No hay band! 
Silence is probably one of the most declined issues in the arts, philosophy and religion. I think the silence (the silence of God) by Bergman, to the music of Cage - ( "For me the essential meaning of silence is the abandonment of any intention," he wrote) - which makes up a blank sheet: 4 . 33 . For four minutes and 33 seconds sitting at the piano, in a real theater, and does not play anything: the first record you hear the wind blowing, the rain in the second furo theater, in the third to the whispers of the audience angry. In literature, I think that the reinterpretation of the story is Kafka on the Homeric sirens, which - says Kafka - they actually have not sung, but for a complex mechanism of rational suggestion, the crew believed to hear. David Lynch, in his Mulholland Drive, shifts attention to the potentialities of sound, its ability to be played, I also thinking of Benjamin and his The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction - in the absence of the real source, in the absence of the orchestra, in the absence of meat. And then I think of the Internet, the amount of entries without source - but how many computer fans, how many fingers tapping on the keys, how many "copy and paste in your eyes, how much meat. So I like to think that in reality there may be no single person behind all the blogs, the posts, the mails, links, scripts, URLs. I know not, but then where are you? Because sometimes there seems to be quieter in the world and across the network, because my friends copy and paste to the inner planet, but we rarely receive a photo? Perhaps because share, off from the virtual, provides for a greater effort, a lack of response, a possible silence ...
Silence is probably one of the most declined issues in the arts, philosophy and religion. I think the silence (the silence of God) by Bergman, to the music of Cage - ( "For me the essential meaning of silence is the abandonment of any intention," he wrote) - which makes up a blank sheet: 4 . 33 . For four minutes and 33 seconds sitting at the piano, in a real theater, and does not play anything: the first record you hear the wind blowing, the rain in the second furo theater, in the third to the whispers of the audience angry. In literature, I think that the reinterpretation of the story is Kafka on the Homeric sirens, which - says Kafka - they actually have not sung, but for a complex mechanism of rational suggestion, the crew believed to hear. David Lynch, in his Mulholland Drive, shifts attention to the potentialities of sound, its ability to be played, I also thinking of Benjamin and his The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction - in the absence of the real source, in the absence of the orchestra, in the absence of meat. And then I think of the Internet, the amount of entries without source - but how many computer fans, how many fingers tapping on the keys, how many "copy and paste in your eyes, how much meat. So I like to think that in reality there may be no single person behind all the blogs, the posts, the mails, links, scripts, URLs. I know not, but then where are you? Because sometimes there seems to be quieter in the world and across the network, because my friends copy and paste to the inner planet, but we rarely receive a photo? Perhaps because share, off from the virtual, provides for a greater effort, a lack of response, a possible silence ... 
