Sunday, November 30, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Quotes: V
EU: una estudiante asesina en instituto a dos compañeras
Nueva Orleáns, 8 de febrero. Una estudiante asesinó a balazos a dos compañeras en un instituto de enseñanza técnica en la ciudad de Baton Rouge, Luisiana, en el sur de Estados Unidos, y luego se suicidó, informó este viernes la policía.
El sargento Don Kelly dijo a la prensa que la policía encontró a tres mujeres muertas en un salón de clase del mencionado instituto tras ser informada de que se habían producido disparos.
“Uno oficial halló tres cuerpos en una clase. Uno de ellos era de la persona que hizo los disparos y parece que disparó contra otras dos jóvenes en la clase”, precisó.
La estudiante en posesión de un arma “mató a las otras dos antes de apuntar el arma contra sí misma”, añadió el policía.
Se trata del tercer tiroteo en 24 horas en Estados Unidos y el segundo en un establecimiento educativo.
El jueves, un hombre disparó contra su esposa y la hirió gravemente en la escuela primaria donde ella era docente en Portsmouth (Ohio, noreste). Antes de dispararle, apuñaló a la mujer, que había solicitado el divorcio. Logró huir del colegio y fue perseguido por la policía antes de suicidarse.
En otro incidente, un individuo abrió fuego también el jueves en una reunión del consejo municipal de una localidad cercana a San Luis (Misuri, centro), matando a cinco personas e hiriendo a otras dos.
La tragedia ocurrió en la localidad de Kirkwood, en la periferia de San Luis. El hombre mató a dos policías y a tres funcionarios municipales antes de que las fuerzas del orden le dieran muerte.
Si bien los tiroteos son hechos frecuentes en Estados Unidos, donde tener un arma es derecho constitucional, los autores son raramente mujeres, como en el caso del instituto técnico de Baton Rouge.
El año pasado, un estudiante de la Universidad Virginia Tech causó una masacre al abrir fuego en los salones de clase del campus y matar a 32 personas, antes de ser abatido por la policía.
Quotes: IV
Neque porro quisquam est qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit...
Yesterday, a teacher said Goether instead of Goethe when talking about the experiments he did about the color spectrum based on Newton's work around the same topic.
Goether. My ears couldn't believe it and I almost screamed.
I shut up and keep listening to the nonsense.
Germany makes me think about France instantly. (In my mind that leap looks like Textualis turning into Kuenstler font.)
Shitty geography.
Mephistopheles would be proud.
Goether. My ears couldn't believe it and I almost screamed.
I shut up and keep listening to the nonsense.
Germany makes me think about France instantly. (In my mind that leap looks like Textualis turning into Kuenstler font.)
Shitty geography.
Mephistopheles would be proud.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Wingless Wildfowl
Kissing electricity burns.
My lower lip turns black.
No rambling heart.
Dance and dance and keep the stag alive for this flaming machine will never open its eyes in daylight.
Useless. I keep moving the bones in my back but the feathers grow bigger than me. I don't even need to move anymore the feathers themselves let me float, sometimes they cover my face. Skinny. Feathers grow everywhere. A halo sorrounds and moves beyond my rage. Groundworms come as soon as I call them. I didn't knew how many of my wings were still here. Greatest red and they come back (a spinning backache and fever makes my pores turn into volcanoes). The curse drives me dry. The witch had to pay. Now her head hangs as my token of bad luck. Bellicose. I'm coming home. Love and war I do both.
One day to see your face. One day as the serpent.
My head jazzes a swing and rocks a blues.
Having sex with you was always awesome.
But this metallic garden full of junk is the last place I'll find us holding each others' body.
My lower lip turns black.
No rambling heart.
Dance and dance and keep the stag alive for this flaming machine will never open its eyes in daylight.
Useless. I keep moving the bones in my back but the feathers grow bigger than me. I don't even need to move anymore the feathers themselves let me float, sometimes they cover my face. Skinny. Feathers grow everywhere. A halo sorrounds and moves beyond my rage. Groundworms come as soon as I call them. I didn't knew how many of my wings were still here. Greatest red and they come back (a spinning backache and fever makes my pores turn into volcanoes). The curse drives me dry. The witch had to pay. Now her head hangs as my token of bad luck. Bellicose. I'm coming home. Love and war I do both.
One day to see your face. One day as the serpent.
My head jazzes a swing and rocks a blues.
Having sex with you was always awesome.
But this metallic garden full of junk is the last place I'll find us holding each others' body.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Noiselessly
(Only 271 MB of free space on hard drive.)
(School is gonna eat me.)
(She is not.)
(Shit.)
There's nothing but to draw.
I can feel this line...
Drawing helps me not to think.
Thinking aches.
Like spilling a carnage over your beloved ones.
Music won't help unless its just music.
Lyrics bare my bones these days.
Just as this cold.
Because its november.
Colder than the last couple of years.
Almost the last month.
Half of the life I planned.
Maybe a third if I am lucky.
The sun is poisoning my eyes.
It won't let me see its face.
The air is filled with smoke.
Sweet smoker smoke.
A misleading falsehood.
The dictionary says so.
...
Fuck off.
(School is gonna eat me.)
(She is not.)
(Shit.)
There's nothing but to draw.
I can feel this line...
Drawing helps me not to think.
Thinking aches.
Like spilling a carnage over your beloved ones.
Music won't help unless its just music.
Lyrics bare my bones these days.
Just as this cold.
Because its november.
Colder than the last couple of years.
Almost the last month.
Half of the life I planned.
Maybe a third if I am lucky.
The sun is poisoning my eyes.
It won't let me see its face.
The air is filled with smoke.
Sweet smoker smoke.
A misleading falsehood.
The dictionary says so.
I still love linguistics.
They won't let me touch them, though.
My old teachers would kill me because I keep on giving values to all those meaningless forms and not the language itself. The juncture of those meaningless forms graphically or by their sound not by the meaning itself. But how could I ignore their beauty?
A language over language. Even more arbitrary than the arbitrariness of language.
An "i" (like your beautiful eyes) is even more beautiful if an "s" (and your pink long dress) follows. And viceversa.
They won't let me touch them, though.
My old teachers would kill me because I keep on giving values to all those meaningless forms and not the language itself. The juncture of those meaningless forms graphically or by their sound not by the meaning itself. But how could I ignore their beauty?
A language over language. Even more arbitrary than the arbitrariness of language.
An "i" (like your beautiful eyes) is even more beautiful if an "s" (and your pink long dress) follows. And viceversa.
prisonnier.
vista.
asir.
símil.
interdisaient.
missile.
rise.
simulacrum.
cris.
avispa.
missing.
vista.
asir.
símil.
interdisaient.
missile.
rise.
simulacrum.
cris.
avispa.
missing.
risk.
choisissez.
choisissez.
istambul.
irrisorio.
histerical.
sienes.
sapis.
hispánicas.
isolation.
iris.
sivell.
iris.
sivell.
this.
noise.
noise.
is.
sinking.
...
Fuck off.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
2008/11/20
I hope you usually check the comments in this blog because I post extras there sometimes. The last entry with a song by Radiohead has a comment where I cited a bunch of (beautiful) words I found at their website.
And those words gave birth to another beautiful thing you'll find at the illustration section in you-know-what-site.
Go.
http://art-uur.webs.com
Fuck off.
And those words gave birth to another beautiful thing you'll find at the illustration section in you-know-what-site.
Go.
http://art-uur.webs.com
Fuck off.
How Pussies Went Dry As Dog Shit
You've been to the movies these days? You'll notice what I mean faster.
Isn't it just an awful parade of recycled heroes and legends?
We're tired of Batman again and James Blunt again and Michel Fuckingondry remaking all pop masterpieces in a lowbrow fashion and harry potter part whatever (a book itself made of recycled myths). I mean, seriously, aren't you bored with it? Don't you want new stories? Yes, you know NEW STORIES, like unseen characters and situations. Sure I'll give it to you: all characters were created by the greeks with their playwrights but there's so many things those characters can do and haven't done, they can be merged on one or be separated in several to make new ones and then those new ones can do godknowswhat. What in the plundering hell are studios or writers or whoever is in charge of movies waiting for?!
I was joking when telling .`'`,.',`,`'· (yep, that's a name, don't try to pronounce it) the next thing they would do was conversions from anime to live action starting but of course with Akira.
And, oh blessed be the horseshit in jokes because reality will come out of it: Leonardo DiCaprio is producing the live action version of Akira scheduled to be released in two parts on the far-off year of two thousand and ten (if Warner doesn't cockblock Fox).
Now you see? When jokes as cruel as that one become real there's something terribly wrong.
This creativity thing is going pretty dry with humans.
Dry.
As.
Dog.
Shit.
We, me, you reading this do something! Do something! Create something please! Make it unique! And show it! To someone! Anyone!
I'd really like to think I'm not asking so much.
There's still a lot of things waiting to be said at 24 frames per second.
Isn't it just an awful parade of recycled heroes and legends?
We're tired of Batman again and James Blunt again and Michel Fuckingondry remaking all pop masterpieces in a lowbrow fashion and harry potter part whatever (a book itself made of recycled myths). I mean, seriously, aren't you bored with it? Don't you want new stories? Yes, you know NEW STORIES, like unseen characters and situations. Sure I'll give it to you: all characters were created by the greeks with their playwrights but there's so many things those characters can do and haven't done, they can be merged on one or be separated in several to make new ones and then those new ones can do godknowswhat. What in the plundering hell are studios or writers or whoever is in charge of movies waiting for?!
I was joking when telling .`'`,.',`,`'· (yep, that's a name, don't try to pronounce it) the next thing they would do was conversions from anime to live action starting but of course with Akira.
And, oh blessed be the horseshit in jokes because reality will come out of it: Leonardo DiCaprio is producing the live action version of Akira scheduled to be released in two parts on the far-off year of two thousand and ten (if Warner doesn't cockblock Fox).
Now you see? When jokes as cruel as that one become real there's something terribly wrong.
This creativity thing is going pretty dry with humans.
Dry.
As.
Dog.
Shit.
We, me, you reading this do something! Do something! Create something please! Make it unique! And show it! To someone! Anyone!
I'd really like to think I'm not asking so much.
There's still a lot of things waiting to be said at 24 frames per second.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Quotes: II
-¿El federal?
-No sé.
-No, ese anda en Oaxaca ahorita.
-No mames que es federal.
-Seh...
-Madres.
-Pero es un imbécil...
-No sé.
-No, ese anda en Oaxaca ahorita.
-No mames que es federal.
-Seh...
-Madres.
-Pero es un imbécil...
...como los que le gustan a las mujeres.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Stabilimentum Book I
Stabilimentum Book I by my beloved Manuel Cervantes is out now. I made a little prologue for it. It's so wrong it makes me cry but it kinda works anyway. I'm making a better version to get Manuel's forgiveness someday.
Anyway you should read the post Manuel wrote at his blog and download the book.
Fuck off now, kids.
Anyway you should read the post Manuel wrote at his blog and download the book.
Fuck off now, kids.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Because of some stupid shit that happened yesterday night it's kinda difficult to me now to use correctly my gmail/blogger/messenger account. I'm trying to fix the shit but I'm not sure what the outcome of all this digital crap will be. That means this could be the last post if all goes horribly wrong and my passwords get lost in the mysterious world of the internets.
But of course I'd make another account and another blog, y'know how the gig works.
Fuck off.
But of course I'd make another account and another blog, y'know how the gig works.
Fuck off.
Dearest Hope
Esperanza is a poem by Amado Nervo. A poem I don't like much. He was a friend of Julio Ruelas a great mexican artist who collaborated as illustrator for the Revista Moderna de México. Nervo wrote that poem after watching a drawing by Ruelas.
This drawing:
This drawing:
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Quotes: I
(Both comments from Buñuel himself about his own movie Él.)
Él es una de mis películas preferidas. Los paranoicos son como los poetas. Nacen así.
Luis Buñuel Mi Último Suspiro
Quizá es la película donde más he puesto yo. Hay algo de mí en el protagonista...Comparto su sentimiento cuando ve a la gente allá abajo, como hormigas y dice: "me gustaría ser Dios, para aplastarlos"
José de la Colina y Tomás Pérez Turret Buñuel por Buñuel
Él es una de mis películas preferidas. Los paranoicos son como los poetas. Nacen así.
Luis Buñuel Mi Último Suspiro
Quizá es la película donde más he puesto yo. Hay algo de mí en el protagonista...Comparto su sentimiento cuando ve a la gente allá abajo, como hormigas y dice: "me gustaría ser Dios, para aplastarlos"
José de la Colina y Tomás Pérez Turret Buñuel por Buñuel
Rope-A-Dope, Muhammad
Acabo de despertar. No tendrá ni cinco minutos.
(El sueño comenzó conmigo en una fiesta de mis padres y yo pensando "tengo que salir de aquí", que es lo mismo que no he podido dejar de pensar en las últimas semanas. Cuando salí había jardines grandes y niños jugando a aventar un limón. El limón me cayó encima, lo tomé y lo apreté hasta que se volvió una masa cítrica sin chiste. Era de noche y llovía. Algunos niños me siguieron mientras caminaba entre el pasto húmedo y las rejas chuecas que dividían aquellos gigantescos jardines salidos de quiensabedonde, injuriabanme como el destruye-juegos que fui, me aventaron la cabeza de una muñeca como aquellas con las que jugaba mi hermana. Yo la patee y recordé que era la misma cabeza que cuelga de las rejas a la salida del condominio en que vivo -el real. Salieron del sueño los baldíos y avancé ya sin niños vengativos en los talones. Pero alguien me seguía buscando en medio de la lluvia.)
Tu le habías mandado a atraparme para que me rompiera el hocico (mi hocico de animal leoncallejero, patoasesino), pero yo no dejaba las cosas así nada más, sin una buena pelea. Porque en mi sueño boxeaba y como Dios manda. Tenía mi short color vino, uno que creo que no has visto, peleaba con el puesto; también tenía esas botas largas que usan los boxeadores, color negro por supuesto (pos ni modo que qué); lo que no tenía era el par de guantes pero eso fué lo de menos, cada quien se enrolló vendas en los puños. Mi profesor de dibujo era el referi; alrededor un montón de gente; tú no, aunque tuve la sensación de que veías todo.
Lanzaba jabs, hooks y uppercuts a diestra y siniestra, pero tu mensajero sabía defenderse. Sudé y sangré y sentí y me acordé de mi padre diciendo que mantuviera bien cerrada la mandíbula si alguna vez peleaba. Yo iba perdiendo de cualquier modo. Luego algo que nunca me había pasado en sueños: recordé una canción -sonaba entre los madrazos que me dejaban sin aire. Una de Tomahawk.
Mi puño a punto de destrozar una mandíbula. El impacto me hace creer que mi propia mano se está desbaratando.
Pero esa no es ninguna mandíbula y yo no tenía botas ni vendas en los puños.
Frente a mí sólo estaba el techo (ya sabes que mi cama queda muy cerca del techo) y mis nudillos sangrando.
Basic principles of hand-to-hand combat:
1. Be aggressive
2. Keep your eyes on the opponent
3. Distract the opponent
4. Disable or be Disabled
5. Vary the attack to fit the situation
6. Turn the defense into an unrelenting attack
7. Feel superior to the opponent, regardless of the latters' size or the evidence of strength
I see what you do I keep on my way through
I'll see what you'll be; what you'll do
You know you will have little time to stop and think, when engaging in hand-to-hand combat.
Therefore, your actions must be automatic.
Remember, attack aggressively, with one purpose in mind:
To Kill.
Aktion
(El sueño comenzó conmigo en una fiesta de mis padres y yo pensando "tengo que salir de aquí", que es lo mismo que no he podido dejar de pensar en las últimas semanas. Cuando salí había jardines grandes y niños jugando a aventar un limón. El limón me cayó encima, lo tomé y lo apreté hasta que se volvió una masa cítrica sin chiste. Era de noche y llovía. Algunos niños me siguieron mientras caminaba entre el pasto húmedo y las rejas chuecas que dividían aquellos gigantescos jardines salidos de quiensabedonde, injuriabanme como el destruye-juegos que fui, me aventaron la cabeza de una muñeca como aquellas con las que jugaba mi hermana. Yo la patee y recordé que era la misma cabeza que cuelga de las rejas a la salida del condominio en que vivo -el real. Salieron del sueño los baldíos y avancé ya sin niños vengativos en los talones. Pero alguien me seguía buscando en medio de la lluvia.)
Tu le habías mandado a atraparme para que me rompiera el hocico (mi hocico de animal leoncallejero, patoasesino), pero yo no dejaba las cosas así nada más, sin una buena pelea. Porque en mi sueño boxeaba y como Dios manda. Tenía mi short color vino, uno que creo que no has visto, peleaba con el puesto; también tenía esas botas largas que usan los boxeadores, color negro por supuesto (pos ni modo que qué); lo que no tenía era el par de guantes pero eso fué lo de menos, cada quien se enrolló vendas en los puños. Mi profesor de dibujo era el referi; alrededor un montón de gente; tú no, aunque tuve la sensación de que veías todo.
Lanzaba jabs, hooks y uppercuts a diestra y siniestra, pero tu mensajero sabía defenderse. Sudé y sangré y sentí y me acordé de mi padre diciendo que mantuviera bien cerrada la mandíbula si alguna vez peleaba. Yo iba perdiendo de cualquier modo. Luego algo que nunca me había pasado en sueños: recordé una canción -sonaba entre los madrazos que me dejaban sin aire. Una de Tomahawk.
Mi puño a punto de destrozar una mandíbula. El impacto me hace creer que mi propia mano se está desbaratando.
Pero esa no es ninguna mandíbula y yo no tenía botas ni vendas en los puños.
Frente a mí sólo estaba el techo (ya sabes que mi cama queda muy cerca del techo) y mis nudillos sangrando.
Basic principles of hand-to-hand combat:
1. Be aggressive
2. Keep your eyes on the opponent
3. Distract the opponent
4. Disable or be Disabled
5. Vary the attack to fit the situation
6. Turn the defense into an unrelenting attack
7. Feel superior to the opponent, regardless of the latters' size or the evidence of strength
I see what you do I keep on my way through
I'll see what you'll be; what you'll do
You know you will have little time to stop and think, when engaging in hand-to-hand combat.
Therefore, your actions must be automatic.
Remember, attack aggressively, with one purpose in mind:
To Kill.
Aktion
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Teoría del Arte
Escribir del miedo,
miedo recurrente,
miedo galopante
(rabioso, caído de bruces)
acurrucado en la razón.
Recuerda el miedo del solo
(solo en el hielo)
razonando en tu piel,
resonando en el sexo.
Sinrazón: ya no estás.
Miedo del recuerdo,
del resultado del juego,
miedo del cercano miedo
que trepa por las tripas
con asco y con rencor.
Respiración agitada,
piernas tremulantes
en copiosas tormentas de cuerpos recelosos.
(Oh, constantes vaivenes
mujermar, mujerbote, mujermuerte
muerte chiquita,
los remos se agitan sin control.)
Imaginación del sordo:
estimados usuarios,
bienvenidos al cúmulo de miedos.
Miedo del león
(león etíope, león estinfalo,
piel de metal corroído),
miedo en seis horas,
miedo en espejos
obcecando la marcha triunfal.
Miedo al cuadrado,
miedo a lo lejos a los lejanos ojos.
Ojos que corren en otra dirección.
Y este puto miedo que se queda conmigo.
(Conmigo en mí.
Conmigo con mí.
Conmigo sintigo.)
miedo recurrente,
miedo galopante
(rabioso, caído de bruces)
acurrucado en la razón.
Recuerda el miedo del solo
(solo en el hielo)
razonando en tu piel,
resonando en el sexo.
Sinrazón: ya no estás.
Miedo del recuerdo,
del resultado del juego,
miedo del cercano miedo
que trepa por las tripas
con asco y con rencor.
Respiración agitada,
piernas tremulantes
en copiosas tormentas de cuerpos recelosos.
(Oh, constantes vaivenes
mujermar, mujerbote, mujermuerte
muerte chiquita,
los remos se agitan sin control.)
Imaginación del sordo:
estimados usuarios,
bienvenidos al cúmulo de miedos.
Miedo del león
(león etíope, león estinfalo,
piel de metal corroído),
miedo en seis horas,
miedo en espejos
obcecando la marcha triunfal.
Miedo al cuadrado,
miedo a lo lejos a los lejanos ojos.
Ojos que corren en otra dirección.
Y este puto miedo que se queda conmigo.
(Conmigo en mí.
Conmigo con mí.
Conmigo sintigo.)
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Junkie Garden Records
Well, It all started back in 2006 when I made this flyer:
Since back then I wanted to play drums, that's all I can tell for sure, and yes I even tried to be vocalist in a school punkersomething band (no comments, I quitted as soon as I started).
The thing is I invited a bunch of friends to my house that day. It was quite boring. I decided never ever ever try to throw a party again (don't ever mix your school friends with your internerd friends). Though, that day we all learned Yorch's theory of alcoholic drinks and their mixturability (haha shit, my english sucks!) with non-alcoholic drinks (you just have to mix drinks with the same colors, they taste great, try it someday, it really works). Anyway, I thought it would be fun to make a flyer for that shit since I hardly do invite anyone to my house; even funnier: one that looked as if a bunch of bands would play. So yeah, those are just the nicknames of some of my friends and some prank bands we made up for fun and y'know, to have illusions of rock and fame every now and then.
But y'see all these made up bands and solo acts or whatever needed a made up record label of their own.
And thus Junkie Garden Records was born.
(Well, that's the epic version of the story. In fact I was looking myself for that name and thought of it at school. But yeah that flyer thing is also true. It happened after I had the name, though.)
Maybe I was blowing pot or something when I thought of that name. I don't know. I tried to think of a more conceptual one later through the years but Junkie Garden Records always came back to my head and there was no way to replace it. I like it. It sounds weird and it can be remembered easily.
Why the hell am I telling you this? I don't know. I don't even know what a damned label is supposed to do. Shit. Marketing? Managing of brands and trademarks? Fuck, I just want to join people releasing music! TO JOIN PEOPLE RELEASING MUSIC *HINT*. What the heck.
Blah. Anyway, I made a logo which evolved like this.
Also, my life these days seems like a Gus Van Sant meets Kieslowski meets David Lynch thing.
Serious.
Fuck off now, babies.
Since back then I wanted to play drums, that's all I can tell for sure, and yes I even tried to be vocalist in a school punkersomething band (no comments, I quitted as soon as I started).
The thing is I invited a bunch of friends to my house that day. It was quite boring. I decided never ever ever try to throw a party again (don't ever mix your school friends with your internerd friends). Though, that day we all learned Yorch's theory of alcoholic drinks and their mixturability (haha shit, my english sucks!) with non-alcoholic drinks (you just have to mix drinks with the same colors, they taste great, try it someday, it really works). Anyway, I thought it would be fun to make a flyer for that shit since I hardly do invite anyone to my house; even funnier: one that looked as if a bunch of bands would play. So yeah, those are just the nicknames of some of my friends and some prank bands we made up for fun and y'know, to have illusions of rock and fame every now and then.
But y'see all these made up bands and solo acts or whatever needed a made up record label of their own.
And thus Junkie Garden Records was born.
(Well, that's the epic version of the story. In fact I was looking myself for that name and thought of it at school. But yeah that flyer thing is also true. It happened after I had the name, though.)
Maybe I was blowing pot or something when I thought of that name. I don't know. I tried to think of a more conceptual one later through the years but Junkie Garden Records always came back to my head and there was no way to replace it. I like it. It sounds weird and it can be remembered easily.
Why the hell am I telling you this? I don't know. I don't even know what a damned label is supposed to do. Shit. Marketing? Managing of brands and trademarks? Fuck, I just want to join people releasing music! TO JOIN PEOPLE RELEASING MUSIC *HINT*. What the heck.
Blah. Anyway, I made a logo which evolved like this.
Also, my life these days seems like a Gus Van Sant meets Kieslowski meets David Lynch thing.Serious.
Fuck off now, babies.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Thursday, November 06, 2008
2008/11/06
So art-uur.webs.com is back online and shit. I fixed the illustration part. All of the "back" links sent straight to the beggining instead of the gallery.
No more.
Lots of ideas. Making new drawings. Album (!) almost done. Artwork soon.
Fuck off.
No more.
Lots of ideas. Making new drawings. Album (!) almost done. Artwork soon.
Fuck off.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
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