Quote of the Day
"Change is one of the great things about snow. It has the same effect as Mardi Gras or Carnival. It is time-out from the ordinary. Like dressing up and dancing in the street, the snowed-on world is not simply the regular world with a covering over it, it is somewhere newly made and unknown, all familiarity erased into whiteness. And none of the every day rules apply. There are special dispensations -- you may not be able to go to school or work; if you do, there's nothing regular about it, everything is late, teachers don't arrive, appointments aren't kept, the ineluctable timetable of the day is suddenly eluctable."
--Jenny Diski
More here: The world made new
February decided, at the last minute, not to let us off easy. It's snowing furiously here right now. Nothing I can do about it, except shovel it away from the front steps and try to appreciate the altered landscape. Maybe I'll take some pictures to marvel at during some August heatwave.
_
Monday, February 28, 2005
Random Acts of Poetry
Random Acts of Poetry
Instructions for Monday
Today you are upside down,
in the dead place,
the sky gray as basalt.
Houses kneel near the edge of the street,
all the doors barred,
windows blank as eyelids.
Grass grows tall and perverse
in the tiny yards,
like your morning hair, unruly scalps.
You follow the sleepwalkers.
They seem to know the way
better than you, underground,
across the river to the factory,
where a black dog
dozes on the threshold.
He has three heads,
three slobbering mouths
full of teeth vicious as knives.
Step over. Take the seat saved for you
in the center of the egg crate.
Close your eyes, palms turned up.
Think about a golden ball
wandering an endless pool table.
Think about a poppy red like fire.
_
Instructions for Monday
Today you are upside down,
in the dead place,
the sky gray as basalt.
Houses kneel near the edge of the street,
all the doors barred,
windows blank as eyelids.
Grass grows tall and perverse
in the tiny yards,
like your morning hair, unruly scalps.
You follow the sleepwalkers.
They seem to know the way
better than you, underground,
across the river to the factory,
where a black dog
dozes on the threshold.
He has three heads,
three slobbering mouths
full of teeth vicious as knives.
Step over. Take the seat saved for you
in the center of the egg crate.
Close your eyes, palms turned up.
Think about a golden ball
wandering an endless pool table.
Think about a poppy red like fire.
_
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Oblique Strategies
Breathe more deeply
Try some Oblique Strategies, courtesy of Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt.
(via whiskey river)
_
Try some Oblique Strategies, courtesy of Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt.
(via whiskey river)
_
Deep Thoughts
Deep Thoughts
Living in an apartment building means being obsessed with locks and keys -- especially if you own one of the units. Who has an "emergency" key to my door? Who should? Whose keys do I have? Did I get a key to the basement door when the locks were changed? Do I have the key to the roof? I have ten keys on my key ring, and I don't remember what some of them are for . . . Most of the time I'm very good at parallel parking. But I've noticed that this really depends on the mood I'm in. If I'm feeling calm and collected, I can slide into a tight space on the first try -- after many years of practice. If I'm feeling stressed or just generally cranky, I inevitably make the angle too deep or shallow, and I have to start all over again -- meanwhile holding up the traffic behind me, which just adds to the pressure -- or I end up doing the "full spin" with the steering wheel in opposite directions six or seven times to fit in . . . Overheard: "If I was good at leaving it's because you held the door." . . . The end is never what frightens me. What frightens me is seeing it coming . . .
_
Living in an apartment building means being obsessed with locks and keys -- especially if you own one of the units. Who has an "emergency" key to my door? Who should? Whose keys do I have? Did I get a key to the basement door when the locks were changed? Do I have the key to the roof? I have ten keys on my key ring, and I don't remember what some of them are for . . . Most of the time I'm very good at parallel parking. But I've noticed that this really depends on the mood I'm in. If I'm feeling calm and collected, I can slide into a tight space on the first try -- after many years of practice. If I'm feeling stressed or just generally cranky, I inevitably make the angle too deep or shallow, and I have to start all over again -- meanwhile holding up the traffic behind me, which just adds to the pressure -- or I end up doing the "full spin" with the steering wheel in opposite directions six or seven times to fit in . . . Overheard: "If I was good at leaving it's because you held the door." . . . The end is never what frightens me. What frightens me is seeing it coming . . .
_
Friday, February 25, 2005
Who's Who of Victorian Cinema
No Talking
Speaking of oddball cinema . . . Tonight was silent film night at a local venue, and I saw some classic "shorts" dating from as far back as 1894. I was most impressed by the dream-like works -- in hand-tinted color! -- of the French film pioneer Georges Méliès, which employed some amazing (for the time) special effects. Movie realism wasn't so important in those days -- a train could leave the tracks, go sailing through the sky and even crash-land on the Sun, without injuring its passengers. Actors hadn't yet discovered the Method, and unnaturally exaggerated movements and facial expressions were standard. Apparently, the novelty of seeing pictures move was so strong that the medium hadn't yet become "transparent." Maybe that's why the contemporary works these films reminded me of most were children's cartoons. SpongeBob would have been right at home in one of Méliès fantasies.
Who's Who of Victorian Cinema: Georges Méliès
_
Speaking of oddball cinema . . . Tonight was silent film night at a local venue, and I saw some classic "shorts" dating from as far back as 1894. I was most impressed by the dream-like works -- in hand-tinted color! -- of the French film pioneer Georges Méliès, which employed some amazing (for the time) special effects. Movie realism wasn't so important in those days -- a train could leave the tracks, go sailing through the sky and even crash-land on the Sun, without injuring its passengers. Actors hadn't yet discovered the Method, and unnaturally exaggerated movements and facial expressions were standard. Apparently, the novelty of seeing pictures move was so strong that the medium hadn't yet become "transparent." Maybe that's why the contemporary works these films reminded me of most were children's cartoons. SpongeBob would have been right at home in one of Méliès fantasies.
Who's Who of Victorian Cinema: Georges Méliès
_
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Sasquatch Mountain (Flash movie)
Stop Making Sense
At the wonderful world of Larry Carlson, a Flash movie site, you can discover what Timothy Leary was on about, without the need for chemicals. The current feature is The Legend of Sasquatch Mountain, or something like that.
_
At the wonderful world of Larry Carlson, a Flash movie site, you can discover what Timothy Leary was on about, without the need for chemicals. The current feature is The Legend of Sasquatch Mountain, or something like that.
_
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Random Acts of Poetry
Random Acts of Poetry
May Pang's Lost Weekend
May loved John but unlike May, Yoko used John. John loved Yoko, but May, Yoko used; unlike May, John used Yoko. May loved Yoko, but May, Yoko used, but unlike May, Yoko used John. Yoko loved John, used May. But John, Yoko used, unlike May. John used May, Yoko used John, unlike May, who loved John but used John. Yoko, unlike May, loved John, but used May; Yoko used John and May. May used Yoko, but Yoko, unlike May, loved John and used John. May loved Yoko but used John, but unlike May, Yoko loved John and May.
_
May Pang's Lost Weekend
May loved John but unlike May, Yoko used John. John loved Yoko, but May, Yoko used; unlike May, John used Yoko. May loved Yoko, but May, Yoko used, but unlike May, Yoko used John. Yoko loved John, used May. But John, Yoko used, unlike May. John used May, Yoko used John, unlike May, who loved John but used John. Yoko, unlike May, loved John, but used May; Yoko used John and May. May used Yoko, but Yoko, unlike May, loved John and used John. May loved Yoko but used John, but unlike May, Yoko loved John and May.
_
Quote of the Day
Quote of the Day
"I first met him in 1970, at the Kentucky Derby. The editor of Scanlan magazine, which was named after a little-known Nottingham pig farmer, had seen my first book, Still Life With Raspberry, and concluded I was the guy to do this story with Hunter S Thompson, an ex-Hell's Angel who'd just shaved his head. On the way to the airport I lost my pens, pencils and inks. Luckily the editor's wife was a Revlon representative and she gave me a pack of lipsticks and rouges and whatnot. And that's what I used for the story, 'The Kentucky Derby is Depraved and Decadent.' "
--Ralph Steadman
More at Guardian Unlimited
I'm not a huge Hunter Thompson fan, but I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas when I was in college and remember laughing for hours. RIP.
_
"I first met him in 1970, at the Kentucky Derby. The editor of Scanlan magazine, which was named after a little-known Nottingham pig farmer, had seen my first book, Still Life With Raspberry, and concluded I was the guy to do this story with Hunter S Thompson, an ex-Hell's Angel who'd just shaved his head. On the way to the airport I lost my pens, pencils and inks. Luckily the editor's wife was a Revlon representative and she gave me a pack of lipsticks and rouges and whatnot. And that's what I used for the story, 'The Kentucky Derby is Depraved and Decadent.' "
--Ralph Steadman
More at Guardian Unlimited
I'm not a huge Hunter Thompson fan, but I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas when I was in college and remember laughing for hours. RIP.
_
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Word of the Day
Word of the Day
coriaceous (adj)
Having the appearance of leather
After so many decades at sea, Captain Smyth's coriaseous face told a salty story, punctuated by two oceanic eyes.
_
coriaceous (adj)
Having the appearance of leather
After so many decades at sea, Captain Smyth's coriaseous face told a salty story, punctuated by two oceanic eyes.
_
Monday, February 21, 2005
Random Acts of Poetry
Random Acts of Poetry
Sandy Hook (August 2004)
The air is vacuumed clean,
and all misgivings drain
from an uneasy day.
At the end of the street,
past the wild grass’s
endless deference to the wind,
waves are polishing
three primal rocks
with ceaseless caresses.
Time might as well stop.
The gigantic iris of the bay
gazes at the hot, absolute sky
with perfect attention,
a hypnotized witness.
Now my footprints disappear
at the edge of the surf,
no more enduring than foam.
I bend and realize
the shell is broken.
Inhale, exhale.
_
Sandy Hook (August 2004)
The air is vacuumed clean,
and all misgivings drain
from an uneasy day.
At the end of the street,
past the wild grass’s
endless deference to the wind,
waves are polishing
three primal rocks
with ceaseless caresses.
Time might as well stop.
The gigantic iris of the bay
gazes at the hot, absolute sky
with perfect attention,
a hypnotized witness.
Now my footprints disappear
at the edge of the surf,
no more enduring than foam.
I bend and realize
the shell is broken.
Inhale, exhale.
_
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Gates at The Gates
Gates at The Gates
I visited The Gates in Central Park today, along with some long-time friends, including some I hadn't seen in 20 years -- it was a reunion of sorts. I had mixed feelings as we walked through the temporary installation by Christo and Jeanne-Claude. From certain angles and vantage points, especially when the sun is shining directly on the saffron-colored fabric and it's flapping in the breeze, the effect is beautiful. At other times, the Gates appear a bit . . . utilitarian. (Some editorial writer thought the orange fabric and metal brought to mind a construction zone.) I'm glad I went, though, and the crowds in the park were certainly enjoying the spectacle, despite the chilly weather. (photos by me)
_
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Quote of the Day
Quote of the Day
"Perhaps a man really dies when his brain stops, when he loses the power to take in a new idea. There are a lot of people like that. Dead minds, stopped inside. Just keep moving backwards and forwards on the same little track, growing fainter all the time, like ghosts."
--George Orwell, Coming up For Air
_
"Perhaps a man really dies when his brain stops, when he loses the power to take in a new idea. There are a lot of people like that. Dead minds, stopped inside. Just keep moving backwards and forwards on the same little track, growing fainter all the time, like ghosts."
--George Orwell, Coming up For Air
_
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