Friday, 29 December 2017
Arun Ghosh - "Smash Through the Gates of Thought"
A lot like Etienne Jaumet - electronics with saxophone. Quite good.
Wednesday, 20 December 2017
The Crown (2016, -)
Amazing series with previous-dr-Who Matt Smith and Claire... something.
Made me look differently at how the royal family (in any country) lives through these times. Particularly the moment she walks through the palace to deliver the very first televised Christmas wishes... she has been queen for some time, she has been married for some time, she has been surrounded by the same people, both in government and in the palace for some time, yet she is utterly. alone.
It was harrowing. In the best way.
Made me look differently at how the royal family (in any country) lives through these times. Particularly the moment she walks through the palace to deliver the very first televised Christmas wishes... she has been queen for some time, she has been married for some time, she has been surrounded by the same people, both in government and in the palace for some time, yet she is utterly. alone.
It was harrowing. In the best way.
Dark (2017)
German series, a town with a "three dimensional wormhole"
Nice enough, but many plot holes, many sudden epiphanies.
one season was enough. Maybe slightly too much.
Also, the guy who did the sound effects had listened too much to eighties horror films.
Nice enough, but many plot holes, many sudden epiphanies.
one season was enough. Maybe slightly too much.
Also, the guy who did the sound effects had listened too much to eighties horror films.
Thursday, 23 November 2017
Trevor Corson - "The Story of Sushi: An Unlikely Saga of Raw Fish and Rice"
(previously titled The Zen of Fish)
Not written extremely well, but lots of fun facts.
"The word *neta* comes from teh word *tane* (pronounced ta-né), which literally means "seed". In old Japan, laborers frequently reversed the syllables of *tane* and used the word *neta* to refer to things that were the seed or source for something."
"These free amino acids are what give seafood much of its taste. They include glutamate, the key flavor component of *umami*, and a particularly sweet-tasting amino acid called glycine. Saltwater fish contain anywhere from three to ten times more of these delicious free amino acids than beef. Another important element in the taste of fish is glutamate's counterpart, IMP, the savory substance that Japanese scientists discovered in such abundance in aged bonito. IMP is created when the high-energy power pellets called ATP break down after the fish's death. Like free amino acids, tasty IMP is more abundant in fish than in animals."
"The muscles of shrimp, prawns, and lobsters are full of enzymes, and are prone to digesting themselves into mush as soon as the animal dies."
"Every *Pandalus* shrimp starts out male. He spends his first two or three years as a bachelor, during which time he generally loses his virginity. Once he's had his fun, his testes transform into ovaries and he matures into a female. At which point, she turns around and hits up the new generation of strapping young males for more sex. There is some evidence that if females are especially numerous, the males can delay their sex change and remain playboys for an extra season or two. Likewise if there aren't enough females, the males may give up their bachelorhood and switch early."
"Crustacean flesh develops delicious aromas and flavors simply by spending a few minutes in boiling water. Most meats can't achieve such high levels of smell and tate without the application of flame or intense heat, and there are a couple of reasons for this. Crustaceans counteract the osmotic pressure of saltwater with an especially taste and concentrated array of amino acids, particularly the same sweet-tasting glycine found in mackerel. Crustacean flesh also contains a high concentration of sugars. With the application of a little heat, these amino acids and sugars react with each other, creating the same sort of delicious and aromatic molecules produced in the meat of mammals and most fish, only at much higer temperatures."
"Mackerel is perilous to serve raw. Mackerel is so difficult to keep fresh that Japanese chefs sometimes call if the fish that 'spoils even while still alive.' Humans can also pick up more than fifty different parasites from eating raw or undercooked fish, removal of parasites can require surgery. A worm calle danisakis is one of the most prevalent parasites, and its larvae love living inside mackerel.
The clever larvae of anisakis swim around looking delicious. They *want* to be eaten, and usually a small crustacean will oblige. The larvae live happily in the stomach of the shrimp or krill until a mackerel comes along and eats the crustacean. Then the larvae burrow into the lining of the fish's gut or, less often, into its flesh.
Mackerel serve the larvae's purpose only because sooner or later a mammal will eat the mackerel, preferably a dolphin, porpoise, or whale. Once in the stomach of a mammal, the larvae molt and become adult worms. The worms use a mouth like a boring tool to drill into the mammal's stomach wall. They mate and lay eggs, which emerge in the mammal's feces, starting the cycle again."
"Sashimi didn't have to be fish. It could be anything, even the meat of deer, wild boar, or birds."
"Probably beginning around 800 years ago, people began to use the word *sashimi* as well as *namasu*. *sashi* means 'to stick or pierce,' and *mi* means 'meat.' There are two theories about the origin of the word *sashimi*.
One is that the chef would 'stick' a fin from the fish among the slices as a decoration that indicated the type of fish. The other is that *sashi* was a euphemism for *kiri*, 'to cut.' In the culture of the samurai, calling the meal *kirimi* - sliced meat - would have raised unpleasant connotations of sword fighting and human bloodshed."
"Most commercial wasabi served in sushi bars isn't wasabi at all. It's a mix of horseradish powder, mustard powder, mustard extract, citric acid, yellow dye no. 5, and blue dye no. 1. Real wasabi is a rare and finicky plant. It's hard to grow, nearly impossible to keep fresh, tricky to prepare, and absurdly expensive. It's also much more delicious than its contrived counterpart. [...] Real wasabi tastes sweeter, more subtle, and less spicy than the horseradish that passes for wasabi today. [...] The highest-quality wasabi comes from a mountainous region southwest of Tokyo called Amagi. Wasabi experts refer to all other wasabi simply as *bachi* - 'from someplace else.'"
"When an insect or slug, for instance, bites into a member of the cabbage family, it's in for a rude shock. By breaking into the plant's cells, the predator cracks open the compartments, and the compound and the enzyme mix. The enzymes rip the sugars off the glucosinolate, converting it to an intense irritatn called isothiocyanate, known to most people as mustard oil. Mustard oil is a highly volatile substance that converts rapidly to a gas and irritates mucous membranes in mammals. It's often used in cat and dog repellent. Mustard oil is so toxic that it damages the plant as much as it hurts the predator, which is why cabbages must store it with the sugars attached."
"In the relatively cold climataes at higher latitudes, where salmon live, the ocean provides a richer buffet of nourishing food than freshwater. But freshwater streams are sfer places for babies to grow up. By taking advantage of both environments, salmon eat well, and their eggs and young have high survival rates.
Salmon smell their way back to their birthplace. As they begin their trek upstream from the ocean, they eat the last meal of their lives. From then on they will survive by burning their own fat and digesting the proteins in their own muscles.
As they head upriver they also undergo astonishing anatomical changes, not unlike Dr. David Banner's transforming into the Incredible Hulk. At sea, salmon are handsome and respectable-looking silver fish. By the time they return to their home streams, depending on the species, they have developed green heads, bright-red skin, bizarre coclor patterens, beaked jaws with nasty teeth, and hunched backs."
"two different *nigiri*, one topped with wild salmon, one topped with farmed salmon. The flesh of the wild fish was usually dark, pungent, and - depending on when and where it had been caught - relatively lean. It didn't melt in your mouth, you had to chew it. The taste was strong and the flesh had texture.
The farmed fish was soft, pale, and striped with thick streaks of fat. And, by comparison, it tasted bland."
"When it comes to sex, snappers are the opposite of shrimp. They all start out as females. After a year or two, some of them perform a sex-change operation on themselves and become male."
Not written extremely well, but lots of fun facts.
"The word *neta* comes from teh word *tane* (pronounced ta-né), which literally means "seed". In old Japan, laborers frequently reversed the syllables of *tane* and used the word *neta* to refer to things that were the seed or source for something."
"These free amino acids are what give seafood much of its taste. They include glutamate, the key flavor component of *umami*, and a particularly sweet-tasting amino acid called glycine. Saltwater fish contain anywhere from three to ten times more of these delicious free amino acids than beef. Another important element in the taste of fish is glutamate's counterpart, IMP, the savory substance that Japanese scientists discovered in such abundance in aged bonito. IMP is created when the high-energy power pellets called ATP break down after the fish's death. Like free amino acids, tasty IMP is more abundant in fish than in animals."
"The muscles of shrimp, prawns, and lobsters are full of enzymes, and are prone to digesting themselves into mush as soon as the animal dies."
"Every *Pandalus* shrimp starts out male. He spends his first two or three years as a bachelor, during which time he generally loses his virginity. Once he's had his fun, his testes transform into ovaries and he matures into a female. At which point, she turns around and hits up the new generation of strapping young males for more sex. There is some evidence that if females are especially numerous, the males can delay their sex change and remain playboys for an extra season or two. Likewise if there aren't enough females, the males may give up their bachelorhood and switch early."
"Crustacean flesh develops delicious aromas and flavors simply by spending a few minutes in boiling water. Most meats can't achieve such high levels of smell and tate without the application of flame or intense heat, and there are a couple of reasons for this. Crustaceans counteract the osmotic pressure of saltwater with an especially taste and concentrated array of amino acids, particularly the same sweet-tasting glycine found in mackerel. Crustacean flesh also contains a high concentration of sugars. With the application of a little heat, these amino acids and sugars react with each other, creating the same sort of delicious and aromatic molecules produced in the meat of mammals and most fish, only at much higer temperatures."
"Mackerel is perilous to serve raw. Mackerel is so difficult to keep fresh that Japanese chefs sometimes call if the fish that 'spoils even while still alive.' Humans can also pick up more than fifty different parasites from eating raw or undercooked fish, removal of parasites can require surgery. A worm calle danisakis is one of the most prevalent parasites, and its larvae love living inside mackerel.
The clever larvae of anisakis swim around looking delicious. They *want* to be eaten, and usually a small crustacean will oblige. The larvae live happily in the stomach of the shrimp or krill until a mackerel comes along and eats the crustacean. Then the larvae burrow into the lining of the fish's gut or, less often, into its flesh.
Mackerel serve the larvae's purpose only because sooner or later a mammal will eat the mackerel, preferably a dolphin, porpoise, or whale. Once in the stomach of a mammal, the larvae molt and become adult worms. The worms use a mouth like a boring tool to drill into the mammal's stomach wall. They mate and lay eggs, which emerge in the mammal's feces, starting the cycle again."
"Sashimi didn't have to be fish. It could be anything, even the meat of deer, wild boar, or birds."
"Probably beginning around 800 years ago, people began to use the word *sashimi* as well as *namasu*. *sashi* means 'to stick or pierce,' and *mi* means 'meat.' There are two theories about the origin of the word *sashimi*.
One is that the chef would 'stick' a fin from the fish among the slices as a decoration that indicated the type of fish. The other is that *sashi* was a euphemism for *kiri*, 'to cut.' In the culture of the samurai, calling the meal *kirimi* - sliced meat - would have raised unpleasant connotations of sword fighting and human bloodshed."
"Most commercial wasabi served in sushi bars isn't wasabi at all. It's a mix of horseradish powder, mustard powder, mustard extract, citric acid, yellow dye no. 5, and blue dye no. 1. Real wasabi is a rare and finicky plant. It's hard to grow, nearly impossible to keep fresh, tricky to prepare, and absurdly expensive. It's also much more delicious than its contrived counterpart. [...] Real wasabi tastes sweeter, more subtle, and less spicy than the horseradish that passes for wasabi today. [...] The highest-quality wasabi comes from a mountainous region southwest of Tokyo called Amagi. Wasabi experts refer to all other wasabi simply as *bachi* - 'from someplace else.'"
"When an insect or slug, for instance, bites into a member of the cabbage family, it's in for a rude shock. By breaking into the plant's cells, the predator cracks open the compartments, and the compound and the enzyme mix. The enzymes rip the sugars off the glucosinolate, converting it to an intense irritatn called isothiocyanate, known to most people as mustard oil. Mustard oil is a highly volatile substance that converts rapidly to a gas and irritates mucous membranes in mammals. It's often used in cat and dog repellent. Mustard oil is so toxic that it damages the plant as much as it hurts the predator, which is why cabbages must store it with the sugars attached."
"In the relatively cold climataes at higher latitudes, where salmon live, the ocean provides a richer buffet of nourishing food than freshwater. But freshwater streams are sfer places for babies to grow up. By taking advantage of both environments, salmon eat well, and their eggs and young have high survival rates.
Salmon smell their way back to their birthplace. As they begin their trek upstream from the ocean, they eat the last meal of their lives. From then on they will survive by burning their own fat and digesting the proteins in their own muscles.
As they head upriver they also undergo astonishing anatomical changes, not unlike Dr. David Banner's transforming into the Incredible Hulk. At sea, salmon are handsome and respectable-looking silver fish. By the time they return to their home streams, depending on the species, they have developed green heads, bright-red skin, bizarre coclor patterens, beaked jaws with nasty teeth, and hunched backs."
"two different *nigiri*, one topped with wild salmon, one topped with farmed salmon. The flesh of the wild fish was usually dark, pungent, and - depending on when and where it had been caught - relatively lean. It didn't melt in your mouth, you had to chew it. The taste was strong and the flesh had texture.
The farmed fish was soft, pale, and striped with thick streaks of fat. And, by comparison, it tasted bland."
"When it comes to sex, snappers are the opposite of shrimp. They all start out as females. After a year or two, some of them perform a sex-change operation on themselves and become male."
Wednesday, 22 November 2017
Alias Grace
Interesting mini series based on the book by Margaret Atwood. Roughly based on real life murders but she added extra characters and her own spin.
Philip Roth - "American Pastorale"
It was a nice book but sometimes his descriptions would go on page after page after page... while not adding anything. Why describe at the very end all the flowers that Merry used to point out as a kid? Does it improve the dramatic tension of her home-coming? No. Not for me.
But the rant of his brother through the phone, showing how the Swede didn't know anything, that was amazing.
But the rant of his brother through the phone, showing how the Swede didn't know anything, that was amazing.
Friday, 17 November 2017
Jorane - "Blue Planet"
The chorus is a bit cheesy, and the lyrics strange, to say the least. But musically it has a slow swinging Middle East feel to it that appeals to me.
Tuesday, 7 November 2017
Sunday, 22 October 2017
Friday, 20 October 2017
Monday, 16 October 2017
Dead Can Dance - "Song of the Dispossessed"
Beautiful and so sad. His voice almost sounds like Devotchka here.
Monday, 9 October 2017
"The Handmaiden" (2016, original title "Ah-ga-ssi")
Wonderful and erotic story in three parts of a girl who enters into a scheming setup to make her boss marry a wealthy girl... all does not go as planned. Directed by Chan-wook Park
Friday, 6 October 2017
Jason Sean, Paul Bekiesch - "Unforgettable Moments" (Different Worlds)
Thanks to The Trip. Great work music.
Monday, 2 October 2017
Grandaddy - "He's simple, he's dumb, he's the pilot" (The sophtware slump)
Great song. Bit Flaming Lips-ish. Long string, repeatedly melancholic lines.
Found via spotify's Mogwai radio, which actually works quite well.
Found via spotify's Mogwai radio, which actually works quite well.
Friday, 15 September 2017
Maggie Nelson - "The Argonauts"
Started to read this because of her magnificent opening of "bluets".
It's cool but at some point I became tired of the extremely artistic and hyper self awareness of her fluid gender and lgbtq friends, the artists that shaped them. But, when suddenly "harry", her male-female partner, describes the death of their mother, things were soft and mesmerizing.
Openings paragraph
October 2007. The Santa Ana winds are shredding the bark off the eucalyptus trees in long white stripes. A friend and I risk the widowmakers by having lunch outside, during which she suggests I tattoo HARD TO GET across my knuckles, as a reminder of this pose's possible fruits. Instead the words I love you come tumbling out of my mouth in an incantation the first time you fuck me in the ass, my face smashed against the cement floor of your dank and charming bachelor pad. You had Molloy by your bedside and a stack of cocks in a shadowy unused shower stall. Does it get any better? What's your pleasure? you asked, then stuck around for the answer.
In bonsai you often plant the tree off-center in the pot to make space for the divine.
In Arabic, the word for fetus derives from djinn, which means "hidden from sight."
How to suggest, in a culture frantic for resolution, that sometimes the shit stays messy?
My writing is riddled with such tics of uncertainty. I have no excuse or solution, save to allow myself the tremblings, then go back in later and slash them out. In this way I edit myself into a boldness that is neither native nor foreign to me.
It's cool but at some point I became tired of the extremely artistic and hyper self awareness of her fluid gender and lgbtq friends, the artists that shaped them. But, when suddenly "harry", her male-female partner, describes the death of their mother, things were soft and mesmerizing.
Openings paragraph
October 2007. The Santa Ana winds are shredding the bark off the eucalyptus trees in long white stripes. A friend and I risk the widowmakers by having lunch outside, during which she suggests I tattoo HARD TO GET across my knuckles, as a reminder of this pose's possible fruits. Instead the words I love you come tumbling out of my mouth in an incantation the first time you fuck me in the ass, my face smashed against the cement floor of your dank and charming bachelor pad. You had Molloy by your bedside and a stack of cocks in a shadowy unused shower stall. Does it get any better? What's your pleasure? you asked, then stuck around for the answer.
In bonsai you often plant the tree off-center in the pot to make space for the divine.
In Arabic, the word for fetus derives from djinn, which means "hidden from sight."
How to suggest, in a culture frantic for resolution, that sometimes the shit stays messy?
My writing is riddled with such tics of uncertainty. I have no excuse or solution, save to allow myself the tremblings, then go back in later and slash them out. In this way I edit myself into a boldness that is neither native nor foreign to me.
Monday, 11 September 2017
x-rated ish
Om Unit - "Out of the shadow"
Garibov - "Untitled X" (Depth Of Field)
Obsequies - "Languish"
Garibov - "Untitled X" (Depth Of Field)
Obsequies - "Languish"
Sunday, 27 August 2017
Tuesday, 22 August 2017
Glass Candy - "Shell Game" (Lost River Original Motion Picture Score)
Pretty much instrumental, low beats and the kind of synths that burn through subwoofers. Nice enough. Check out either album or artist?
Wednesday, 9 August 2017
Creed
Another Rocky. 95% and 89% on rotten tomatoes? Well for once I couldn't disagree more. OK film, but nothing special. More fun for me because of the actual boxing than because of the storyline or film.
Get Out
Fun horror where a black guy is lured to an old family's mansion by his girlfriend "to meet her parents" but in reality to get his mind swapped with one of the family members.
Top of the Lake - China Girl
Thrilling and horrible. The soundtrack reminded me of The Returned, but it seems to have been different people.
Shocking story about surrogate mothers in the sex industry and Elizabeth Moss - "Robin" - who has to rescue her mother.
Shocking story about surrogate mothers in the sex industry and Elizabeth Moss - "Robin" - who has to rescue her mother.
Thursday, 20 July 2017
Ska Vengers
From India, with radically political lyrics. To which I'm in all honesty not listening too much, but ska wise, it sounds amazing.
Monday, 17 July 2017
Haruki Murakami - "1Q84" (book 1, 2, 3)
Book one is too long. Took me ages and I lost interest. In book two, things speed up. Tengo and Aomame finally start to do something. The Little People, the air chrysalis, "real life" maza and its "mirror" dohta, the strange Eri-Fuka... finally things started to happen.
I'm definitely no fan anymore of Murakami's main characters. Always the same introvert guys. The same silent girls. Cooking. Jazz and classical musical. Merf.
What struck me: in book 2 or 3 he for once suddenly switches to omniscient storyteller, instead of the usual limited third person. He does it once, for a few paragraphs, a page at most. Curious.
All in all enjoyable, but way too long.
I'm definitely no fan anymore of Murakami's main characters. Always the same introvert guys. The same silent girls. Cooking. Jazz and classical musical. Merf.
What struck me: in book 2 or 3 he for once suddenly switches to omniscient storyteller, instead of the usual limited third person. He does it once, for a few paragraphs, a page at most. Curious.
All in all enjoyable, but way too long.
Michael Haag - "The Durrells of Corfu"
A biography of the fantastical family of the Durrells. Famous writer(s)??
Fun enough since the trip to Corfu, but nothing special.
Fun enough since the trip to Corfu, but nothing special.
Wednesday, 5 July 2017
Twin Peaks: the Return
Crazy so far. But I still enjoy it. Even the really slow sequences. Great music!
- Au Revoir Simone - "Lark" (the Bird of Music (Bonus Track))
typical David Lynch music, electronic, softly sung - Trouble - "Snake Eyes" (Snake Eyes)
Great southern rock with saxophone!! must look into this. - Cigarettes After Sex - "Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby" (I.)
again, very David Lynch-y - Johnny Jewel - "Windswept" (Windswept)
Saxophone, instrumental, nice, look into?
Session 9
Run-off-the-mill 90's horror film about a asbestos cleaning crew suffering from weird illusions in an abandoned madhouse. It was probably my own state of mind why this film actually got to me. It wasn't that good but there was a shift in my perception for a little while.
Monday, 26 June 2017
Logan (2016)
Amazing film that kept me in its grip from beginning to end. Not in the least because of its amazing soundtrack.
Thursday, 22 June 2017
Tuesday, 13 June 2017
Tuesday, 6 June 2017
Aine Cahill - "Black Dahlia"
Very Florence & the Machine ish. Hints of Marina and the Diamon. No full album yet, it seems.
Wednesday, 17 May 2017
Love in the Circus - "Trust me"
female vocals, lost saxophone, 3am stuff, Vaya Con Dios but less swing.
Tuesday, 16 May 2017
Friday, 12 May 2017
Monday, 8 May 2017
Thursday, 4 May 2017
Hooded Fang - Den Of Love (6 Music Session, 13 Feb 2012)
Nice twangy, then rock song.
Nice as well, though completely different: Nick Nicely - Ghostdream. Electronic.
Postrock! Phoenician Drive - "Two Coins"
Slade - Get Down and Get With It - Live in Paris 1972
Nice as well, though completely different: Nick Nicely - Ghostdream. Electronic.
Postrock! Phoenician Drive - "Two Coins"
Slade - Get Down and Get With It - Live in Paris 1972
Friday, 28 April 2017
Thursday, 27 April 2017
Fader - "Laundrette" (First Let)
Very soft spoken, near-parlando, like Japan's "Nightporter"
Unavailable everywhere, heard on bbc6. Awesome stuff.
Unavailable everywhere, heard on bbc6. Awesome stuff.
Tuesday, 25 April 2017
Monday, 17 April 2017
The Lobster
Absurd and poignant film in a near future where people have to find a mate within 45 days or they will be turned into an animal. They hunt "loners", people who don't subscribe to that lifestyle and live in the woods, but who create just as strict and harsh rules for themselves. The need to find a common defect as a must for relationships is beautiful and painful.
Hunt for the Wilderpeople
Nice and at times quite funny story of a young orphan who treks through the bush after his guardian mom died and his gruffy guardian father has to put up with him. A bit over the top at the very end, the car chase, but thinking back to it, it basically showed the boy's point of view - he admitted getting carried away living the stux life, yo - of everything.
Sicario
Harsh story about the realities of anti drug agencies operating around (and across) the USA-Mexico border. Not just violence and action - although a fair amount - but some hard personal moments.
Saturday, 15 April 2017
Martin Seay - "The Mirror Thief"
I felt there was more to this book than I found. Three timelines, three generations of sorts. Strange motions in language and story. I wasn't enraptured, but kept curious, excepting magic realism, not really finding it. But there was a strange book that one of the characters does not understand, and as such keeps reading it, over and over again, until it makes sense.
Part of the settings, L.A. in the 60's, sounded very familiar.
Part of the settings, L.A. in the 60's, sounded very familiar.
Cixin Liu - "The Three-Body Problem"
Interesting enough by itself, about aliens who can for sure take over the earth, and communicate this, to a strange satellite post in the north of China.
Yet it failed to capture me. Too long ago to remember why, though.
Yet it failed to capture me. Too long ago to remember why, though.
Lisa McInerny - "The Glorious Heresies"
Amazing sentences, on every single page, time and again, and an impressive speed, but after reading it for a while, noticed I'm still not too taken with any of the characters to care too much for them.
He left the boy outside its own front door. Farewell to it, and good luck to it. He wasn't going to feed it anymore; from here on in it would be squared shoulders and jaws, and strong arms and best feet forward. He left the boy a pile of mangled, skinny limbs and stepped through the door a newborn man, stinging a little in the sights of the sprite guiding his metamorphosis. Karine D'Arcy was her name. She was fifteen and a bit and had been in his class for the past three years. Outside of school she consistently outclassed him, and yet here she was, standing in his hall on a Monday lunchtime. And so the boy had to go, what was left of him, what hadn't been flayed away by her hands and kisses.
They had gone to the pictures, they had eaten ice cream, they had meandered at the end of each meeting back to her road, holding hands. And lest they laid foundations too wholesome, they had found quiet spaces and dark corners in which to crumble that friendship, his palms recording the difference between the skin on her waist and on her breasts, his body pushing against hers so he could remember how her every hollow fit him.
Deirde Allen was as stubborn as she was tough, which may have sounded like an admirable mix, but as far as Jimmy could tell it simply meant she was too stupid to know when she was wrong and too slow to notice the consequences.
- but then it pissed him off that he couldn't approach her on his own two feet. That he was no more upright now than his father. That uselessness was hereditary.
Ellie looked worse than her exertions sounded. She frowned all the way through the piece and then turned and faced her audience like she'd been instructed to do so by a voice in her head which intended later to encourage her to burn down an orphanage.
He left the boy outside its own front door. Farewell to it, and good luck to it. He wasn't going to feed it anymore; from here on in it would be squared shoulders and jaws, and strong arms and best feet forward. He left the boy a pile of mangled, skinny limbs and stepped through the door a newborn man, stinging a little in the sights of the sprite guiding his metamorphosis. Karine D'Arcy was her name. She was fifteen and a bit and had been in his class for the past three years. Outside of school she consistently outclassed him, and yet here she was, standing in his hall on a Monday lunchtime. And so the boy had to go, what was left of him, what hadn't been flayed away by her hands and kisses.
They had gone to the pictures, they had eaten ice cream, they had meandered at the end of each meeting back to her road, holding hands. And lest they laid foundations too wholesome, they had found quiet spaces and dark corners in which to crumble that friendship, his palms recording the difference between the skin on her waist and on her breasts, his body pushing against hers so he could remember how her every hollow fit him.
Deirde Allen was as stubborn as she was tough, which may have sounded like an admirable mix, but as far as Jimmy could tell it simply meant she was too stupid to know when she was wrong and too slow to notice the consequences.
- but then it pissed him off that he couldn't approach her on his own two feet. That he was no more upright now than his father. That uselessness was hereditary.
Ellie looked worse than her exertions sounded. She frowned all the way through the piece and then turned and faced her audience like she'd been instructed to do so by a voice in her head which intended later to encourage her to burn down an orphanage.
Michelle Gurevich - "Lovers Are Strangers" (Party Girl)
Found this a long time ago. Low throated late jazzy sad songs. Hints of Marianne Faithful.
Joseph Heller - "Catch 22"
Amazingly crazy characters! You can see the true war's madness through the lines. But what - so far - has been missing is any real narrative that will make you care a lot about its characters.
'They're trying to kill me,' Yossarian told him calmly.
'No one's trying to kill you,' Clevinger cried.
'Then why are they shooting at me?' Yossarian asked.
'They're shooting at everyone,' Clevinger answered. 'They're trying to kill everyone.'
'And what difference does that make?'
Clevinger was already on the way, half out of his chair with emotion, his eyes moist and his lips quivering and pale. As always occurred when he quarreled over principles in which he believed passionately, he would end up gasping furiously for air and blinking back bitter tears of conviction. There were many principles in which Clevinger believed passionately. He was crazy.
'Who's they?' he wanted to know. 'Who, specifically, do you think is trying to murder you?'
'Every one of them,' Yossarian told him.
'Every one of whom?'
'Every one of who do you think?'
'I haven't any idea.'
'Then how do you know they aren't?'
'Because...' Clevinger sputtered, and turned speechless with frustration.
Clevinger really thought he was right, but Yossarian had proof, because strangers he didn't know shot at him with cannons every time he flew up into the air to drop bombs om them, and it wasn't funny at all. And if that wasn't funny, there were lots of things that weren't even funnier. There was nothing funny about living like a bum in a tent in Pianosa between fat mountains behind him and a placid blue sea in front that could gulp down a person with a cramp in the twinkling of an eye and ship him back to shore three days later, all charges paid, bloated, blue and putrescent, water draining out through both cold nostrils.
Orr sniggered as he shook his head. 'I did it to protect my good reputation in case anyone ever caught me walking around with crab apples in my cheeks. with rubber balls in my hands I could deny there were crab apples in my cheeks. Every time someone asked me why I was walking around with crab apples in my cheeks, I'd just open my hands and show them it was rubber balls I was walking around with, not crab apples, and that they were in my hands, not my cheeks. It was a good story. But I never knew if it got across or not, since it's pretty tough to make people understand you when you're talking to them with two crab apples in your cheeks.'
The nightmares appeared to Hungry Joe with celestial punctuality every single night he spent in the squadron throughout the whole harrowing ordeal when he was not flying combat missions and was waiting once again for the orders sending him home that never came. Impressionable men in the squadron like Dobbs and Captain Flume were so deeply disturbed by Hungry Joe's shrieking nightmares that they would begin to have shrieking nightmares of their won, and the piercing obscenities they flung into the air every night from the separate places in the squadron rang against each other in the darkness romantically like the mating calls of songbirds with filthy minds.
'They're trying to kill me,' Yossarian told him calmly.
'No one's trying to kill you,' Clevinger cried.
'Then why are they shooting at me?' Yossarian asked.
'They're shooting at everyone,' Clevinger answered. 'They're trying to kill everyone.'
'And what difference does that make?'
Clevinger was already on the way, half out of his chair with emotion, his eyes moist and his lips quivering and pale. As always occurred when he quarreled over principles in which he believed passionately, he would end up gasping furiously for air and blinking back bitter tears of conviction. There were many principles in which Clevinger believed passionately. He was crazy.
'Who's they?' he wanted to know. 'Who, specifically, do you think is trying to murder you?'
'Every one of them,' Yossarian told him.
'Every one of whom?'
'Every one of who do you think?'
'I haven't any idea.'
'Then how do you know they aren't?'
'Because...' Clevinger sputtered, and turned speechless with frustration.
Clevinger really thought he was right, but Yossarian had proof, because strangers he didn't know shot at him with cannons every time he flew up into the air to drop bombs om them, and it wasn't funny at all. And if that wasn't funny, there were lots of things that weren't even funnier. There was nothing funny about living like a bum in a tent in Pianosa between fat mountains behind him and a placid blue sea in front that could gulp down a person with a cramp in the twinkling of an eye and ship him back to shore three days later, all charges paid, bloated, blue and putrescent, water draining out through both cold nostrils.
Orr sniggered as he shook his head. 'I did it to protect my good reputation in case anyone ever caught me walking around with crab apples in my cheeks. with rubber balls in my hands I could deny there were crab apples in my cheeks. Every time someone asked me why I was walking around with crab apples in my cheeks, I'd just open my hands and show them it was rubber balls I was walking around with, not crab apples, and that they were in my hands, not my cheeks. It was a good story. But I never knew if it got across or not, since it's pretty tough to make people understand you when you're talking to them with two crab apples in your cheeks.'
The nightmares appeared to Hungry Joe with celestial punctuality every single night he spent in the squadron throughout the whole harrowing ordeal when he was not flying combat missions and was waiting once again for the orders sending him home that never came. Impressionable men in the squadron like Dobbs and Captain Flume were so deeply disturbed by Hungry Joe's shrieking nightmares that they would begin to have shrieking nightmares of their won, and the piercing obscenities they flung into the air every night from the separate places in the squadron rang against each other in the darkness romantically like the mating calls of songbirds with filthy minds.
The Invitation
Enjoyable enough AFFF-ish film about friends coming together more than two years after tragedy of a dying child of main character and his ex. Quite predictable and some scenes were repetitive. Also, the "shocking end" was, well, mehhhh. But good for a late Friday evening.
45 Years
Charlotte Rampling stars in this amazing film about a long slowly unraveling marriage. Amazingly subdued story with strong emotional currents without ever needing strong visual or audio cues.
Friday, 14 April 2017
Trentemöller - "Spinning" (Fixion)
Hypnotic electronics, female voice, slow impending beat, wheezing synths. Quite good.
values of β will give rise to dom!
The very first use of Unix in the "real business" of Bell Labs was to type and produce patent applications, and for a while in the early 1970s we had three typists busily typing away in the grotty lab on the sixth floor. One day someone came in and observed on the paper sticking out of one of the Teletypes, displayed in magnificent isolation, this ominous phrase:
But the phrase itself was just so striking! Utterly meaningless, but it looks like what... a warning? What is "dom?"
At the same time, we were experimenting with text-to-voice software by Doug McIlroy and others, and of course the phrase was tried out with it. For whatever reason, its rendition of "give rise to dom!" accented the last word in a way that emphasized the phonetic similarity between "doom" and the first syllable of "dominance." It pronounced "beta" in the British style, "beeta." The entire occurrence became a small, shared treasure.
https://www.bell-labs.com/usr/dmr/www/odd.html
values of β will give rise to dom!It was of course obvious that the typist had interrupted a printout (generating the "!" from the ed editor) and moved up the paper, and that the context must have been something like "varying values of beta will give rise to domain wall movement" or some other fragment of a physically plausible patent application.
But the phrase itself was just so striking! Utterly meaningless, but it looks like what... a warning? What is "dom?"
At the same time, we were experimenting with text-to-voice software by Doug McIlroy and others, and of course the phrase was tried out with it. For whatever reason, its rendition of "give rise to dom!" accented the last word in a way that emphasized the phonetic similarity between "doom" and the first syllable of "dominance." It pronounced "beta" in the British style, "beeta." The entire occurrence became a small, shared treasure.
https://www.bell-labs.com/usr/dmr/www/odd.html
Friday, 7 April 2017
Thursday, 6 April 2017
the Head and the Heart - "Dreamer"
Not even sure why I like it... because of its 70's vibe?
Nice 'n catchy.
Nice 'n catchy.
Monday, 27 March 2017
Terry Pratchett - discworld quotation
Technically, the city of Ankh-Morpork is a Tyranny, which is not always the same thing as a monarchy, and in fact even the post of Tyrant has been somewhat redefined by the incumbent, Lord Vetinari, as the only form of democracy that works. Everyone is entitled to vote, unless disqualified by reason of age or not being Lord Vetinari. And yet it does work. This has annoyed a number of people who feel, somehow, that it should not, and who want a monarch instead, thus replacing a man who has achieved his position by cunning, a deep understanding of the realities of the human psyche, breathtaking diplomacy, a certain prowess with the stiletto dagger, and, all agree, a mind like a perfectly balanced circular saw, with a man who has got there by being born… A third proposition, that the city be governed by a choice of respectable members of the community who would promise not to give themselves airs or betray the public trust at every turn, was instantly the subject of music-hall jokes all over the city.
Saturday, 25 March 2017
Thursday, 23 March 2017
Nightmanager
Series with Hugh Laurie and Tom... something. That Thor guy.
Amazing series. Sorta James Bond-ish. And the Night manager part was let go off a bit too much at some point. Great story telling. Great mood and music.
Amazing series. Sorta James Bond-ish. And the Night manager part was let go off a bit too much at some point. Great story telling. Great mood and music.
Monday, 13 March 2017
Gerrit Komrij - "Verzonken Boeken"
"... Heel het leger van de nijveren ook, van de denkers en dichters, van de windmolenbouwers, ballonvaarders en liefdeszangers, het ligt onder de grond en hun kennis, hoge kluchten en verzen zijn in de wonderlijke omhulsels die boeken heten achtergebleven, omhulsels die nooit dezelfde zijn en toch altijd weer op elkaar lijken, die oneindig kunnen variëren in papiersoort, letter, band, versiering, kleur, of maat, maar toch altijd onmiddelijk te onderscheiden zijn als Boek. Onder de grond ligen miljoenen stoffelijke resten, maar een ander groot leger van doodkisten huist in bibiliotheken boven de grond, als de geest die boven die knekels zweeft. Dat is het kerkhof van ons verleden, het mortuarium van kennis, beschaving en dwaasheid waartoe iedereen vrij toegang heeft die over de toverstaf beschikt waarmee men de doden daar tot leven wekt: de toverstaf van het alfabetisme."
"Onder de grond het nameloze, boven de grond de naam. Boven de grond de rechtvaardiging van de vergane gruwel in het slijk. De verstilde, aristocratische bibliotheek geeft zin aan het zoevende, zinloze slagersmes van de wereldgeschiedenis. Kreten verstomden en werden letters en letters sloegen weer kreten los. De Ilias kwam na de Trojaanse oorlog en de Tweede Wereldoorlog kwam na Mein Kampf."
"Een van de onoplosbare raadsels die het zoogdier mens, toch al niet arm aan loose ends, aankleven is zijn drang tot reizen. Wat beweegt die behaagzieke tweevoeter, in de loop van de evolutie uitgegroeid tot de ideal partner van fauteuil and crapaud, ja in donzen kussens passend als een schroef in een moer, zijn comfortabele milieu vaarwel te zeggen en zich bloot te stellen aan te veel hitte, te veel kou, aan het gezelschap van te veel mensen, aan autopech en denderende ruzies, aan de samenzwering tussen luchtvaartmaatschappijen en verzekeringsgiganten, aan stof en hoofdpijn, aan heimwee en de mondiale monotonie van de souvenirwinkel? Wat beweegt hem zijn natuurlijke staat te verlaten en zich in een nachtmerrie van ongemakken en onaangepast gedrag te storten?
Ziedaar het best bewaarde geheim van de schepping."
"'... schrijft alleen zoals jíj het leven voelt. Dat wil zeggen: als je een onderwerp behandelt waarmee je niet vertrouwd bent - bijvoorbeeld de zee - vermoei je dan niet met het naspeuren van allerlei technische aspecten van, zeg maar, de navigatie, maar schrijf over schepen en wat dies meer zij zoals ze indruk op je hebben gemaakt en - het allerbelangrijkste - alleen wanneer ze indruk op je hebben gemaakt. Als ik een tui vol mooie bloemen zie, als die aanblik iets in me heeft losgemaakt (is het mogelijk dat ik geen van de bloemen bij naam ken), dan is het mijn enige zorg hoe ik mijn particuliere emotie aan de lezer overdraag, en alleen indirect hoe het visuele effect van het geheel zal zijn. Hoewel...'
Dit hoewel is typerend voor Gerhardie. Eén standpunt zou te benauwend zijn. Daarom werd hij door de literaire magazijnbedienden ongeschikt verklaard, denk ik, voor een constellatie. Hij kon geen vaste plaats vinden - tussen aanverwante artikelen - op een van hun literaire schappen. De liefde, de schoonheid, de onschuld portretteren - dat wilde Gerhardie - doe je niet vanuit één standpunt; je kan ze alleen attaqueren door om beurten, of tegelijkertijd, lyrisch, cynisch, poëtisch, nuchter, dolkomisch, melig, melancholiek, bevlogen, aards en satirisch te zijn. De wisselingen van stemmingen in The Polyglots is enorm, maar staat in dienst van één doel: de eenvoud."
"Schaars is het aantal boeken dat je een lamme hand bezorgt, oneindig groot daarentegen het leger dat je tot niet één uitroeptekentje, niet één miezerig sicje of kruisje weet op te wekken. Toch heeft het lezen geen ander doel dan dit blijven haken aan memorabilia: zeg mij wat u in uw leven heeft aangekruist en ik zeg u wie u bent."
"De bibliofiel wordt door velen beschouwd als een fijnproever, een liefhebben van mooie dingen die met zorg een uitgelezen verzameling bijeenbrengt. Niets is minder waar. De bibliofiel is een veelvraat, een slokop, een ordinaire opstapelaar. Boeken zijn voor hem geen doel, maar een middel. Een middel om zich, in een mantel van beschaving, te gedragen als een wilde die met pijl en boog door het oerwoud rent om hitsig alles neer te leggen wat hem voor de voeten loopt. Zodra zijn prooi terneerligt steekt hij alweer, met atavistische drift, zijn neusvleugels uit in de richting van ander wild. De bibliofiel staat nog 't dichtst bij Tarzan van de apen.
Als de bibliofiel na lang speuren een vurig gewenst boek heeft gevonden en bijgezet in zijn trofeeënkast, verliest hij er prompt alle interesse in. Hij is al op zoek naar een ander boek. Zolang de bibliofiel leeft blijft zijn buit dood liggen, als een gehoorzame hond. Pas na de dood van de jager zelf komt de hond weer tot leven. Wee het boek dat in de handen van een bibliofiel valt! Het blijft dood zolang zijn baas leeft. Alleen bij het overlijden van bibliofielen vinden boeken baat."
"Nog even in de sfeer van de artsen. Voor verzamelaars die hem om een handtekening of een staaltje van zijn handschrift vroegen had Mark Twain een gedrukt briefje klaar: 'Luistert u eens. Ik schrijf om aan de kost te komen. Mijn schrijven is handel. U vraagt toch ook niet aan een dokter of hij u als souvenir een van zijn lijken toestuurt?'"
"Karl Marx ontving tijdens zijn aan research gewijd verblijf in Londen de volgende brief van zijn uitgever: 'Geachte Herr Doctor. U bent al achttien maanden over de inleveringstermijn van het manuscript van Das Kapital heen wat u beloofd hebt voor ons te schrijven. indien wij thans het manuscript niet binnen zes maanden ontvangen zullen wij ons helaas genoodzaakt zien het werk aan een andere auteur uit te besteden.'"
"Als ik zulke flapteksten lees schiet me steevast de eigenaar van een winkel in huishoudelijke artikelen, die bij mij op de hoek woont, te binnen. Jaren geleden bood hij in de uitverkoop muizevallen voor één gulden aan. Dat was geen geld, toegegeven, maar het waren dan ook wel héél scharminkelige muizevallen. Een stukje waaibomenhout met een paperclip, meer niet. 'Daar zul je ook geen muis mee vangen,' zei ik. 'Wél als je er voor een tientje kaas op legt,' antwoordde hij."
"Bloed valt er te verbergen, en de jammerklacht van tallozen. In de Eerste Wereldoorlog werd wel eens een voetbal in de richting van de vijandelijke linies getrapt om de aanval inspiratie te verlenen, om de slachtpartij het gezellige aanzien van een klaverjaswedstrijd te geven. Een zeker Captain Nevill nam - het staat te lezen in Fussells The Great War and Modern Memory - tijdens het offensief aan de Somme vier voetballen mee, voor elk peloton één, en loofde een prijs uit voor het peloton dat als eerste zijn voetbal achter de Duitse frontlinie had getrapt. Achteneenhalf miljoen mensen kwamen in deze oorlog om. Alleen aan de Somme: één miljoen. Ze zijn verdwenen. Maar twee van de vier voetballen staan nog in Engelse musea te pronk. Mensen vergaan, symbolen blijven."
"Toch - wie een beschavgin echt wil kennen hoort geen onderscheid te maken tussen de orakelspreuk en de rebus, tussen het Wilhelmus en het bargoens, tussen een aria en een scheet. Hij brengt niet ongestraft een hiërarchie aan in de zintuigen van de mens - of hij groeit zelf net zo scheef als het beeld dat hij zich van anderen schiep."
"Echte kinderhanepoten zijn het, met verbeteringen, spetters, intkvlekken en al. De tekeningen komen je vertrouwd voor; kindertekeningen hebben iets tijdloos; ze zijn blijkbaar niet aan stijlen of ontwikkelingen onderhevig, nagenoeg als kattengemiauw en het gedrag van politici."
"Ik ril als ik aan al die miljarden letters denk die, als je ze ook maar even door elkaar zou schudden, niet de miste betekenis meer opleveren. Ik huiver bij de gedachte aan die miljoenen stoffige, grauwe vellen die ze tussen hun platten torsen en die, als het ook maar lichtjes door het plafond zou gaan lekken, niets meer voorstellen dan een papperige, zwakzinnige brij. Wat heb ik aan hun vage boodschappen, hun oude nieuws, hun kreten en gejengel uit een voorgoed voorbij verleden? Het zijn jaloerse vrijsters die zich tegen me hebben gekeerd omdat ik niet langer met ze flirt. Ik wil me bevrijden van hun juk en een nieuw, fris leven beginnen. Ik verlang naar een lichte wereld, zonder hun ballast.
Wat moet ik met dat eczeem dat neerschilferde van al die inmiddels fossiel geworden generaties en dat als ongevraagd geschenk voor mij achterbleef? Het is een warboel, en het verwart me. Weg er mee - totaal, absoluut.
Maar hoe ik mijn best doe, het lukt me niet. Nooit zal het me lukken, besef ik pijnlijk. Het zou zijn of ik mij darmen, toch ook een walgelijk labyrint van verbindingen die enkel in mijn buik, en enkel daar, op zonderlinge wijze functioneren, er uitrukte en opvrat. Het zou zijn of ik mijn hersens, die zinloze pap van kleffe cellen en anders niet, uit mijn kop schoot. Het zou mijn dood zijn."
Sunday, 12 March 2017
Marja Pruis - "Genoeg nu over mij"
1. De spiegels in mijn huis. Over schrijvers en hun reflectie
Martinus Nijhoff - "Het kind en ik"
Ik zou een dag uit vissen,
ik voelde mij moedeloos.
Ik maakte tussen de lissen
met de hand een wak in het kroos.
Er steeg licht op van beneden
uit de zwarte spiegelgrond.
Ik zag een tuin onbetreden
en een kind dat daar stond.
Het stond aan zijn schrijftafel
te schrijven op een lei.
Het woord onder de griffel
herkende ik, was van mij.
Maar toen heeft het geschreven,
zonder haast en zonder schroom,
al wat ik van mijn leven
nog ooit te schrijven droom.
En telkens als ik even
knikte dat ik het wist,
liet hij het water beven
en het werd uitgewist.
Sylvia Plath - "Mirror"
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful ‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Gilian Wearing - Self portrait as a 17 year old
http://www.we-find-wildness.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/gillian-wearing-self-portrait-at-17-years-old-2003.jpeg
Tas had me verteld dat schaamte de emotionele reactie is op de angst voor afwijzing. Een uitspraak van zijn oom over de zwijgzaamheid van Duitse Joden die in 1938 naar Nederland vluchtten, was hem altijd bijgebleven. 'Ze schamen zich omdat ze slecht zijn behandeld.' Het besef te behoren tot een groep die straffeloos kon worden vernederd en mishandeld, was schaamteverwekkend. 'Wanneer je je schaamt,' zei Tas, 'heul je met de vijand. De haat richt zich tegen jezelf. Schaamte kan tot zelfmoord leiden.
Schillen moeten we: razendsnel
uit de partjes kruipen
voor een nieuwe schil ons vangt.
Martinus Nijhoff - "Het kind en ik"
Ik zou een dag uit vissen,
ik voelde mij moedeloos.
Ik maakte tussen de lissen
met de hand een wak in het kroos.
Er steeg licht op van beneden
uit de zwarte spiegelgrond.
Ik zag een tuin onbetreden
en een kind dat daar stond.
Het stond aan zijn schrijftafel
te schrijven op een lei.
Het woord onder de griffel
herkende ik, was van mij.
Maar toen heeft het geschreven,
zonder haast en zonder schroom,
al wat ik van mijn leven
nog ooit te schrijven droom.
En telkens als ik even
knikte dat ik het wist,
liet hij het water beven
en het werd uitgewist.
Sylvia Plath - "Mirror"
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful ‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Gilian Wearing - Self portrait as a 17 year old
http://www.we-find-wildness.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/gillian-wearing-self-portrait-at-17-years-old-2003.jpeg
Tas had me verteld dat schaamte de emotionele reactie is op de angst voor afwijzing. Een uitspraak van zijn oom over de zwijgzaamheid van Duitse Joden die in 1938 naar Nederland vluchtten, was hem altijd bijgebleven. 'Ze schamen zich omdat ze slecht zijn behandeld.' Het besef te behoren tot een groep die straffeloos kon worden vernederd en mishandeld, was schaamteverwekkend. 'Wanneer je je schaamt,' zei Tas, 'heul je met de vijand. De haat richt zich tegen jezelf. Schaamte kan tot zelfmoord leiden.
Schillen moeten we: razendsnel
uit de partjes kruipen
voor een nieuwe schil ons vangt.
Thursday, 9 March 2017
Tuesday, 7 March 2017
David Lynch music
the slow-dancing-soft-girl songs
Beach House - "Wishes" (though skimming the other songs on this album, not that amazing)
Lay Low - "I Forget It's There" (Farewell Good Night's Sleep)
Haven't heard anything else of her / them. Good.
Emily Haines - "Doctor Blind" (Knives Don't Have Your Back)
Same here, hints of "Huit Femmes", haven't heard the rest.
Beach House - "Wishes" (though skimming the other songs on this album, not that amazing)
Lay Low - "I Forget It's There" (Farewell Good Night's Sleep)
Haven't heard anything else of her / them. Good.
Emily Haines - "Doctor Blind" (Knives Don't Have Your Back)
Same here, hints of "Huit Femmes", haven't heard the rest.
Legion
Started off pretty awesome, but by episode four things had started to lose their logic. And why, when Sydney can switch minds, do the bodies suddenly, some time later, switch as well?
Music reminded me of Utopia. Actually, the whole style was reminiscent of that series.
Music reminded me of Utopia. Actually, the whole style was reminiscent of that series.
Sunday, 5 March 2017
Ez3kiel - "Lux"
Drone rock, or simply postrock. Quite nice when you need to drown out the world.
Album "Handle with care" on the other hand, has almost ska-like influences, Death Can Dance vocals...
And "Barb4ry" reminded me a lot of DAAU... which makes sense since they actually played together on the Versus Tour.
Album "Handle with care" on the other hand, has almost ska-like influences, Death Can Dance vocals...
And "Barb4ry" reminded me a lot of DAAU... which makes sense since they actually played together on the Versus Tour.
Thursday, 2 March 2017
Whiplash
Quite an intense film about a drummer and his mentor. He is driven, but his mentor is beyond driven, treating his students like shit because, Charlie Parker only became bird after his mentor threw a cymbal at his head. Semi-happy ending. But who won.
Kazuo Ishiguro - "The Buried Giant"
There is a lot about this story that I might actually miss, but as far as I get it, it is absolutely beautiful. The post-Arthur landscape, the language of the people, archaic and careful, particularly careful, sketch an impression of a forgetful world that captures you from the beginning. The ending is, overwhelming in its subdued tones. I wish I knew how to describe it better. I fear I need to read up on ancient Britain lore and customs.
"Do you remember the strange woman in dark rags you watched me talking to up by the old thorn that day? She may have looked a mad wanderer, but the story she told had much in common with the old woman's just now. Her husband too had been taken by a hoatman and she left behind on the shore. And when she was coming back from teh cove, weeping for loneliness, she found herself crossing the edge of a high valley, and she could see the path a long way before and a long way behind, and all along it people weeping just like her. When I heard this I was only partly afraid, saying to myself it was nothing to do with us, Axl. But she went on speaking, about how this land had become cursed with a mist of forgetfulness, a thing we've remarked on often enough ourselves. And then she asked me: 'How will you and your husband prove your love for each other when you can't remember the past you've shared?' And I've been thinking about it ever since. Sometimes I think of it and it makes me so afraid."
"But what's to fear, princess? We've no plans to go to any such island or any desire to do so."
"Even so, Axl. What if our love withers before we've a chance even to think of going to such a place?"
What are you saying, princess? How can our love wither? Isn't it stronger now than we we were foolish young lovers?"
"But Axl, we can't even remember those days. Or any of the years between. We don't remember our fierce quarrels or the small moments we enjoyed and treasured. We don't remember our son or why he's away from us."
"We can make all those memories come back, princess. Besides, the feeling in my heart for you will be there just the same, no matter what I remember or forget. Don't you feel the same, princess?"
"I do, Axl. But then again I wonder if what we feel in our hearts today isn't like these raindrops still falling on us from the soaked leaves above, even though the sky itself long stopped raining. I'm wondering if without our memories, there's nothing for it but for our love to fade and die."
"God wouldn't allow such a thing, princess." Axl said this quietly, almost under his breath, for he had himself felt an unnamed fear welling up within him.
"... Ladies, let us remember them as ladies, Horace, now we are finally beyond them, for are they not to be pitied? We will not call them hags, even if their manners tempt us to. Let us remember that once, some among them at least possessed grace and beauty."
"Do you remember the strange woman in dark rags you watched me talking to up by the old thorn that day? She may have looked a mad wanderer, but the story she told had much in common with the old woman's just now. Her husband too had been taken by a hoatman and she left behind on the shore. And when she was coming back from teh cove, weeping for loneliness, she found herself crossing the edge of a high valley, and she could see the path a long way before and a long way behind, and all along it people weeping just like her. When I heard this I was only partly afraid, saying to myself it was nothing to do with us, Axl. But she went on speaking, about how this land had become cursed with a mist of forgetfulness, a thing we've remarked on often enough ourselves. And then she asked me: 'How will you and your husband prove your love for each other when you can't remember the past you've shared?' And I've been thinking about it ever since. Sometimes I think of it and it makes me so afraid."
"But what's to fear, princess? We've no plans to go to any such island or any desire to do so."
"Even so, Axl. What if our love withers before we've a chance even to think of going to such a place?"
What are you saying, princess? How can our love wither? Isn't it stronger now than we we were foolish young lovers?"
"But Axl, we can't even remember those days. Or any of the years between. We don't remember our fierce quarrels or the small moments we enjoyed and treasured. We don't remember our son or why he's away from us."
"We can make all those memories come back, princess. Besides, the feeling in my heart for you will be there just the same, no matter what I remember or forget. Don't you feel the same, princess?"
"I do, Axl. But then again I wonder if what we feel in our hearts today isn't like these raindrops still falling on us from the soaked leaves above, even though the sky itself long stopped raining. I'm wondering if without our memories, there's nothing for it but for our love to fade and die."
"God wouldn't allow such a thing, princess." Axl said this quietly, almost under his breath, for he had himself felt an unnamed fear welling up within him.
"... Ladies, let us remember them as ladies, Horace, now we are finally beyond them, for are they not to be pitied? We will not call them hags, even if their manners tempt us to. Let us remember that once, some among them at least possessed grace and beauty."
Wednesday, 1 March 2017
Youn Sun Nah - "Jockey full of bourbon" (Voyage)
Nice slow-evening-swinging (Calypso-ish?) version.
Not all songs from this album are as enjoyable. "The Linden" is ok.
Not all songs from this album are as enjoyable. "The Linden" is ok.
Tuesday, 28 February 2017
Quotations in an article on the "discovery" of the Pacific by the Spaniard Balboa
"How dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge," said Victor Frankenstein, "nad how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow."
[Mary Shelly]
"Here, millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, dreaming, still; tossing like slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling waves but made so by their restlessness."
[Herman Melville on the Pacific Ocean]
Thursday, 23 February 2017
Peru - misc
* Out of Time [1981]
* Continents [1983]
Very nice synths. Not on spotify alas. Very 80s wow-y reverbs and basic beats.
* Continents [1983]
Very nice synths. Not on spotify alas. Very 80s wow-y reverbs and basic beats.
Tuesday, 21 February 2017
Sunday, 19 February 2017
the Adjustment Bureau
Should have realized this is based on a short Philip K. Dick story (same name). Matt Daemon and Emily Blunt in an enjoyable but not extremely deep scifi flic, where the plan of "the chairman" keeps them apart. Until the plan gets changed. Didn't see that coming.
Saturday, 18 February 2017
Martin Scorcese on catharsis
That’s why we like to read a book, or listen to music, or see a really interesting film, where you feel a catharsis: it is play-acting, in a way, for us. But in life, there is none of that. The moment you try to grasp the moment, it’s gone.
https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/interview-martin-scorsese
https://www.commonwealmagazine.org/interview-martin-scorsese
Tuesday, 7 February 2017
Ten hours of ship stuck in ice ambient
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gpW7iYfuGDU
I'm not sure about the tags here...
I'm not sure about the tags here...
Monday, 6 February 2017
the Hubschrauber - "Kepler - 186f"
Described as "lo-fi", reminds me a lot of Belgian bands like Soulwax, dEUS... Nice sound.
Tuesday, 31 January 2017
Yom - "On the Endless Road" (Songs for the Old Man, 2015)
Sad meandering saxophone. Reminded me a bit of Etienne Jaumet, though it lacks those energetic speedups. Which is not a bad thing, just different.
Just listened to the whole album. Pretty nice.
Le Silence de l'exode
This though has a lot more energy, follows a flow of building fast notes, only then to slow down to the twanging of a jazzy contrabass.
Just listened to the whole album. Pretty nice.
Le Silence de l'exode
This though has a lot more energy, follows a flow of building fast notes, only then to slow down to the twanging of a jazzy contrabass.
Benjamin Franklin - writing exercises
Step One: Find writing you would like to emulate.
Step Two: Make short notes about the view or opinion of each sentence.
Step Three: Wait a few days, and then write a piece only using your notes on each sentence.
Step Four: Go back and read the original writing selection you chose and compare it to the writing you did.
Step Five: Find any faults, and correct them.
He started by taking one of the essays and jotting down a note for each sentence indicating the sentiment it contained. He then put his notes aside for a few days and then by using his notes recreated the essay in his own words. Then he compared his version to the original and made corrections. Essay by essay he could see his approach improving his skills and in some small ways he felt his expression might even be better than the original. These glimmers of erudition gave him hope.
Despite the progress Ben felt he needed more. He wanted to expand his vocabulary. What better way then than to rewrite an essay’s prose in verse. Again he would start with notes expressing the sentiment of each sentence but this time he wrote his version in verse. It forced him to add variety and creativity. After a few days he’d forget the original prose and so would then take his verse and use it to rewrite the essay. Again he made a comparison, made corrections and learned by doing.
I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best order, before I began to form the full sentences and compleat the paper. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By comparing my work afterwards with the original, I discovered many faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying that, in certain particulars of small import, I had been lucky enough to improve the method or the language.
Step Two: Make short notes about the view or opinion of each sentence.
Step Three: Wait a few days, and then write a piece only using your notes on each sentence.
Step Four: Go back and read the original writing selection you chose and compare it to the writing you did.
Step Five: Find any faults, and correct them.
He started by taking one of the essays and jotting down a note for each sentence indicating the sentiment it contained. He then put his notes aside for a few days and then by using his notes recreated the essay in his own words. Then he compared his version to the original and made corrections. Essay by essay he could see his approach improving his skills and in some small ways he felt his expression might even be better than the original. These glimmers of erudition gave him hope.
Despite the progress Ben felt he needed more. He wanted to expand his vocabulary. What better way then than to rewrite an essay’s prose in verse. Again he would start with notes expressing the sentiment of each sentence but this time he wrote his version in verse. It forced him to add variety and creativity. After a few days he’d forget the original prose and so would then take his verse and use it to rewrite the essay. Again he made a comparison, made corrections and learned by doing.
I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best order, before I began to form the full sentences and compleat the paper. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By comparing my work afterwards with the original, I discovered many faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying that, in certain particulars of small import, I had been lucky enough to improve the method or the language.
Sunday, 29 January 2017
HAPPYish
Too short series with Steve Coogan as sad, depressed advertisement guy. It has great quotes and amazing humour. Must watch again.
N. K. Jemisin - "The Fifth Season"
Amazing book about an Earth gone rogue and humanity try to survive whenever a Season, brought about by volcanos, tectonic activity, ... occurs. Three timelines of the same person, a rogga, who can sess (feel and influence) such activity, necessary in that volatile world, but feared by all the 'stills', the "normal" people who cannot feel anything.
Her trip in search of her husband (to kill him, for out of fear he killed their child), her own childhood, her trip to a sort of freedom with a ten-ringer from the Fulcrum...
Amazing story, well written. A fantasy page turner of the best kind.
"Let's start with the end of the world, why don't we? Get it over with and move on to more interesting things.
First, a personal ending. There is a thing she will think over and over in the days to come, as she imagines how her son died and tries to make sense of something so innately senseless. She will cover Uche's broken little body with a blanket - except his face, because he is afraid of the dark - and she will sit beside it numb, and she will pay no attention to the world that is ending outside. The world has already ended within her, and neither ending is for the first time. She's old hat at this by now.
What she thinks then, and thereafter, is: But he was free.
And it is her bitter, weary self that answers this almost question every time her bewildered, shocked self manages to produce it:
He wasn't. Not really. But now he will be."
Her trip in search of her husband (to kill him, for out of fear he killed their child), her own childhood, her trip to a sort of freedom with a ten-ringer from the Fulcrum...
Amazing story, well written. A fantasy page turner of the best kind.
"Let's start with the end of the world, why don't we? Get it over with and move on to more interesting things.
First, a personal ending. There is a thing she will think over and over in the days to come, as she imagines how her son died and tries to make sense of something so innately senseless. She will cover Uche's broken little body with a blanket - except his face, because he is afraid of the dark - and she will sit beside it numb, and she will pay no attention to the world that is ending outside. The world has already ended within her, and neither ending is for the first time. She's old hat at this by now.
What she thinks then, and thereafter, is: But he was free.
And it is her bitter, weary self that answers this almost question every time her bewildered, shocked self manages to produce it:
He wasn't. Not really. But now he will be."
Friday, 27 January 2017
The Naked Sweat Drips - "Psycho Sister"
organ, guitars, grungy, psychodelicious.... good if you don't mind something bit more rough.
Tuesday, 17 January 2017
Charlie Megire and the Bet She'an Vally Hillbillies - "The End of Teenage"
Great surf songs!
Hava Nargila
and of course "The Death Dance of the Busty Hot Lifeguard Instructor Babe"
Hava Nargila
and of course "The Death Dance of the Busty Hot Lifeguard Instructor Babe"
Night Beats - "Bad Love"
Heard "Bad Love" on BBC6, now listening to their 2016 album "Who Sold My Generation". Old swamp sound.
Monday, 16 January 2017
Forgotten letters of the English alphabet
Eth (ð)
The y in ye actually comes from the letter eth, which slowly merged with y over time. In its purest form, eth was pronounced like the th sound in words like this, that or the. Linguistically, ye is meant to sound the same as the but the incorrect spelling and rampant mispronunciation live on.
https://omgfacts.com/we-used-to-have-6-more-letters-in-our-alphabet-a7e1a165853d#.a0pwtcyq5
The y in ye actually comes from the letter eth, which slowly merged with y over time. In its purest form, eth was pronounced like the th sound in words like this, that or the. Linguistically, ye is meant to sound the same as the but the incorrect spelling and rampant mispronunciation live on.
https://omgfacts.com/we-used-to-have-6-more-letters-in-our-alphabet-a7e1a165853d#.a0pwtcyq5
Saturday, 7 January 2017
Haruki Murakami - "The Wind-up Bird Chronicle"
Ugh, this seems to become a regular thing... but I could not get into the story, delayed it, chose other things to read, turned back to it, had a hard time enjoying it...
It's not bad but, like other Murakami novels (with the notable exception of the "Egg... Wonderland..." one) I seem to miss the deeper philosophical or emotional meaning or layer and I simply Do. Not. Care. So. Much.
There were good pieces, and I was - obviously - quite interested in the strange things happening when he's in the well, passing into that other reality with the room 208 in the hotel, the woman talking to him in different voices, the dark anger trying to attack him...
But did the story grasp me? No.
It's not bad but, like other Murakami novels (with the notable exception of the "Egg... Wonderland..." one) I seem to miss the deeper philosophical or emotional meaning or layer and I simply Do. Not. Care. So. Much.
There were good pieces, and I was - obviously - quite interested in the strange things happening when he's in the well, passing into that other reality with the room 208 in the hotel, the woman talking to him in different voices, the dark anger trying to attack him...
But did the story grasp me? No.
Iggy Pop - "Post Pop Depression" (2016)
How could I have forgotten to log this one? Amazing album. Bring it on, Iggy, bring it on.
Nocturnal Animals (2016)
Enjoyable enough. The beginning was really David Lynch-ish. The inner story, of the book he wrote, was cool. But the outer story was thin. Things unexplained. Things shown that - in my opinion - did not seem to matter. Both Amy Adams and Jake Gyllenhal did a great job. And the music was interesting, done by Abel Korzeniowski. Its theme reminded me of another movie but I could not think of what it was for the life of me. "Neon Demon" by Nicolas Winding Refn?
This one directed by Tom Ford by the way.
This one directed by Tom Ford by the way.
Wednesday, 4 January 2017
Willie Nelson - "Texas"
Has that minor key twanging guitar sound I like so much, although part of the song is quite major key country.
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