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stories and lived happily until his death!

The stories in a read or read our small and later we saw in films of Walt Disney were not always rosy. Learn more about these stories as they really were counted.
In the Middle Ages there were few adults and children who had access to books and reading. The culture was detained in palaces and monasteries and the few books that were available were designed to instill good morals and religious beliefs. Presumably, at that time the children would hear happy stories and poems that were not in principle designed for them.
But, although they have a shape and a well-defined structure, children's stories can have different meanings for different cultures and times. This can be seen exploring the different existing versions of the most popular stories.

For example, Little Red Riding Hood story is aware of at least four versions:

One is that of Charles Perrault, which ends up being devoured Little Red Riding Hood by the wolf and presented at the end of the story the following moral:

girls, especially the beautiful, should never talk to strangers, it could become food for the wolf . There are people who are charming, kind, quiet, polite, accommodating and sweet, who pursue the girls on the streets and even at home. Unfortunately, these gentle wolves are the most dangerous of all.

On the other hand, the Brothers Grimm version, Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother are rescued from the belly of the wolf by a woodsman, who, while the beast sleeps after the hearty meal , opens the stomach with scissors to rescue the ladies, then filled with stones (it is curious by the fact that the wolf will ever wake up). In this version all end up happily ever after and the wolf turns into a beautiful carpet. Note the curious fact that the ladies do not reach ever to defend themselves.

A dye-labeled version of cannibalism, was circulated by Austria and Italy, in which Red Riding Hood eats the flesh and drink the blood of his murdered grandmother by the wolf and that she ends also being devoured.
Here is a small piece of that story (Little Red Riding Hood is already in the company of the wolf in grandmother):

"Grandma, I have thirst, you give me something to drink?
-The wolf disguised as grandma, responds:
-Check that cup, you must have some wine.
"Grandma, this wine is very red.
"Shut up and drink it, is the blood of your grandmother.
- What?
"Just drink it and shut up. Then
caperucita says
"Grandma, I have dream.
To which the beast responds
"Take off your clothes and come to lie here with me.

A French version called the false grandmother in which Little Red Riding Hood saved by his own cleverness. In this, once the child is in bed with the wolf realizes that her grandmother is not resting on its side, which will cause a big scare. Not knowing very well that make you say:

"Grandma, I need to go to the bathroom.
The wolf, licking his lips, he says,
"Do not worry, girl, you can pee in the bed here.
Riding Hood insists and takes advantage of or PPORTUNITY to escape.

worth noting that the real danger begins when Little Red Riding Hood gets in bed with the wolf. This story was intended for girls who were beginning to become women. But older versions (like France) Little Red Riding Hood is not punished for this, but tricking the wolf manages to escape it, ie using their own cunning survive

Something different occurs with the version of Grimm and Perrault, in which the clear message is that girls should be good, should not stray from the path, should beware of men, and especially suppress any interest in sex.
But let's review For another story. The Snow White is pretty interesting.

A version that tell the brothers Grimm contains no less than three assassination attempts by the jealous stepmother to the beautiful Snow White. At first tried to hang with bands of lace, then try to kill him with a poisoned comb, and finally the well-known attempt to poison apple. But in this case does not desire, because White is drowning and is knocked unconscious, and wakes up not by the prince's kiss ... but the dwarfs.

In the original version Snow White's evil stepmother is forced to dance at the wedding of his stepdaughter with Prince Charming, with sandals very particular in what would be a kind of macabre wedding gift for the princess.
ends This is how the original version of this story:

After donning their best clothes, the queen stood before the mirror and asked:

Mirror, my faithful mirror,
-hanging on the wall,
-the most beautiful in the kingdom,
- can you tell me who is?
"And the mirror replied
" You, my lady, really beautiful
-but in the neighboring country palace
-the young wife is a thousand times.

The wicked queen cursed, and felt so much anxiety, therefore, did not know what to do. At first, he did not want to go to the wedding but could not resist the curiosity had to go and see the young queen.
And when he reached the palace, White acknowledged, and were so great the terror and confusion that was frozen, unable to make a move. But they had gone on fire and iron shoes and brought them with tongs and lay them. And the Queen had to walk and dance in red hot shoes until they fell dead.
Another interesting case is that of Cinderella which are known at least 340 versions, the oldest is from China and dates back to 850. The Brothers Grimm version includes scenes of Cinderella's stepsisters cut off pieces of their feet to put on the glass slipper.

In any event Cinderella offers one of the worst examples of the lowest passions that can nest in the human spirit, and should also evitársele children, as they are: envy, jealousy, animosity toward stepmothers and stepsisters, vanity and attachment to clothing and other material objects.

Another major players in children's literature is the Carlo Collodi's Pinocchio, a wooden puppet who becomes a being of flesh and bone, as a symbol of the evolution towards awareness by the child.
But is it really a Pinocchio children's story?
Read an excerpt from the original version, published in 1881. (Chapter 15: Pinocchio is being chased by murderers, when suddenly, you see the trees a little house "Snow White"):
After a desperate race for nearly two hours, came panting to the door the house and knocked.
No one answered.
He knocked violently, then heard the sound of approaching footsteps and the breathless breathing of his persecutors.

The same silence.

Noting that the call did not help, she began, in desperation, kicking and head to the door. Then he looked out the window a beautiful young blue-haired white face like a wax figure, with eyes closed and hands crossed on his chest, which, without moving his lips, said with a voice that seemed to come from the other World:

"In this house there is none. They're all dead.
- Open up yourself, at least! Cried Pinocchio, sobbing and begging.
"I'm dead.
- Dead? And then what beams in the window?
"I hope the coffin has come to take

But 's dig a little further into the dark world of fairy tales:

version is known that of the Brothers Grimm's Sleeping Beauty, in which the princess is awakened by a chaste kiss of the prince who rescues her, is a condition that eliminates the elements of cannibalism, rape and adultery of the original story.
He appeared in the year 1528, and in him, the prince, not achieved, even though cry, wake the sleeping princess named Talia, proceeded to rape her and then return home to his wife. The princess gives birth to twins and the fact that they suck from her breasts which makes awakening. When the prince goes back to the place and see that Talia has woken up and has two sons takes them all to the palace. The wife, who has no children of their own, try to kill the children of the kingdom by telling the cook to prepare them for dinner. But Prince is aware of the macabre plan time and throws the woman into the fire. Finally Talia married and live happily ... forever.
most terrible thing happens to the skin of an ass story in which the heroine, after the death of his mother, runs away from home to escape sexual harassment of his own father, which is undoubtedly the reason why this story is little known today. This is not surprising, since in the last two hundred years has done nothing to suppress stories or change their original text, losing the stories of their energy and emotion, eventually becoming watered down version.

This is the beginning of the story of a donkey skin:
was once a king who had a wife with golden hair and was so beautiful that there was no equal throughout the land. It happened that got sick and when he realized he was dying, he called the king said
"If after I die want to marry, do not choose any woman as a wife who is not as beautiful as me and you do not have a golden hair like mine. You have to promise me.

And, as it had promised, the Queen closed her eyes and died.

The king tries to marry again, and sent messengers everywhere to find a woman who was as beautiful as the dead queen, but the search is not successful and the story continues:

But the king had a daughter who was as beautiful as her dead mother and also had identical golden hair. When he got older, the king looked at her one day and saw that it was the spitting image of his dead mother, and suddenly felt a passionate love for her. And the king said to his advisers:

"I want to marry my daughter, because it is the exact picture of my dead wife, and not anywhere find a girlfriend like her. Counselors prohibit it, but the king insists. The girl runs away and is covered with a donkey skin to become unrecognizable. But even then he was saved from his fate. The story ends with the following line:

And then they were married and lived happily until his death.

Greetings! and sweet dreams.

Decomposers Vs Scavengers

not treat others as you would not want to do unto you "Dagon

uffff. and has a good to not post anything, but I do not have time. but browsing I came across these images that are to think. Greetings!



ASIA In some countries, people eat live monkey brains. Is so cruel as real, in a interview Xavier Domingo (gourmet) the comments: "In a Saigon restaurant served me a live monkey. was sentadito, bind them in a stroller, the decapitated and then you put a number sauces, and a spoon you eat monkey brains and sauces smearing

do not think this needs explanation.

Best Cruising Spot Nyc

Uff! already had a good without putting something, but I got to travel and did not think much to post something,
The following is from my favorite author Lovecraft, considered by many to be the master of supernatural horror, who wrote the horror genre a world of monsters from space, large dark gods that inhabit the sea or land , that one day end up with the helpless humanity, Lovecraft died in complete anonymity, without having seen life published in a volume of his stories, but here is a very good story.

HP Lovecraft

writing this under an appreciable mental strain, and that when night comes I shall have ceased to exist. Without money, end of my supply drug, which is the only thing that makes life endurable, I can not bear the torture, cast myself from this garret window into the squalid street below. Despite my slavery to morphine, I am not a weak or a degenerate. When you have read these hastily scrawled pages, may be made idea, but not all-of why I have forgetfulness or death.

was in one of the most open and least frequented of the broad Pacific that the packet in which the surcharge was I fell a victim to the German raider. The great war was then in its infancy, and the ocean forces of the Huns were not yet sunk in its subsequent degradation, so that our vessel was legally, and our crew were treated with all the deference and consideration due us as naval prisoners. In fact, so liberal was the discipline of our captors, that five days later managed to escape in a small boat with water and provisions for a long time.

When I finally found myself adrift and free, I had very little idea about my situation. Navigator, I could only guess very vaguely by the sun and the stars that I was somewhat south of Ecuador. I did not know at all how long, and could see no island or coastline. Weather remained good, and for countless days sailing aimlessly in the hot sun, hoping to pass a boat, or be cast on the shores of some habitable land. But neither ship nor land appeared, and began to despair in my solitude in the midst of undulating, unbroken blue immensity.

The change occurred while I slept. I'll never know the details, because my dream, but the town of nightmares, was uninterrupted. When I woke up finally, I discovered that I was half sucked into a kind of viscous black mud that stretched around me, with monotonous undulations as far as the eye, where my boat had penetrated some distance.

Although it is expected that my first reaction was bewilderment at a transformation of the landscape so prodigious and unexpected, in fact I felt more horror than surprise, it was in the atmosphere and surface quality rotting sinister froze my heart. The area was corrupt rotten fish and other less identifiable animals that were emerging in the mud of the unending plain. Perhaps I should not expect to convey with mere words the unutterable disgust that can reign in absolute silence and barren immensity. He could hear nothing, nothing was visible except a vast expanse black silt, although the absolute stillness and the uniformity of the landscape I produced a nauseating terror.

The sun blazed in a sky that seemed almost black by the cruel absence of clouds, it was as if it reflected the murky swamp that was under my feet. To get into the stranded boat, I realized that only one possibility could explain my situation. Thanks to a volcanic upheaval had emerged from the ocean bottom to the surface, exposing regions which for millions of years had lain hidden under unfathomable depths of water. So great was the extent of this new landmass under me, that I could not perceive the slightest sound of waves, much as listening. Nor had seabirds that feed on those dead fish.

For several hours I sat thinking and meditating on the boat, which rested on its side and provided some shade to move the sun in the sky. As the day progressed, the tack was losing ground, so that in time would be dry enough so that it can travel easily. I slept little that night, and the next day I prepared a supply of food and water to the road again in search of the vanished sea and possible rescue.

morning of the third day I noticed that the ground was dry enough to walk through it comfortably. The fishy smell was unbearable, but I had worried about more serious things that bothered me this nasty problem, and I set off towards an unknown goal. Throughout the day I walked steadily westward, guided by a far hill that towered above the other elevations of the rolling desert. I camped that night and the next day I went on the march up the hill, but seemed scarcely closer than the first time I discovered. At dusk on the fourth day I arrived at the foot of the elevation, which turned out to be much higher than it had seemed from afar, was a valley ahead that relief was more pronounced compared to the rest of the surface. Too tired to take the climb, I slept in the shadow of the hill.

do not know why, my dreams were bizarre that night, but before the moon waning gibbous fantastically, had risen very high in the east of the plain, I woke up covered in a cold sweat, determined to sleep no more. The visions she had were too much to bear again. In light of the moon I realized how foolish I had been to travel by day. Without the blazing sun, the progress I would have been less strenuous, in fact, I was again strong enough to tackle the rise that afternoon had not been able to undertake. I gathered my things and started the climb to the crest elevation.

I have said that the unbroken monotony of the rolling plain was a source of vague horror to me, but I think my horror grew as I got to the top of the hill and saw the other side, a huge chasm or canyon, whose black concavity of the moon still shone. I thought I was on the edge of the world, peering from the same song into a fathomless chaos of eternal night. In my terror mingled strange memories of Paradise Lost, and Satan's hideous climb through remote regions of darkness.

When raising over the moon in the sky, I began to notice that the slopes of the valley were not so completely straight as he had imagined. The rock ledges and protrusions was provided relatively comfortable support for the descent, and from a few hundred feet, the decline became more gradual. Moved by an impulse which I can not accurately analyze, I went laboriously through the rocks, until smooth decline, still staring into the Stygian depths which had not yet penetrated the light.

Suddenly, I noticed a single object that was on the opposite side, which stood upright like a hundred yards from where he was I; object that shone with a white glow soon to receive the first rays of the rising moon. I soon saw that she was just a giant rock, but I got the distinct impression that its contour and position were not entirely the work of Nature. A closer examination of feelings filled me impossible to express, for despite its enormous magnitude, and its position in an open pit at the bottom of the sea when the world was young, I realized, beyond doubt, that the strange object was a perfectly carved monolith, whose impressive body art was known and perhaps the worship of living and thinking creatures.

Confused and scared, but not without some excitement of scientific or archaeologist, I examined my surroundings carefully. The moon, now almost at its peak, spectral and vivid looming over the giant steps that surrounded the pit, and revealed a wide stream that ran along the bottom meandering, lost in both directions, almost licking my feet where I had stopped. Across the chasm, the wavelets washed the base of the Cyclopean monolith, on whose surface I could now distinguish crude inscriptions and reliefs. The writing belongs to a system of hieroglyphics unknown to me, unlike anything I had seen in books and mostly consistent Water party schematic symbols such as fish, eels, octopus, crustaceans, molluscs, whales and others. Some of the characters obviously represented marine creatures unknown to the modern world, but whose decomposing bodies were seen on the plain I emerged from the ocean.

However, the reliefs were those most fascinated me. Clearly visible across the stream, because of their enormous proportions, had a series of bas-reliefs whose subjects would have aroused the envy of a Dore. I think that these people claiming to represent men ... at least some kind of men, but appeared as fish frolicking in the waters of some marine grotto, or paying homage to a monolithic monument under the water too. I dare not explore in detail their faces and bodies, since the mere remembrance makes me dizzy. More grotesque than the imagination could conceive of a Poe or a Bulwer, they were damnably human in general, despite webbed hands and feet, shockingly wide lips and flabby, his eyes bulging, glassy, \u200b\u200bmemory and other features less pleasant. Interestingly, they seemed chiseled without proper proportion to the background scenery that served as one of the beings was in the act of killing a whale slightly larger than himself. Observed, As I say, its grotesque and strange dimensions, but a moment later I decided that it was imaginary gods of some tribal fisher or fishing, a tribe whose last descendant had perished before the birth of the first ancestor of the Piltdown man or Neanderthal. Terrified at this unexpected and fleeting vision of a past that was beyond the conception of the most daring anthropologist, I was thoughtful, as the moon bathed in eerie glow the silent channel before me.

Then suddenly I saw it. After a slight agitation betrayed his ascent to the surface, the body came into view above the dark waters. Huge, nasty, Polyphemus that sort of jumped into the monolith as a formidable monster, and nightmarish, and wrapped his huge arms and scaly, while he bowed his head and uttered certain rhythmic cries. I think it freaked out then.

not remember very well the details of my frantic climb up the slope and the cliff, or my crazy back to the stranded boat ... I think I sang a lot, and I laughed insanely when I could not sing. I have a vague recollection of a storm, shortly after arriving at the boat, in any case, I know I heard the roar of thunder and other sounds which Nature utters in their moments of greatest irritation.

When I came out of the shadows, was in a hospital in San Francisco, I had brought the captain of the U.S. ship that had picked up my boat in the middle of the ocean. I talked of many things in my delusions, but I found out that nobody had heeded the words. Those who had rescued me knew nothing about the appearance of a background area in the Pacific ocean, and deems it not necessary to insist on something he knew they would not believe. One day I went to see a famous anthropologist, and I had fun making strange questions about the ancient Philistine legend around Dagon, the fish-god, but then I realized he was a man hopelessly conventional, and I stopped asking.

is at night, especially when the moon is gibbous and waning again, when I see that being. I tried to forget with morphine, but the drug just gives me a temporary injunction, and I was trapped in his claws, becoming his slave without mercy. So I'll stop all this, now that I've told you what happened for information or entertainment disdainful of my peers. I often wonder if there will be a phantasmagoria, a product of the fever that I had in the boat because of the sunlight, when escaped from the German battleship. I wonder many times, but always appears to me, in response, a monstrously vivid vision. I can not think of the deep sea without shuddering at the dire entities that perhaps at this moment you drag and stir in the muddy bottom, to worship their ancient stone idols and carving their own detestable images in underwater wet granite obelisks. I think the day they emerge from the waves, and carried in its claws to the weak steam steaming remains of a war-exhausted mankind ... in the day when the land sinks, and surface ocean bottom amid the universal pandemonium.

The end is near. I hear noise at the door, as if she was struggling in a huge body and slippery. I do not find it. God, that hand! The window! The window!