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Cache memory release GNU / Linux and it works.

Prior to indicate how to clean cache, it is important to know how a GNU / Linux uses memory circuits:

Physical Memory: RAM on your computer.

In use: Memory used by currently running processes.

In buffer: that stores data is pending to be written on the hard disk.

Caching: Save the information generated or required by the latest applications that were running for if they are re-occupied or required in the short term.

Free: unused memory that can be used by new processes or any process that requires it.

Swap: swapping, physical memory is busy on the computer RAM .

With the objective of how it is being used RAM of our team, we can use the free command.

1: For this open a terminal write the following:
root @ debian: ~ # free-m

example of how it works: Memory computer's RAM.

We charge 2 applications first occupies about 200mb 100mb and the second one in GNU / Linux system stops stored in the cache memory load applications the first time, as we see it, because the first time we open a program, their workload is very slow unlike the second time that it takes too long less and that the program is in the cache memory.

The cache is released alone but if we clean as we have many programs loaded at once and do not need them there the following commands denuevo.

0: No free nada:

root @ debian: ~ # echo0> / proc / sys / vm / drop_caches

1: Unleash pagecache:

root @ debian: ~ # echo1> / proc / sys / vm / drop_caches

2: Free

inode y dentro:

root @ debian: ~ # echo2> / proc / sys / vm / drop_caches

3: Free pagecache, y inodos dentries:

root @ debian: ~ # echo3> / proc / sys / vm / drop_caches

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Welcome to the Book Fair

Every year the same thing: advertising, culture, writers, entertainers, sales, all read, a city of culture, etc. And my standard response: that event will not go to shit, in fact, just to show the ignorance that permeates the air! I think I've gone three times, at most, and this year, fell again. My goal: walk like an idiot for potential publishers, if any, to take an independent line that fit my writing, dare to care and post my two books of stories and / or my novel. Lost time. I was about four hours wandering around this place full of ads, promotions and catalogs, wholesale, and only found a handful of independent publishers, romantic enough (or insane) enough to pay their small space promotion. Take this opportunity to recommend one of Medellín, beautiful, sober, dedicated to art and, of course, with little public (compared with the multinational publishers): "Skylight Publishers." None of them suited my books, or otherwise. For the rest: very little. It was not long when I discovered I had wasted the money of the input (the same money could serve out a book to buy second hand or, depending on the whim of the moment, a couple of beers). And now confirm what I've always thought, the Bogotá Book Fair (do not know how they will the other, but I guess that must seem) is a waste. For those (like me) who still believe that literature (novels, short stories, drama, poetry) is the guest of honor at this charade fair, the reality will be a bitter blow, not only for what they will encounter in the stands full of light and sellers hypocritical smile, but what that entails, including the social and global. By my calculations, literature occupies 40%, at most, the books are consumed by the reader of circumstances. The rest is occupied and dominated by self-improvement books, traffic religious beliefs, recipes and engineering, marketing and how to be a success. It is normal, that's what people want to consume, and as the public is given to purchase and emotional and spiritually inclined so that the "market" imposed, then there is nothing to do, go into a world that will end up killing the nobility of art and literature. And if you do not believe me, then just walk through the stands of multinational publishers (I will not say names to avoid lawsuits), like supermarkets, they stuffed in a single place all their products, plus products published by small publishers that are gone and now are part of their empires. The result is horrible and sad is a literature yes. But mixed with other books, the most idiotic consumers like. And by analyzing the titles of the novels or books of short stories or poetry, you realize that even they are part of a marketing strategy very well organized by transnational trafficking monsters letters. Le strategy is nothing but sell cheap literature and easy to eat, books that can be easily read by an uneducated public. In addition, to further convince the masses, these books should be accompanied by large signs in red letters displaying the number of copies sold around the world or top-notch awards he has won the writer (awards given by their own leaders: the big publishers. Like a snake biting its tail the award is given to those who guarantee success in sales). I say again: I am a nuisance and most people I read ends up hating, but if not me, then who will? Think about it: no need for a fair and all the publicity to achieve the same cultural role. Because in this damn show is the same as in any street or on television advertising, the same tomes flights. The purpose of the fair is to promote culture, as the organizers intend to make you think, authorities, politicians or even the guest writers who come to chats cheap and tacky in which they wallow in their fifteen minutes of popularity. No! The Book Fair is alive because the people are increasingly crude and ignorant. So it is with politics, just look at the kind of rabble that has more popular support. But is that people are so easy to master, you just have to smile and make you believe you are doing something for his own good when in fact it is stealing the life and soul. The mob believes more in the hypocritical smiles and statistics on what your flesh feel and your mind suffers. And now imagine the headlines idiot "Input record in the Book Fair" or "Colombians read more than twenty years ago." And everyone is happy (especially the multinational publishers). Well, in my case, back to thinking about literature contests (but small. Not that reward those who already have fame and reputation), and try to save for self-release my books that nobody reads. One more tip: Do not go to the book fair! If you want a book, there are a few libraries with beautiful treasures waiting to be read.

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dancing bodies.

Some may call me old fashioned, others perhaps more extreme, bitter, a few say that I am envious. But it is very easy to label me as outdated, bitter or envious, the reality is more complex to shut myself up in three simple words. However, careful thought, I would not know what other terms to use. So call me whatever you want, my life will remain the same, I am a construction of myself and, truth be told, I feel good, very good. Last night I checked again as she watched them dance. It was a nightclub in the city center (I will not say names because I have not received money from advertising). It is not that frequent these establishments, but this time I was invited by a friend to celebrate his departure, so that nothing do: I was surrounded by hundreds, thousands, millions of crowded and sweaty dancing bodies in convulsive movements. Fortunately, my beloved wife was with me between drinks, make fun of them and talk about things of beauty, dreams, poetry. What a delight to share the soul with another soul! The universe is infinite thought it was not, and really love a woman discovers that an enclosed living and the possibilities stretched far beyond. So what you believed was finite infinity, and the discovery of eternity it has become apparent. We laughed. Our position is privileged: we are in a kind of balcony, you only need to look down to find the chaos and frenzy of dancing bodies. It bothers me, bothers me extremely; is ugly, vulgar, rude. His skin shines, her limbs vibrate, its exhalations are solidified in the increasingly heavy air. Look at the faces, dear. They look like rubber masks, stretch and contract, are lost within their own gestures. And the eyes are lost, only see the whites, they are ghosts, ghosts in ecstasy. Men look to face challenging: "I am the male in this place, the women swoon at my dance and I give their sex. It will be a triumph for me, a man of truth. Fuck and never see you again." So many males believe be evolutionary peaks, but are just hairless apes, and, worse still, moving his body to the rhythm of that strange music. Pum, pum, pum. Legs to one side to the other arms. And looks, eyes challenging through the course of other perspectives: the lustful, the pheromones that capture crowding the place. Women like snakes move sensually haunted by the sound of a magic flute. Hips to one side to the other. Sex longing eyes. "Here I am. My body wants to be touched. Tonight will not sleep alone." New hip movements, accompanied by erotic gaze. Hands sliding across the shiny surface and sweaty. Boil. And the lights, which come from everywhere, light, go out, go on, go out ... Pum, pum, pum. All dance, are outlined, offer their flesh. Under the floor there is a gigantic monster, whose skin has many hairs human bodies seem to dance in the disco. It's kind of anemone, their limbs jelly you want with each other. My wife and I are under the sea and watched the ripples of these puddings venereal human. No, no love. They only move because the ocean current is in that direction. I propose one thing, my darling. Take the road against the current. Let us leave this world of moods and sweats, and we will continue to create our universe. Dance, dance. But just you and me. Let us round and round, revolve with infinitely. And let us love forever, away from them, away from the anemone.

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World Sterniano Pinbalero

Exploring the new Stern Pinball website I found a stray keep their machines worldwide thanks to data provided by visitors. So you put the link here, non-compete with the fabulous initiative and Street Hamstersoldier Pinbalero English (or English Pinball Map, which is more professional) that can locate all the pinballs that have been sighted by Forum User Multiball.

Toni.

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Street Mick Jagger plays the TRS (The Rolling Stones)

With Metroider account on Facebook I discovered as Mick Jagger plays his own pinball

Pretty bad, indeed. As the girls: the two flippers at the same time. Pfffffffffftttt ... Jajajajaaaaaaaa ....

Edit: Unfortunately the video has been removed by YouTube. The looked like Mick Jagger discovered and played in a TRS that an acquaintance had bought for your home or studio. And poor Mick not enough to separate the neurons that handle each hand.

Toni.

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Fallen.

Oil, latex, wire on canvas. 100 x 70 cm. 2007.

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The new New Basket in

Another pinball you can also enjoy FER-Interazar 2011 is the New Basket Antonio Cruz, of which there are 4 copies on the stand of Oren. Antonio has launched a new version (version 6.0, January 2011) with several changes in the plates and furniture, and some other changes to its software that speed up on-screen graphics display compared to previous versions

Toni.

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FER FER-Interazar In 2011

Fer-Interazar comes a little earlier this year, late March instead of late September. Soon as you enter the pavilion have been missing a few games in the Avatar and the Rolling Stones with Jerome, Cocamatic in its stand. Three Avatar The Rolling Stones and three free play to test, three balls per game. Honestly, I really liked the TRS, a lot more to the Avatar, though both were very, very pretty flat pitch. The TRS is a pinball ... how to say ... very cane!

I also commented that may well come Gary Stern.

Toni.

President George Cb Reviews

in the theater.

Saturday night. Play. And twenty minutes have passed, and excited, I find that I get into the plot. An actor enters, an actress out. Dialogue, exchange of light, an object that appears in the back of the stage. A romance, a tragedy. New set of lights and soft music to accompany the scene. The actor appears white hat, under the overhead light exposes a couple of thoughts and disappears on the other side. I am even more into the work. One of the actors facing the audience. Behind me something is moving. And then begins to mourn. Forward, the work continues, but I out, and I'm not inside. Crying at my back continues, it becomes strong, unbearable. Then silence. I try to pick up the thread of the situation. An actress with a sad face. Changing lights. Scene interesante.Cinco minutes pass. And, again, crying in the back row. Stronger. Lasts ten minutes. Is a child of about three years, camouflaged among the public. The play follows their rhythm. But I lost concentration. The child cries, screams, yells. It is hopeless.
- Shut up! "I say to the creature turned his head. Or at least go to mourn outside.
The child looks at me with watery eyes. Now she cries louder. That fight with boys I'm good. Although, as always, turn out badly. I will mourn too. The play ends, I do not know how. Next time. The actors do the came. Applause. I'm angry, but I applaud, also. Lights. the public sale. The little boy in her arms coat of parents. Morons.
One more thing: If you did not withstand the desire to fuck and had an unwanted child, not my fault that I drag through life like a dog. Now it's time to take responsibility and to forget his old bohemian life. A child has changed their lives. And although the audience in the room is large came here for something else and not your damn tragedy. Oh, and do not put that face disfigured. I'm serious.
Now: if the child was planned, congratulations. The zygote will grow legs and be an exemplary human future, maybe even a social success. But that does not change the thing: it is a part of you and not us.
Son will have to make life miserable for those parents trash. Look at them: Dad and Mom are selfish. Just think of themselves, and what happens around them give a damn. In fact, your life is nothing to them. Chastise please, I know a stupid boy, desjuiciado unbearable. Suffering those damned.
Another thing: Does the boy paid ballot?

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New Era. (NEW AGE). Doubts

                 Óleo sobre lienzo. 120 x 100 cm. Año 2008.

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come to me. Mami

Bueno. Una vez más, las dudas ramificadas que tanto molestan a los que deben (porque no pueden hacerlo de otro modo) vivir la cotidianidad sin sentir en sus poros y en sus pensamientos aquella corrosiva y constante sensación de incertidumbre. ¿De qué? De todo. Soy fastidioso, lo sé. Mis relaciones sociales no pululan, y me cerraron la cuenta de Facebook por tener pocos amigos (mi existencia no es económicamente rentable). El caso es que las dudas y su aplicación al circo social, la crítica, aparecen back into the dark horizon of my words. And the words came with haste to take his place in this area without space. The question: in this case my enemy will come, once again, the circle of chauvinist and ultra-Colombians (almost everyone in this country blind.) The subject is topical, and more than a climber will be speaking about his life although he never touched that mysterious and dangerous object called "book." This is the latest winner of the prestigious Alfaguara Novel Prize. A very well groomed Colombian whose literary opinions can be read in a newspaper well known in the country. His name is Juan Gabriel Vásquez, I think; and his novel "The sound of things falling" was imposed on who knows how many hundreds of novels of lesser quality. I accept: I have never read that book you just lucky to win more than 100,000 euros, plus a name framed in gold in the annals of American literature. I guess the guy writes well, do not think the reward Alfaguara a bad book. But here's the question that I will win nationalist separate attacks: Mr. Vasquez was on the jury of the same award the previous year (2010). The issue here is not envy or smear, it's about ethics. For more than cavilo and try to solve the thorny issue I do not understand how someone who has been a judge of a prize and that, therefore, has an employment relationship and emotional bond with the company that awarded the prize, can now turn out to be the new winner of the same. It is mysterious, I know. Perhaps, despite what my logic says, things make this noise when they fall. The problem is that my naivety I also said that there are certain things that must not fall, and the nature (at least ideal) will ensure a perpetual floating. Colombian friends: they can be proud because a subject of their land has won a new award. Uncertainty. And I had plans to participate in the 2012 prize with a novel I just finished. Now, do not I will. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I see ghosts where none exist. The winners write well, otherwise they would not win. But there are inexplicable issues that put into question the transparency of certain things. Well, maybe a novel writer has had or will have the good fortune of being in a situation so favorable. But I think such cases are very small. A publisher is a company and as such must increase its financial investment. Sales should recover the money given to the winner, and it is better that it not be a stranger. But why hold a competition? If profitability is the well-known writers should be spared the inconvenience of receiving more than 500 will not read novels. Moreover, should prevent some dreamers (how do I?) Send their works to try their luck. Of course maybe I'm wrong. Someday someone will tell me it was. Perhaps there will come a time when I will have to be famous, my picture appears in the media and say after winning a prestigious award: "No doubt, no uncertainty. Everything is clear." Anyway, I do not twist my arm. Hard work should be rewarded. And I can not help thinking that everyone, including those who have the grace to be recognized for their works, were once strangers. The road starts from scratch. So, more obstacles and spectra there, it is necessary to move forward.

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Nelly.

A guy asked me to do a portrait of my grandmother and this was the result ...

Oil on canvas. 100 x 120 cm. 2008.

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Letter to the organizers of an exhibition.

The following is the letter I sent to the organizers of an exhibition. I did after one of the artists send me a private letter, requesting my participation in your project, something that, I suppose, were the other artists who wanted to expose. It is worth saying that even before receiving it, I knew that my work was not selected to participate. I'm not complaining about it, in fact imagine that the artists selected are high level. Direct my complaint is with the organizers for allowing one of the artists were selected if possible, through the name of the institution and have access to my data.

Good morning.

write because yesterday I received a private mail which sent me back the portfolio to participate in the Salon de Arte BBVA, Bank Names New Republic 2010. Beside it was a letter from Mr. Alejandro Mancera Obando, one of those selected to exhibit their work in the classroom, requesting the participation of other artists interested in exhibiting. It seems very strange that one of those selected to access data from the rest of those who send our proposals, and also come to our home the application for help with his work. I do not think that is very unethical on the part of the organizers of the data room of artists are sent to Mr. Mancera Obando. In my case, when sending the request, because I thought the institution bore some responsibility, and respect for the artists involved. I do not know, nor do I care, what is the relationship of Mr. Mancera Obando with the organizers. What I find unacceptable is that he has access, through a private courier Arts Hall of BBVA, the other.

hope that situations like this do not happen again.

Greetings.

Olarte Oscar Gomez.

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First step to success.

Yesterday I experienced one of those short-term and unforgettable moments in my wandering in the social jueguillo, the experience is even more critical when I was the subject experimenter: a poor devil born in this minestrone of slime called Colombia . I guess the event may seem normal in the eyes of any ordinary citizen, those who grew up with dreams of worm and that, therefore, now living in the safety of their slumber social, intellectual, spiritual and emotional. Rather, an individual as the majority. But for me, weirdo since I use consciousness, especially In drunks, murderers and swindlers, the matter was an aura of bliss, I think for the first time I felt that "someone" and that, although it seems crazy, I can be part of this society of mental alienation. It happened in the family court Bogotá second in the race seventh, right next to the place where the body of Jorge Eliecer Gaitán fell under the weight of hatred (something equally common among Colombians) in orders from some unhappy certain criminal mind. He was then in that sanctuary tinterillos and bureaucrats asking, rather begging, I issue a paper filed in the folio such, the green notebook of 1993. Clarify the way that the document was not mine, fortunately because there is nothing more detestable than families using judges, but was commissioned by an acquaintance who could not appear personally. After making fruitless row, as all here, and patiently endure the ugly faces of those who were there (because the populace crouched against the bureaucracy is extremely ugly), finally came face to face civil servant salamander and I stated the reason for my presence in that dismal place. It was then that came to me the glorious moment of nirvana: the woman, about fifty years I looked into his eyes and rushing diligence, call me "Doctor." A chill, very similar to what happens at the time of ejaculation, through my whole body. This woman had called me Doctor! To me! By that time the bureaucracy was pushed into the background, everything is unified in that single moment when I stopped being an anonymous individual and unimportant, to become a prominent and proud DOCTOR. I know that the event seems banal, but again it is not, my life suddenly became something that was worth, in the eyes of others had climbed, without meaning to, some seats in the always competitive social reality. Before there was nothing: a poor vagabond, with no future and no success. But now ... now. I went to meet with the bustle of the polluted city, with the breast look swollen and dignity. Around me my fellow traveled: DOCTORS, thousands, millions of DOCTORS. In Colombia, a DOCTOR not a doctor. No, to get to be part of this association of higher beings need only wear a tie, smiling with an appropriate tone and give the appearance of dominating the world because they know the secrets of social functioning and success; rather have money. The more economic power, the more number of doctors to the understanding of the crowd. Alegre, feeling that he could begin to be part of this society, I continued my route and thought about the many possibilities that opened before me. It was a doctor, the rest would come by. I could steal. kill, stripped of his belongings to the families honored, could aspire to public office or start my own business, I could pretend to do good while I benefited financially, could be admired out in the media, eat in area G, drug trafficking, pray to gods, fondling children, promote wars. The whole world was now in my hands. Finally lead a social life.

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the pond. Convicted

Throughout the history of mankind, regardless of geographic area or type of race, mankind has had to work, not merely a matter of personal taste, but because working means, in the fund, bringing food to his mouth and have a home, or rather, to survive in the world. But it has also been a constant in our history the fact that certain individuals are much more ambitious than those of the simple fact of eating well or be quiet, this is very normal, even I have the ambition to constantly be drinking a bottle of alcohol. However, when ambitions are so exaggerated that they become greed, greed being subjected to other human beings by making them work for him, thus satisfying its excesses and believe superior their fellow workers. Humans have always been enslaved by other humans, most of the time through the use of force, although there have been valid and effective other methods, for example to convince the slaves that work ennobling, or that there is a god who helps and loves those who must work and suffer more. In the time when I lived had become very fashionable these methods subtle but powerful. So now most people work doing something you really do not want to do, watching helplessly as food prices rise, while their wages stagnate , although the working time increases, and life happens. It is extremely difficult to find someone really happy with their situation, so I could check to analyze the faces of people entering the restaurant, most of them good workers . In terms of output, the only really happy or satisfied were those that tested Mrs. Judith honeys, but the rest reflected in his eyes a shadow of frustration caused by the fact returning to their offices to meet the duty. My case, however, proved to be very special: she worked for several hours a day, though fortunately not as many as he touched many others. Without But he did not earn almost nothing. If there were more jobs to do in the restaurant, either before or after my normal time, Mrs. Judith insurance have forced me to stay on the ground crawling with fatigue, and yet my wages have not risen, as often happens in the normality of modern societies. Of course, I would have agreed to bowing his head, since he had no no other choice in my life. But the restaurant had no night care, as far as I know. I do not know if this was or was not suitable for my situation, I really believe that nothing would change my life if I work more or less , or, if you were to receive a salary increase, and especially since a long time (I think since I use consciousness) I lost all kinds of illusions or dreams (apart from drinking). Of all However this eventually happens to most humans, although they are difficult to accept. Man was born to be enslaved by their own greed and the satisfaction of these obligations necessarily to enslave others. The only advantage or disadvantage I had was that in my innermost being, in these dialogues I had with myself and the world around me had come to a superconscious state of me same: I was a slave. knowing I could get to take everything as if it were a game, so I smiled, and even with the aid of brandy, I had fun.


Extract story "The pond", written in 2008.