HISTORY 115 (STYLE 115) TWENTY YEARS LATER ...
(Rodolfo Táriba) Talk
Literary Group " The 115" is the work of adventurous archaeologists: it was a Thursday in mid-eighties when a herd of young dinosaurs, UCV, automarginals of the left , right, and the "university culture" of the time, decided on a bar-arepera Los Chaguaramos (Caracas, DF) meet weekly to sip and talk about literature, somewhat empirical. We barely recuperated from Black Friday, had not yet occurred Caracazo and already had the economic, political and cultural life of the nineties, including the decline of Venezuela Arabia and the Fourth Republic. In short: nobody stopped ball as the 115 was not a literary group as Sardi and Eastern Republic, who were born privileged and pregnant with lawyers and subsidies for heat and oil the emerging democracy. The modernist avant-garde creolists were relics of which studied literature, but not revered. Instead, it was a transitional generation heavily influenced in their lives and early works by Beatnicks as Kerouac and Ginsberg, for Bukowsky, and teacher Orlando Araujo memory who still pay eventually. Later, as they advanced academically and readings, new goliards, tough, worldly and realistic, owners of the Boulevard, La Candelaria Caracas and other landmarks, buried most of its ancient totems and proceeded to read Joyce , Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Dos Passos, perhaps trying to become a new "lost generation." An academic Merida, whose name will remain in the annals of the ULA and forgotten in our old notebooks, dubbed postmodern fin de siecle (???). But they were in the early of the nineties as one of his acolytes as called Yippies, (ie, no hippies, no yuppies). The year 1993 was the beginning of the end, while the re-genesis: in short, a society of poets, storytellers and essayists alive. Writing bore fruit ripens in awards and published works, and how the biblical apostles, with their titles, awards, books and dreams under your arm, everyone went his own way to preach in other places, some far, far away, like Lazarus Silva, who rose as microbeads (strongly influenced by the Argentine Raúl Brasca), psychologist, and bonsai grower in protolanguage and reporting smoking. So did Gustavo Fernandez, who emulate the prodigal son returned home under current night, after being discharged as missing in action. During that same period, and disagreements (and the occasional street fight) Carlos Torres embodied that generation 80-90 in the 115 Confession , and honored their ancestors in the trial and Hemingway lost generation, Alvaro Trujillo portrayed the city and the night under the vapors of ethyl Gin and Pleasing Petitions , and Rodolfo Táriba, from his exile Zulia, he a nipple, the rain and you in Caribbean Night Club Show, 1:00 am Twenty years later, and an anthology in preparation, 115 in full decided to publish this blog to quell rumors of separation, egocentric, internal conflicts, death of some members (although Carlos and the Rodo almost killed together in 2003, and escaped malandresca miraculously a pack), and other fabrications insane propagated by our detractors (including some ex-aspiring militants prestigious group) Well NO! WE ARE ALIVE ! (as survivors of the Andes) still reading, drinking, writing, arguing, fucking (whether in chat) and scalpel-sharp red in antañones times, especially honoring back to what was our forgotten motto: "WRITERS First of all, and yet ..."
(Rodolfo Táriba) Talk
Literary Group " The 115" is the work of adventurous archaeologists: it was a Thursday in mid-eighties when a herd of young dinosaurs, UCV, automarginals of the left , right, and the "university culture" of the time, decided on a bar-arepera Los Chaguaramos (Caracas, DF) meet weekly to sip and talk about literature, somewhat empirical. We barely recuperated from Black Friday, had not yet occurred Caracazo and already had the economic, political and cultural life of the nineties, including the decline of Venezuela Arabia and the Fourth Republic. In short: nobody stopped ball as the 115 was not a literary group as Sardi and Eastern Republic, who were born privileged and pregnant with lawyers and subsidies for heat and oil the emerging democracy. The modernist avant-garde creolists were relics of which studied literature, but not revered. Instead, it was a transitional generation heavily influenced in their lives and early works by Beatnicks as Kerouac and Ginsberg, for Bukowsky, and teacher Orlando Araujo memory who still pay eventually. Later, as they advanced academically and readings, new goliards, tough, worldly and realistic, owners of the Boulevard, La Candelaria Caracas and other landmarks, buried most of its ancient totems and proceeded to read Joyce , Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Dos Passos, perhaps trying to become a new "lost generation." An academic Merida, whose name will remain in the annals of the ULA and forgotten in our old notebooks, dubbed postmodern fin de siecle (???). But they were in the early of the nineties as one of his acolytes as called Yippies, (ie, no hippies, no yuppies). The year 1993 was the beginning of the end, while the re-genesis: in short, a society of poets, storytellers and essayists alive. Writing bore fruit ripens in awards and published works, and how the biblical apostles, with their titles, awards, books and dreams under your arm, everyone went his own way to preach in other places, some far, far away, like Lazarus Silva, who rose as microbeads (strongly influenced by the Argentine Raúl Brasca), psychologist, and bonsai grower in protolanguage and reporting smoking. So did Gustavo Fernandez, who emulate the prodigal son returned home under current night, after being discharged as missing in action. During that same period, and disagreements (and the occasional street fight) Carlos Torres embodied that generation 80-90 in the 115 Confession , and honored their ancestors in the trial and Hemingway lost generation, Alvaro Trujillo portrayed the city and the night under the vapors of ethyl Gin and Pleasing Petitions , and Rodolfo Táriba, from his exile Zulia, he a nipple, the rain and you in Caribbean Night Club Show, 1:00 am Twenty years later, and an anthology in preparation, 115 in full decided to publish this blog to quell rumors of separation, egocentric, internal conflicts, death of some members (although Carlos and the Rodo almost killed together in 2003, and escaped malandresca miraculously a pack), and other fabrications insane propagated by our detractors (including some ex-aspiring militants prestigious group) Well NO! WE ARE ALIVE ! (as survivors of the Andes) still reading, drinking, writing, arguing, fucking (whether in chat) and scalpel-sharp red in antañones times, especially honoring back to what was our forgotten motto: "WRITERS First of all, and yet ..."
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