What Does A Lung Density Mean

Get back to where you once belong

Forgive this late-night public input type the uncorrected, unrevised and without giving it a twist so that instead of being the result of an impulse to say exactly what I want to convey. Although, shut up!, If I do forever.

This blog was created with the purpose of replacing the notebook he always carried over and which he wrote sensations, emotions, memories, travel, my texts ... Then seemed a great idea to share all this inner world with complete strangers. Well, so after it is assumed that only my friends would read f ueran real or virtual.

But, curiously, from its conception followed a clear pattern: all entries, for example, would have entitled a fragment of a lyric from the Beatles or the title of one of his songs. And when I say The Beatles I mean together or separately. Even the title of the blog, Strawberry Fields, was thought to consciousness. These fields symbolize, symbolizing, my first story "published" and as I opened a door then I could not close again: that of Beatlemania. If you have some time I'll tell her beautiful story:

The year was 1996 and I was studying second of BUP at the Institute of Sevilla Luis Cernuda. Was a year living in the city of the Guadalquivir, but still had not found my site. And with my site I refer to those friends who talk about likes and shared purposes. He had friends, but otherwise. If he knew some people but I found interesting did not seem to think the same about me. Admired the groups of older boys in the cafeteria philosophizing, such as hippies and bohemians them, wanted to be like them!. To pull up a chance to listen to me trying to take note of what music they listen to and what books to read. Antonio

the time I offered to write in the journal of the institute on John Lennon (well, actually I do not remember if I gave everything I or how it happened ... I got hysterical with joy) and I had heard that name together with the The Beatles many times, he and his friends. On one occasion I was told that if I loved Fool's Garden or Oasis had to like them. But I must confess that at that time had not heard even once to Liverpool who were conscious of them.

Anyway, I agreed to write about Lennon as if most of the fans of the artist but I rang the name, place lightly. David Antonio and loaned me the book of Sierra i Fabra "The Young Lennon" and the music took on an old cassette that a friend gave me a big success. What I discovered on that tape and that book forever changed my life and inspired me a story called "Strawberry fields forever." Those bohemians to almost idolized congratulated me for what I had written and that meant the most to me then. But also, there finally convinced that I wanted to be, with all my soul, was a journalist. Because the process of writing something for The Ghetto (such was the magazine) had made me happier than almost anything in my short life.

And so this corner is the name of that report. But today I feel that this blog has completed a cycle and that the original intention being that logbook nothing left. He returned to take up a notebook. As I was telling a good friend by email a few days ago, the evolution of Internet applications and social networks are making us fall into dangerous traps, and not really talk to your environment because all the information you need from them in its "Wall" on facebook. Or post there you graduate, your birthday, get married or you break ... almost real time.

will also not know, I am no longer the girl who needed to explode and plunge the world what was inside. "Now I am a young woman? which prefers to focus on providing the world what you always wanted: her way of doing journalism. I feel that this blog has accompanied me through a complicated process that has covered several years of my life. But that stage is closed and do not know if she should die with Strawberry Fields or should reinvent itself as the Phoenix that sometimes proved to be.

Or maybe all this are nothing more than lectures a lunatic in the best sense of the word, a warm summer night ...

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