ball y Txiki-Golf en un Terreno de enfrente del Aeropuerto o Alameda...
27) Construcción de una Zona Deportiva con: Campos de Futbol 3-5-7 y 11, Canchas de Basket, Pistas de Balonmano, Campos de Hockey Patines, otro Skate-Park, Frontones, Pistas de: Tennis, Paddle y Squash, explanada para Patines, Zonas para Correr y, o Pistas de Atletismo, además de las Piscinas públicas exteriores municipales con trampolines y toboganes mencionadas antes, con Zonas Verdes, Parques, Jardines, Columpios, y etc... En la zona de enfrente del Aeropuerto o la Alameda...
28) Adecuación, reforma, mejora y expansión de los Bide-Gorris o Carriles Bici y aceras o espalones, en todas las zonas de Hondarribia que actualmente estén deterioradas o en mal estado, hasta llegar a Irún...
29) Poner Pantanales, Pasarelas y, o Amarres en los Barcos que hay enfrente de la Playa, en el Club Náutico de Hondarribia.
30) Facilitar e incluso ayudar o Subvencionar la creación y gestión de algún Museo interesante y atractivo para Hondarribia y el Turismo.
31) Crear una Rotonda en el Stop y Semáforo actual de Psilocybe, justo entre Amute y Mendelu, para descongestionar el tráfico actual existente en ese punto, sobretodo en las horas punta.
Post Data: Si se proyectasen y ejecutasen todas y cada una de esas sugerencias, medidas, propuestas y, o proyectos mencionados aquí, Hondarribia sería una de las mejores Ciudades de Gipuzkoa e incluso Europa, sin lugar a dudas... Siendo incluso mejor que Zarautz, Biarritz y Donostia...
Ya que con todas y cada una de esas medidas, propuestas y, o proyectos mencionadas aquí, Hondarribia mejoraría muchísimo, y sobretodo para sus Habitantes, o Ciudadanos, la Juventud, la Hostelería, el Sector de Comercios, el Área o Sector de Servicios, y el Turismo.
Además, todas y cada una de esas ideas están pensadas única y exclusivamente por y para el Pueblo o Ciudad y sus Habitantes... Por lo que sinceramente creo y opino que son ideas Izquierdistas, o para la gente, ya que la realidad es que Hondarribia está muy bonita, pero sin embargo también hay una amplia creencia que está diseñado sobretodo para la gente mayor y el turismo.
Por lo que, me despido esperando y deseando que mis propuestas y sugerencias sean leídas, analizadas y tomadas en cuenta por Podemos de Hondarribia en particular. Ya que sinceramente lo considero eficiente para Hondarribia, e igual de factible o consensuable y beneficiosa para todos sus Ciudadanos, y para sus respectivos votantes y partidos políticos.
Sin más dilaciones, un cordial saludo! Y que tengáis un buen día!
Atentamente: Xabi Zeberio Laboa.
submitted by Xabi_Zeberio_Laboa to PlazaEuskadi [link] [comments]


2014.12.11 04:04 elMatadero_bot [MEET UP] SABADO 13/12 11:00hs BARRIO CHINO [X-Post de /r/ArgentinaCocina]

Gano la Opcion A por como 3 o 4 votos.
El plan es el siguiente:
Yo voy a ir con mi hija asi que vayan con quien quieran.
Traigan, eso si, buena onda.
Link al original
Posts a otros subreddits no se enlazan directamente. Explicado en el wiki.
submitted by elMatadero_bot to elMatadero [link] [comments]


2014.12.11 04:00 Kupuka [MEET UP] SABADO 13/12 11:00hs BARRIO CHINO

Ganó la Opcion A por como 3 o 4 votos.
El plan es el siguiente:
Yo voy a ir con mi hija asi que vayan con quién quieran.
Traigan, eso si, buena onda.
submitted by Kupuka to ArgentinaCocina [link] [comments]


DETECTIVES EN EL SUPERMERCADO. HOY, FRUTIGRAN. No oficial