30 June 2014

Tricky la Bucuresti si albumul lui nou din 08/09/2014

n-am vrut sa scriu despre concert dar daca tot am citit acuma despre faptul ca scoate un album nou pe 08/09/2014 - hai sa scriu ce am crezut despre ce-am vazut pe 27/06/2014 la Bucuresti
Tricky e un personaj special asa ca nu putea fi altfel decat speciala prestatia lui
a fost cam beat, a fost cam lipsit de inspiratie deci nu a cantat mult, a fost cam agresiv si cam lipsit de sensibilitatea de care cred ca da dovada la fiece concert
in primele trei piese eram sigura ca nu e el pe scena, ca-i un intro facut de altcineva
apoi i-am recunoscut miscarile dar nu si energia 
mi-i trist dar nu prea trist
e Tricky, trebuia sa vad si asta in una din calatoriile mele spre soarele trip-hop-ului
in mailul primit de pe situl lui se vorbeste despre albului nou ce urmeaza sa se intituleze Adrian Thaws
si acolo scrie asa “Calling it Adrian Thaws is saying you don’t really know me,” says Tricky of his 11th album. “So many times people have tried to put a finger on me and every album I go to a different place.”
am cunoscut si partea asta, nu tare profesionista, tare rupta si tare obosita
asta-i una din piesele de pe albumul nou
nu prea suna pozitiv si inspirat tot ce-am scris dar nu-i asa de rau cum parea
uneori viata-i mult mai trista decat concertul lui Tricky :)

u e

You will never be able to experience everything. So, please, do poetical justice to your soul and simply experience yourself. ~Albert Camus

Massive Attack, Banks, Holy Other, Nosaj Thing, Darkstar si alti oameni frumosi

Bill Viola

cuvintele n-ar putea explica ce-i arta lui Bill Viola
nici ochii mei mari nu cred ce-au vazut
doar simturile au trait ceva magic
ceva ce  e in procesare acum
nu-i "frumos"
nu-i "impresionant"
nu-i "fantastic", "fabulos", "emotionant"
e toate astea si mult, mult mai mult
am vazut expozitia de la Grand Palais
am simtit atat constructie cat si deconstructie
atat caldura cat si distanta
am facut o calatorie intr-un om pe care nu-l cunosteam
acuma il traiesc, zi de zi
e tare putin material video de calitate din lucrarile lui
cel mai impresionant cred ca e asta

29 June 2014

imersiune in oameni

oamenii care ne cunosc
si ne iubesc
si ne iau in brate
si ne leagana pana adormim
ei nu pun intrebari
ei nu vor sa cunoasca secrete
ei tac si asteapta
cu ochii inchisi
cu chakrele deschise
mereu prezenti
imposibili de focalizat
eye floaters

oamenii ne dau cantece
cantecele ne dau oameni

phan.o

I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we’re both unhappy, and we both suffer. ~Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot

26 June 2014

spionandu-l pe Rothko

Fac o mica cercetare
Stau si-i urmaresc
Poate fi doar o impresie
Dar poate fi si un adevar
Oamenii care se uita la Rothko
Isi rod unghiile
Nu-si gasesc locul
Se fac mititei
Se streseaza
Panicheaza
Rothko nu-i lasa indiferenti
El problematizeaza
Sentimental
Emotional
Metafizic
Imi place tare de el
Broadcasted live from Pompidou

20 June 2014

back to the roots

ma duc
o sa revin
si mai plina
si mai inflorita
si mai insorita
si mai si

back
to
the
roots

Marinus vin!
ps. the roots are near
the roots are here

Adrian Teleşpan - Cimitirul

imi plac cartile indraznete, sincere si uimitoare
chiar de-s dure sau cam vulgare
am gasit una recenta
abordeaza teme care-mi sunt interesante
pare taioasa si bine scrisa
mi-am recomandat-o

doua citate care mi-au placut mult:
1. Sunt un ratat. Un ratat care știe că e un ratat, ceea ce e cu atât mai dureros.

2. Însă cel mai mult și cel mai mult îmi place să îmi doresc ce n-am. Bani și faimă, deobicei. Îmi zicea cineva la un moment dat că prin asta îmi doresc să compensez lipsa dragostei parentale din perioada copilăriei. Eu cred că e mai mult de atât. La lipsa afecţiunii se adaugă frustrarea că se putea să am pula mai mare, că m-am îngrășat, că fumez mult, că gâfâi și obosesc din ce în ce mai tare atunci când mă fut, că sunt prea păros, iar epilat arăt ca dracu’, că nu sunt în stare să le spunadevărul oamenilor celor mai apropiaţi pentru că am aria mea de confort relaţional pe care nu vreau s-o fut.

in alta ordine de idei, tot la tema "we're all gay"

ps.

Alcohol

imi place tare Guinness-ul
si Jagermeister-ul
si Baileys-il
imi place euforia ce urmeaza bautul unui shot
si-mi place libertatea care parca da din tine cand bei
imi place sa dansez si sa comunic cu oamenii (sau sa incerc)
nu-mi place mahmureala dar stiu ca face parte din program
si-mi place de Bukowski si de lirica lui betiva
m-am uitat la un scurt metraj mi-a amintit de Leaving Las Vegas (1995)
m-a marcat mult filmul ala
e dur si-i poetic si e plin de dragoste si de nebunie
tre sa-l revad

alcoolul dauneaza grav sanatatii dumneavoastra
da-i tare fun
da-i periculos
tre de moderat
moderat?
Moderat!

Banks - Warm water

imi place apa
imi place de fete frumoase
imi place sa ma indragostesc
imi place cand am murasti
imi place sa merg in calatorii
imi place de oameni dragi
imi place apa

19 June 2014

Sweet Dreams Bonobo 'Mix'

somn usor iubire
we own the night

Tracklist:
0:00 = Bonobo - Silver
6:30 = Active Child - Hanging On
11:40 = Bonobo - All in Forms
16:25 = Phaeleh - Should Be True
23:05 = Bonobo - We Could Forever
27:12 = Phaeleh - Nothing's Wrong
31:45 = Bonobo - Brace Brace
38:38 = Phaeleh - In the Twilight
44:50 = Bonobo - The Keeper Banks Remix
50:50 = Koda - Hands
55:40 = Bonobo - Stay the Same
1:00:20 = Koda - Limnos
1:04:48 = Bonobo - Kiara
1:09:46 = Koda - Labyrinth
1:14:08 = Bonobo ft Bajka

Gregory Colbert - Ashes and Snow (2005)

asta-i poezie vizuala
asta-i desen pe spatele elefantului
asta-i mers pe apa
 
asta-i cantat la strune de nisip
asta-i un miracol
 
asta-i sentimentul de beatitudine
asta-i murasti

asta-i cand stai in cada si auzi oceanul
  cand esti in avion si ai aripi 
cand buiucaniul este centrul universului
iar tu un fir de nisip in calatoriea lui astrala

asta-i frumos

asta-i acasa

18 June 2014

hurt

ma gandeam azi la durere si la cei care o provoaca

defapt cei care suporta durerea sunt cei care o accepta, de cele mai dese ori
tre sa acceti ca asta e durere si apoi sa o suporti, nu?

si din momentul in care constientizezi acceptarea durerii cred ca esti mai eliberat de ea un pic

nu stiu bine ce inseamna asta si cum tre sa faci ca s-o accepti sau s-o constientizezi dar merita incercat 
You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world…but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. ~John Green

Joy Division

n-am fost niciodata tare mare fan Joy Division
mereu mi-a parut interesanta si profunda muzica lor
dar un pic depresiva, tare trista
am inceput sa ma uit la acest documentar ca sa inteleg
si sunt in proces de a intelege
si de cunoastere a Manchesterului
si-i miau

17 June 2014

Dalai Lama's guide to happiness

from now on i must make a new person
same body but a new person

Deep Forest

vorbeam cu copacii
si cu florile
si cu iarba
cu iarba cel mai mult
si ma intindeam in forma de steluta pe ea
si contemplam stelele pana dimineata
si ascultam pasarile
si ma scaldam in iaz in zori
si eram parte din natura
si ea din mine
si ascultam multa muzica chill
si eram un copil fericit

when in doubt, give.~ Bjork

cred ca am dubii des
tre de dat mai mult
si nu tre de uitat
ca este multa < 3 in lume

ps. am gasit un dictionar care se numeste "The Lover's Dictionary" scris de David Levithan
(poate fi gasit aici
n-am citit mult din el dar sunt chestii miau gen 
"abyss, n. 
There are times when I doubt everything. When I regret everything you’ve taken from me, everything I’ve given you, and the waste of all the time I’ve spent on us."

pps. toti suntem un pic dansatori, un pic orbi si un pic in doubt
filmul asta-i miau
vreau sa-l revad
Dancer in the Dark (2000)

16 June 2014

Dogma (1999)

e timpul de ras un pic
si-i timpul de gandit un pic
la chestiile care constituie
o mare parte a culturii noastre
spiritualitatea
umanitatea
dragostea
prietenia
religia
scopul existentei
forta viselor
umorul negru
bataia de joc gratuita
drogurile
muzica tare
strip cluburile
exploziile
si alte chestii miau

Un chien andalou (1929)

perioada interbelica
vremuri ciudate
se intalnesc doi
Luis Bunuel si Salvador Dali
fac un film
de 17 minute
cu scene tare rupte
ochi taiati
pasiuni obsedante
moarte
sex
si tango
devine cult
happy end 

True detective - monoloagele penisului

nu ma prea uit la seriale
in special detective
dar in True Detective dialogurile dintre Matthew McConaughey si Woody Harrelson sunt fantastice
in special alea cu tenta filosofica si existentiala
temele religiei, trairilor si existentei in general sunt atat de misto abordate
iata cateva citate din episodul 1 care, boy oh boy, tare mi-au mai placut

1. I'd consider myself a realist, alright? But in philosophical terms I'm what's called a pessimist. I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself. We are creatures that should not exist by natural law. We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, that accretion of sensory experience and feelings, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everbody's nobody. I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing. Walk hand in hand into extinction. One last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.

2. I contemplate the moment in the garden, the idea of allowing your own crucifixion.

3. We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self. This accretion of sensory experience and feeling, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody when, in fact, everybody's nobody.

varianta integrala a dialogului:

dintr-un episode urmator vine si asta:

tare bun
ps. imi place imaginea asta

pps. tre de lasat serialele si de apucat de teza

pps. inca doua, mmm

4. In eternity, where there is no time, nothing can grow. Nothing can become. Nothing changes. So death created time to grow the things that it would kill. And you are reborn. But into the same life that you’ve always been born into. I mean, how many times have we had this conversation, detectives? Well, who knows? When you can’t remember your lives, you can’t change your lives, and that is the terrible and the secret fate of all life. You’re trapped by that nightmare you keep waking up into.

5. It’s like in this universe, we process time linearly forward but outside of our spacetime. From what would be a fourth-dimensional perspective, time wouldn’t exist, and from that vantage, could we attain it. We’d see our spacetime would look flattened, like a single sculpture with matter in a superposition of every place it ever occupied, our sentience just cycling through our lives like carts on a track. See, everything outside our dimension, that’s eternity, eternity looking down on us. Now, to us, it’s a sphere, but to them it’s a circle.

15 June 2014

Archive - Violently

nu-mi place violenta
doar uneori, in conditii speciale si intime
o pot accepta
si in momente de explozie stelara tot
in rest incerc sa ma controlez
sa blochez orice impuls
sa tac si sa rabd
pana trece
uneori insa nu trece
mintea mea imi saboteaza fortele
si lasa libere pornirile demente
si atunci mai vreau sa iau bâta
si sa sparg toate vasele din casa
si atunci tre sa cante Archive
ei stiu cum tre de cantat
in asa fel incat vasele sa fie sparte
in ritmul violentei cathartice
who the fuck?

nu despre homofobie

pe la varsta de 8-9 ani, mama mi-a povestit de Banchetul lui Platon si despre oameni si sentimentele lor pentru alti oameni, fie ei de sex opus sau ba
mi-a povestit despre dragote, sex, cuplu, unitate, divinitate si multe alte chestii
toate astea m-au format si am devenit omul care considera ca toti au dreptul la fericire si la dragoste 
si nimeni nu are dreptul sa intervina in viata ta pentru a-ti spune ce e bine sau ba
si nu trebuie sa astepti acordul unei persoane terte pentru a fi fericit in cuplu
sunt in preajma mea o sumedenie de oamnei care au pareri divergente despre homosexualitate, schimbare de sex, comportament corect, etc. si e ok cu mine sa nu fii de acord cu ceva dar azi, vazand acest post de la Morgan m-am gandit iar ca e bine sa ai parerea ta dar e rau sa ti-o impui
si atunci cand o impui in mod violent devii asshole si basta
 
nu am vrut sa spun cu asta decat ca-mi place de Morgan si de atitudinea lui
si-am mai vrut sa subliniez faptul ca suntem egali, liberi, frumosi, diferiti si in asta consta puterea noastra
hai sa ne iubim si sa ne acceptam si sa crestem impreuna
we can do it
ps. uite cat de diferiti suntem:

Emanative - Petite planete

planeta mica
albastra
plina de organisme vii
zglobii
plina de culori
sunete
aici s-a nascut jazzul
aici
ps. e calda piesa asta ma face sa ma gandesc la mama

13 June 2014

armonie


oamenii din jurul nostru ne schimba
vietile
sentimentele
comportamentele

oamenii din jurul nostru ne ranesc
sufletele
trupurile
mintile

oamenii din jurul nostru ne fac fericiti
nu
renunta
niciodata

GusGus - Another life

sunt chestii care le poti schimba si in viata asta
sunt altele care nu mai pot fi schimbate
si tre s-o astepti pe urmatoarea
uneori e de bine
alteori - nu
dar, ca si taj mahal-ul rumegat de vaca
asta-i o chestie peste care tre de trecut
cantec cu clip dedicat Lidei ps. albumu-i aici

12 June 2014

An alchemical formula to rip a hole in the fabric of reality

am descoperit azi ca exista o carte care se numeste Book of Lies: The Disinformation Guide to Magick and the Occult
inca nu am inceput sa o citesc dar din numele autorilor eseurilor publicate in ea pare a fi o lectura promitatoare

taj mahal

uneori taj mahal-ul tau e rumegat de o vaca
si viata pare sa sa nu mai aiba sens
dar tre de continuat de trait, nu?

i barcuta you Marinus

wake the f*** up

11 June 2014

find the loved staircase


find what you love and let it kill you. ~ Charles Bukowski

everlasting amazement

cred ca noi suntem toti intr-un circuit deschis
plin de posibilitati
si de solutii
si ca e tare fine sa le explorezi
si-i fine sa traiesti

We accept the love we think we deserve.

caldut, binisor, vara, soare, oameni dragi, muzica buna, planuri serioase si, mai ales, murasti :)
si atunci cand eroii copilariei tale se pupa, mmmurasti!
Fox Moulder & Dana Scully - X-Files

10 June 2014

Reaching Out Sentence Length

imuabila stare de beatitudine

trezeste zambetul interior

un gadilit pe cerul gurii si go
  

Jean Anouilh - Antigone

anti gone = pro stay

textul integral in franceza e aici

spectacolul jucat destul de binisor e mai jos
   
hai sa stam, 
sa citim, 
sa ne uitam 
si-n final sa ne aruncam de pe divan 
direct pe covor

C'est propre, la tragédie.
C'est reposant, c'est sûr.

Rien n'est vrai que ce qu'on ne dit pas… 

Oui, j'aime Hémon. J'aime un Hémon dur et jeune; un Hémon exigeant et fidèle, 
comme moi. Mais si votre vie, votre bonheur doivent passer sur lui avec leur usure, si 
Hémon ne doit plus pâlir quand je pâlis, s'il ne doit plus me croire morte quand je suis en 
retard de cinq minutes, s'il ne doit plus se sentir seul au monde et me détester quand je 
ris sans qu'il sache pourquoi, s'il doit devenir près de moi le monsieur Hémon, s'il doit 
appendre à dire «oui», lui aussi, alors je n'aime plus Hémon. 

shlohmo lui diplo

Maturing is realizing how many things don’t require your comment. ~Rachel Wolchin
asa ca no comment, doar muzicuta incetisoara si sexy

pupusor matinal

Natalie Dorsch - Just Because

I walked up the door,
shut the stairs,
said my shoes,
took off my prayers,
turned off my bed,
got into the light,
     all because
you kissed me goodnight.
degraba pupusor si la noi pe stadion!!! 
vocea asta, mmm

09 June 2014

let me tell you 5 jokes

Jean-Paul Sartre is sitting at a French café, revising his draft of Being and Nothingness. He says to the waitress: “I’d like a cup of coffee, please, with no cream.” The waitress replies: “I’m sorry, Monsieur, but we’re out of cream. How about with no milk?

How many surrealists does it take to screw in a light bulb? A fish.

A programmer’s wife tells him: “Run to the store and pick up a loaf of bread. If they have eggs, get a dozen.” The programmer comes home with 12 loaves of bread

Werner Heisenberg, Kurt Gödel, and Noam Chomsky walk into a bar. Heisenberg turns to the other two and says: “Clearly this is a joke, but how can we figure out if it’s funny or not?” Gödel replies: “We can’t know that because we’re inside the joke.” Chomsky says: “Of course it’s funny. You’re just telling it wrong.

A Buddhist monk approaches a hotdog stand and says: “Make me one with everything”.

Machinedrum - Sunshine Mix

my life my life my life
in the sunshine
u e! :) bonus: cea mai buna sonerie la desteptator in the world ever si-i de la Nightmares on Wax, mmm!

meditation, again - calm.com

cand nu ti-i bine
mergi la apa,
mergi la iarba,
merci la aer,
mergi la tine

tu te poti ajuta
tu-ti poti da curaj
tu te poti lua in brate si legana
si-ti poti face bine
respira
aici

Be yourself. You’re okay. ~Yohji Yamamoto

Minuscule

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. ~Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

sometimes big whales kiss your boats not so as you’d notice

cand te simti foarte singur - aminteste-ti ca-i trecator
cand esti foarte prins in activitati - aminteste-ti ca-i trecator
cand ti-e foarte trist - aminteste-ti ca-i trecator
cand esti in culmea fericirii - aminteste-ti ca-i trecator
oricand - aminteste-ti ca-i trecator 
si ca sometimes big whales kiss your boats not so as you’d notice
buy the ticket, take the ride on your boat, your whale is close 

07 June 2014

American History X

cu tot ce se intalmpa acuma in Europa si in lume,
cu tot ce mi-e greu sa inteleg si frica sa accept,
mai cred ca bunatatea si dragostea merita o sansa
si ca violenta nu aduce nici intelegere intre oameni
nici liniste in sufletul celui care o promoveaza.

dar stiu bine ca nu-i totul atat de simplu
si ca e mereu nevoie de un dusman
"there's no war that will end all wars". ~Haruki Murakami
filmul asta mi-a schimbat viata
in multe feluri si in diverse perioade
again and again and again
online, in integritate si in calitate buna aici
ps. 

06 June 2014

Sandra Cisneros - Eleven

What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.
You don’t feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don’t feel smart eleven, not until you’re almost twelve. That’s the way it is.
Only today I wish I didn’t have only eleven years rattling inside me like pennies in a tin Band-Aid box. Today I wish I was one hundred and two instead of eleven because if I was one hundred and two I’d have known what to say when Mrs. Price put the red sweater on my desk. I would’ve known how to tell her it wasn’t mine instead of just sitting there with that look on my face and nothing coming out of my mouth.
“Whose is this?” Mrs. Price says, and she holds the red sweater up in the air for all the class to see. “Whose? It’s been sitting in the coatroom for a month.”
“Not mine,” says everybody. “Not me.”
“It has to belong to somebody,” Mrs. Price keeps saying, but nobody can remember. It’s an ugly sweater with red plastic buttons and a collar and sleeves all stretched out like you could use it for a jump rope. It’s maybe a thousand years old and even if it belonged to me I wouldn’t say so.
Maybe because I’m skinny, maybe because she doesn’t like me, that stupid Sylvia Saldivar says, “I think it belongs to Rachel.” An ugly sweater like that, all raggedy and old, but Mrs. Price believes her. Mrs. Price takes the sweater and puts it right on my desk, but when I open my mouth nothing comes out.
“That’s not, I don’t, you’re not . . . Not mine,” I finally say in a little voice that was maybe me when I was four.
“Of course it’s yours,” Mrs. Price says, “I remember you wearing it once.” Because she’s older and the teacher, she’s right and I’m not.
Not mine, not mine, not mine, but Mrs. Price is already turning to page thirty-two, and math problem number four. I don’t know why but all of a sudden I’m feeling sick inside, like the part of me that’s three wants to come out of my eyes, only I squeeze them shut tight and bite down on my teeth real hard and try to remember today I am eleven, eleven. Mama is making a cake for me for tonight, and when Papa comes home everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you.
But when the sick feeling goes away and I open my eyes, the red sweater’s still sitting there like a big red mountain. I move the red sweater to the corner of my desk with my ruler. I move my pencil and books and eraser as far from it as possible. I even move my chair a little to the right. Not mine, not mine, not mine.
In my head I’m thinking how long till lunchtime, how long till I can take the red sweater and throw it over the schoolyard fence, or leave it hanging on a parking meter, or bunch it up into a little ball and toss it in the alley. Except when math period ends Mrs. Price says loud and in front of everybody, “Now, Rachel, that’s enough,” because she sees I’ve shoved the red sweater to the tippy-tip corner of my desk and it’s hanging all over the edge like a waterfall, but I don’t care.
“Rachel,” Mrs. Price says. She says it like she’s getting mad. “You put that sweater on right now and no more nonsense.”
“But it’s not—“
“Now!” Mrs. Price says.
This is when I wish I wasn’t eleven, because all the years inside of me—ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one—are pushing at the back of my eyes when I put one arm through one sleeve of the sweater that smells like cottage cheese, and then the other arm through the other and stand there with my arms apart like if the sweater hurts me and it does, all itchy and full of germs that aren’t mine.
That’s when everything I’ve been holding in since this morning, since when Mrs. Price put the sweater on my desk, finally lets go, and all of a sudden I’m crying in front of everybody. I wish I was invisible but I’m not. I’m eleven and it’s my birthday today and I’m crying like I’m three in front of everybody. I put my head down on the desk and bury my face in my stupid clown-sweater arms. My face all hot and spit coming out of my mouth because I can’t stop the little animal noises from coming out of me, until there aren’t any more tears left in my eyes, and it’s just my body shaking like when you have the hiccups, and my whole head hurts like when you drink milk too fast.
But the worst part is right before the bell rings for lunch. That stupid Phyllis Lopez, who is even dumber than Sylvia Saldivar, says she remembers the red sweater is hers! I take it off right away and give it to her, only Mrs. Price pretends like everything’s okay.
Today I’m eleven. There’s a cake Mama’s making for tonight, and when Papa comes home from work we’ll eat it. There’ll be candles and presents and everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you, Rachel, only it’s too late.

I’m eleven today. I’m eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two. I wish I was anything but eleven, because I want today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny o in the sky, so tiny-tiny you have to close your eyes to see it.

Balam acab, Burial, Holy Other, Nosaj Thing, Flying Lotus, Mister Lies, Clams Casino

magic stuff






05 June 2014

Margaret Atwood - Happy Endings

John and Mary meet.
What happens next?
If you want a happy ending, try A.

A.
John and Mary fall in love and get married. They both have worthwhile and remunerative jobs which they find stimulating and challenging. They buy a charming house. Real estate values go up. Eventually, when they can afford live-in help, they have two children, to whom they are devoted. The children turn out well. John and Mary have a stimulating and challenging sex life and worthwhile friends. They go on fun vacations together. They retire. They both have hobbies which they find stimulating and challenging. Eventually they die. This is the end of the story.

B.
Mary falls in love with John but John doesn't fall in love with Mary. He merely uses her body for selfish pleasure and ego gratification of a tepid kind. He comes to her apartment twice a week and she cooks him dinner, you'll notice that he doesn't even consider her worth the price of a dinner out, and after he's eaten dinner he fucks her and after that he falls asleep, while she does the dishes so he won't think she's untidy, having all those dirty dishes lying around, and puts on fresh lipstick so she'll look good when he wakes up, but when he wakes up he doesn't even notice, he puts on his socks and his shorts and his pants and his shirt and his tie and his shoes, the reverse order from the one in which he took them off. He doesn't take off Mary's clothes, she takes them off herself, she acts as if she's dying for it every time, not because she likes sex exactly, she doesn't, but she wants John to think she does because if they do it often enough surely he'll get used to her, he'll come to depend on her and they will get married, but John goes out the door with hardly so much as a good-night and three days later he turns up at six o'clock and they do the whole thing over again. Mary gets run-down. Crying is bad for your face, everyone knows that and so does Mary but she can't stop. People at work notice. Her friends tell her John is a rat, a pig, a dog, he isn't good enough for her, but she can't believe it. Inside John, she thinks, is another John, who is much nicer. This other John will emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon, a Jack from a box, a pit from a prune, if the first John is only squeezed enough. One evening John complains about the food. He has never complained about her food before. Mary is hurt. Her friends tell her they've seen him in a restaurant with another woman, whose name is Madge. It's not even Madge that finally gets to Mary: it's the restaurant. John has never taken Mary to a restaurant. Mary collects all the sleeping pills and aspirins she can find, and takes them and a half a bottle of sherry. You can see what kind of a woman she is by the fact that it's not even whiskey. She leaves a note for John. She hopes he'll discover her and get her to the hospital in time and repent and then they can get married, but this fails to happen and she dies. John marries Madge and everything continues as in A.

C.
John, who is an older man, falls in love with Mary, and Mary, who is only twenty-two, feels sorry for him because he's worried about his hair falling out. She sleeps with him even though she's not in love with him. She met him at work. She's in love with someone called James, who is twenty-two also and not yet ready to settle down. John on the contrary settled down long ago: this is what is bothering him. John has a steady, respectable job and is getting ahead in his field, but Mary isn't impressed by him, she's impressed by James, who has a motorcycle and a fabulous record collection. But James is often away on his motorcycle, being free. Freedom isn't the same for girls, so in the meantime Mary spends Thursday evenings with John. Thursdays are the only days John can get away. John is married to a woman called Madge and they have two children, a charming house which they bought just before the real estate values went up, and hobbies which they find stimulating and challenging, when they have the time. John tells Mary how important she is to him, but of course he can't leave his wife because a commitment is a commitment. He goes on about this more than is necessary and Mary finds it boring, but older men can keep it up longer so on the whole she has a fairly good time. One day James breezes in on his motorcycle with some top-grade California hybrid and James and Mary get higher than you'd believe possible and they climb into bed. Everything becomes very underwater, but along comes John, who has a key to Mary's apartment. He finds them stoned and entwined. He's hardly in any position to be jealous, considering Madge, but nevertheless he's overcome with despair. Finally he's middle-aged, in two years he'll be as bald as an egg and he can't stand it. He purchases a handgun, saying he needs it for target practice--this is the thin part of the plot, but it can be dealt with later--and shoots the two of them and himself. Madge, after a suitable period of mourning, marries an understanding man called Fred and everything continues as in A, but under different names.

D.
Fred and Madge have no problems. They get along exceptionally well and are good at working out any little difficulties that may arise. But their charming house is by the seashore and one day a giant tidal wave approaches. Real estate values go down. The rest of the story is about what caused the tidal wave and how they escape from it. They do, though thousands drown, but Fred and Madge are virtuous and grateful, and continue as in A.

E.
Yes, but Fred has a bad heart. The rest of the story is about how kind and understanding they both are until Fred dies. Then Madge devotes herself to charity work until the end of A. If you like, it can be "Madge," "cancer," "guilty and confused," and "bird watching."

F.
If you think this is all too bourgeois, make John a revolutionary and Mary a counterespionage agent and see how far that gets you. Remember, this is Canada. You'll still end up with A, though in between you may get a lustful brawling saga of passionate involvement, a chronicle of our times, sort of. You'll have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality. The only authentic ending is the one provided here:
 John and Mary die. John and Mary die. John and Mary die.


So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it's the hardest to do anything with. That's about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what. Now try How and Why.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream!

n-am mancat inghetata aseara
what a shame!
 
tre de mancat inghetata si de uitat inca o data la Down by Law (1986) de Jim Jarmusch
acolo este Tom Waits, John Lurie si Roberto Benigni si asta-i mimimi

Buy the Ticket, take the Ride

aseara l-am vazut pe Gonzo si pentru ca el este construit ca originalul, n-am putut sa nu ma gandesc la Hunter S. Thompson. Azi am aflat ca el a murit relativ recent (20 februarie 2005) si ca la anul putem cumpara un bilet si face o calatorie u e!
Hunter S. Thompson, John Cusack and Johnny Depp riding in a car with a blow-up doll.

04 June 2014

This is gettin' serious as terminal cancer

Nils-Udo


















Guided Meditation

rugaciune
yoga
meditatie
spune-i cum vrei
da-i gand de bine
de interior
si de exterior
e constientizarea existentei
fizice
morale
si spirituale
a subiectului
e tare fine
sa poti face asta singur
daca nu poti - aici este ajutor

Excuses

am cautat multe scuze pentru
ce mi se intampla
si ce nu mi se intampla
si ce nu pot face
si ce-mi desplace
si am inteles ca-i inutil :)
si acuma mi-i atat de usor pe suflet, mmm
cam atat de usor cum e de frumoasa piesa asta :)
(pentru a sesiza miaul ei se recomanda o seara frumoasa de iunie, un balcon si un prieten)

03 June 2014

dramatic

The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person.
~ Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
 
Peter de Potter