Collection of shorts, ending with "Burning Chrome".
I'd have to reread it to properly write about it here, but it is absolutely amazing. Every single story.
Saturday, 18 September 2010
Friday, 17 September 2010
Giardini Di Mirò - "Il Fuoco"
heard 4 songs on X-Rated: "X", "XX", "XXX" and "XXXX"
Post-rock, they say it's called. Beautiful soundscapes with violins.
Emmylou Harris - "All My Tears"
When I go don`t cry for me
In my fathers arms I`ll be
The wounds this world left on my soul
Will all be healed and I`ll be whole
[...]
It don`t matter where you bury me
I`ll be home and I`ll be free
It don`t matter where I lay
All my tears be washed away
In my fathers arms I`ll be
The wounds this world left on my soul
Will all be healed and I`ll be whole
[...]
It don`t matter where you bury me
I`ll be home and I`ll be free
It don`t matter where I lay
All my tears be washed away
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Chuck Palahniuk - "Lullaby"
Small and intriguing book, in which the existence of a "culling song", a song to be read (sung) to dying elders, soldiers, young infants when no food was around, to give them peace, of mind, body and life.
Main character Streator and Helen Hoover Boyle become a dark Bonnie & Clyde, intent on destroying the book, yet wishing for more. He couldn't stop.
Loved the story, and the characters. He repeats a lot, it made me think of "Slaughterhouse 5" (poo-tee-weet?)
Friday, 10 September 2010
Kurt Vonnegut - "Welcome to the Monkey House"
Collection of stories, among which the short with the same title.
Almost every single one is amazing. Whether it's sci-fi, magic realism or realistic, within a few pages he creates a gripping world and characters that get you by the balls.
Jim Jarmusch - "Derailed"
Definitely different in style from "Down By Law" and "Dead Man". In style, I definitely liked those more. More special, estranged.
Perhaps not the right film to watch right now... then again, happy end and all that.
Never been a big fan of Jennifer Aston, prejudice due to "Friends" and all that, but she wasn't bad.
American cities... how scared should I be. Scared whiteboy...
Jim Jarmusch - "Down By Law"
Tom Waits, Roberto... (that Italian guy)
Wonderful film. To see and be seen many many times more.
Already commented on openingstrack. Not much music, rest of the film. Not much needed.
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Julia Copus - "The Back Seat of My Mother's Car"
We left before I had time
to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched
hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in,
cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping
the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass;
I was calling to you - Daddy! - as we screeched away into
the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
You were mouthing something I still remember, the noiseless words
piercing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset
pouring itself out across the sky. The ensuing silence
was the one clear thing I could decipher -
the roar of the engine drowning your voice,
with the cool slick glass between us.
With the cool slick glass between us,
the roar of the engine drowning, your voice
was the one clear thing I could decipher -
pouring itself out across the sky, the ensuing silence
piercing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset.
You were mouthing something: I still remember the noiseless words,
the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
I was calling to you, Daddy, as we screeched away into
the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass,
cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping
for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in
rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched.
We left before I had time.
to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched
hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in,
cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping
the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass;
I was calling to you - Daddy! - as we screeched away into
the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
You were mouthing something I still remember, the noiseless words
piercing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset
pouring itself out across the sky. The ensuing silence
was the one clear thing I could decipher -
the roar of the engine drowning your voice,
with the cool slick glass between us.
With the cool slick glass between us,
the roar of the engine drowning, your voice
was the one clear thing I could decipher -
pouring itself out across the sky, the ensuing silence
piercing me like that catgut shriek that flew up, furious as a sunset.
You were mouthing something: I still remember the noiseless words,
the distance, my own hand tingling like an amputation.
I was calling to you, Daddy, as we screeched away into
the dusty August air. I pressed my face to the glass,
cold as ether, and I could see your fat mole-fingers grasping
for the slit in the window where the sky streamed in
rivers down my face and legs, but at the same time I was reaching out
to stem the burning waters running over me like tiny
hands in that vacuous half-dark. I wanted
to comfort you, to tell you that we nearly touched.
We left before I had time.
Ezra Pound - "Altaforte"
LOQUITUR: En Bertrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer up of strife.
Eccovi!
Judge ye!
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur. "The Leopard," the device of Richard Coeur de Lion.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howls my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the lightnings from black heav'n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
Better one hour's stour than a year's peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson!
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash
For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
There's no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!"
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer up of strife.
Eccovi!
Judge ye!
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur. "The Leopard," the device of Richard Coeur de Lion.
I
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howls my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the lightnings from black heav'n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
III
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
Better one hour's stour than a year's peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson!
IV
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
V
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash
For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
There's no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!"
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought "Peace!"
Kona Pacphee - "IVF"
I come home early, feel the pale house close
around me as the pressure of my blood
knocks at my temples, feel it clench me in
its cramping grasp, the fierceness of its quiet
sanctioning the small and listless hope
that I might find it mercifully empty.
Dazed, I turn the taps to fill the empty
tub, and draw the bathroom door to close
behind me. I lie unmoving, feel all hope
leaching from between my legs as blood
tinges the water, staining it the quiet
shade of a winter evening drifting in
on sunset. Again, no shoot of life sprouts in
this crumbling womb that wrings itself to empty
out the painfully-planted seeds. The quiet
doctors, tomorrow, will check their notes and close
the file, wait for the hormones in my blood
to augur further chances, more false hope.
My husband holds to patience, I to hope,
and yet our clockworks are unwinding. In
the stillness of the house, we hear our blood
pumped by hearts that gall themselves, grow empty:
once, this silence, shared, could draw us close
that now forebodes us with a desperate quiet.
I hear him at the door, but I lay quiet,
as if, by saying nothing, I may hope
the somehow his unknowingness may close
a door on all the darkness we've let in:
the nursery that's seven years too empty;
the old, unyielding stains of menstrual blood.
Perhaps I wish the petitioning of my blood
for motherhood might falter and fall quiet,
perhaps I wish that we might choose to empty
our lives of disappointment, and of hope,
but wishes founder - we go on living in
the shadow of the cliffs now looming close:
the blood that's thick with traitorous clots of hope;
the quiet knack we've lost, of giving in;
around me as the pressure of my blood
knocks at my temples, feel it clench me in
its cramping grasp, the fierceness of its quiet
sanctioning the small and listless hope
that I might find it mercifully empty.
Dazed, I turn the taps to fill the empty
tub, and draw the bathroom door to close
behind me. I lie unmoving, feel all hope
leaching from between my legs as blood
tinges the water, staining it the quiet
shade of a winter evening drifting in
on sunset. Again, no shoot of life sprouts in
this crumbling womb that wrings itself to empty
out the painfully-planted seeds. The quiet
doctors, tomorrow, will check their notes and close
the file, wait for the hormones in my blood
to augur further chances, more false hope.
My husband holds to patience, I to hope,
and yet our clockworks are unwinding. In
the stillness of the house, we hear our blood
pumped by hearts that gall themselves, grow empty:
once, this silence, shared, could draw us close
that now forebodes us with a desperate quiet.
I hear him at the door, but I lay quiet,
as if, by saying nothing, I may hope
the somehow his unknowingness may close
a door on all the darkness we've let in:
the nursery that's seven years too empty;
the old, unyielding stains of menstrual blood.
Perhaps I wish the petitioning of my blood
for motherhood might falter and fall quiet,
perhaps I wish that we might choose to empty
our lives of disappointment, and of hope,
but wishes founder - we go on living in
the shadow of the cliffs now looming close:
the blood that's thick with traitorous clots of hope;
the quiet knack we've lost, of giving in;
the empty room whose door we cannot close.
(sestina)
Les Miserables
Listening to almost the whole damn beautiful thing.
Gin. Orange-juice.
A., waar ben je? Gin hoort niet alleen gedronken te worden.
Monday, 6 September 2010
Tom Waits - "Jockey Full of Bourbon"
Openingstrack of Jim Jarmusch' "Down By Law"
Amazing. Seems somehow a contemporary of True Blood's opening sequence with Jace Everett - "Bad Things"
Edna Million in a drop dead suit
Dutch pink on a downtown train
Two dollar pistol but the gun won't shoot
I'm in the corner in the pouring rain
16 men on a deadman's chest
And I've been drinking from a broken cup
2 pairs of pants and a mohair vest
I'm full of bourbon; I can't stand up.
Chorus:
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on the fire; your children all alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on the fire; your children all alone
Schiffer broke a bottle on Morgan's head
And I've been stepping on the devil's tail
Across the stripes of a full moon's head
Through the bars of a Cuban jail
Bloody fingers on a purple knife
A flamingo drinking from a coctail glass
I'm on the lawn with somebody else's wife
Come admire the view from up on top of the mast
Chorus
Yellow sheets in a Hong Kong bed
Stazybo horn and a Slingerland ride
To the carnival is what she said
A hundred dollars makes it dark inside
Friday, 3 September 2010
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Amanda Palmer - "I Want You, But I Don't Need You"
(the original is by Momus, but I prefer the Amanda Palmer version.
I like you, and I'd like you to like me to like you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to want me to like you
Because if you didn't like me
I would still like you, you see
La la la
La la la
I lick you, I like you to like me to lick you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to like me to lick you
If your pleasure turned into pain
I would still lick for my personal gain
La la la
La la la
I fuck you, and I love you to love me to fuck you
But I don't fucking need you
Don't need you to need me to fuck you
If you need me to need you to fuck
That fucks everything up
La la la
La la la
I want you, and I want you to want me to want you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to need me to need you
That's just me
So take me or leave me
But please don't need me
Don't need me to need you to need me
Cos we're here one minute, the next we're dead
So love me and leave me
But try not to need me
Enough said
I want you, but I don't need you
La la la
La la la
I love you, and I love how you love how I love you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to love me to love you
If your love changed into hate
Would my love have been a mistake?
La la la
La la la
So I'm gonna leave you, and I'd like you to leave me to leave you
But lover believe me, it isn't because I don't need you (you know I don't need you)
All I wanted was to be wanted
But you're drowning me deep in your need to be needed
La la la
La la la la la la la la la
I want you, and I want you to want me to want you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to need me to need you
That's just me
So take me or leave me
But please don't need me
Don't need me to need you to need me
Cos we're here one minute, the next we're dead
So love me and leave me
But try not to need me
Enough said
I want you, but I don't need you
I like you, and I'd like you to like me to like you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to want me to like you
Because if you didn't like me
I would still like you, you see
La la la
La la la
I lick you, I like you to like me to lick you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to like me to lick you
If your pleasure turned into pain
I would still lick for my personal gain
La la la
La la la
I fuck you, and I love you to love me to fuck you
But I don't fucking need you
Don't need you to need me to fuck you
If you need me to need you to fuck
That fucks everything up
La la la
La la la
I want you, and I want you to want me to want you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to need me to need you
That's just me
So take me or leave me
But please don't need me
Don't need me to need you to need me
Cos we're here one minute, the next we're dead
So love me and leave me
But try not to need me
Enough said
I want you, but I don't need you
La la la
La la la
I love you, and I love how you love how I love you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to love me to love you
If your love changed into hate
Would my love have been a mistake?
La la la
La la la
So I'm gonna leave you, and I'd like you to leave me to leave you
But lover believe me, it isn't because I don't need you (you know I don't need you)
All I wanted was to be wanted
But you're drowning me deep in your need to be needed
La la la
La la la la la la la la la
I want you, and I want you to want me to want you
But I don't need you
Don't need you to need me to need you
That's just me
So take me or leave me
But please don't need me
Don't need me to need you to need me
Cos we're here one minute, the next we're dead
So love me and leave me
But try not to need me
Enough said
I want you, but I don't need you
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
Françoise Hardy - "Message Personnel"
Au bout du téléphone, il y a votre voix
Et il y a des mots que je ne dirai pas
Tous ces mots qui font peur quand ils ne font pas rire
Qui sont dans trop de films, de chansons et de livres
Je voudrais vous les dire et je voudrais les vivre
Je ne le ferai pas, je veux, je ne peux pas
Je suis seule à crever, et je sais où vous êtes
J'arrive, attendez-moi, nous allons nous connaître
Préparez votre temps, pour vous j'ai tout le mien
Je voudrais arriver, je reste, je me déteste
Je n'arriverai pas, je veux, je ne peux pas
Je devrais vous parler, je devrais arriver ou je devrais dormir
J'ai peur que tu sois sourd, j'ai peur que tu sois lâche
J'ai peur d'être indiscrète
Je ne peux pas vous dire que je t'aime peut-être
Mais si tu crois un jour que tu m'aimes
Ne crois pas que tes souvenirs me gênent
Et cours, cours jusqu'à perdre haleine, viens me retrouver
Si tu crois un jour que tu m'aimes et si ce jour-là tu as de la peine
À trouver où tous ces chemins te mènent, viens me retrouver
Si le dégoût de la vie vient en toi
Si la paresse de la vie s'installe en toi, pense à moi, pense à moi
Mais si tu crois un jour que tu m'aimes
Ne le considère pas comme un problème
Et cours, cours jusqu'à perdre haleine, viens me retrouver
Si tu crois un jour que tu m'aimes, n'attends pas un jour, pas une semaine
Car tu ne sais pas où la vie t'emmène, viens me retrouver
Si le dégoût de la vie vient en toi
Si la paresse de la vie s'installe en toi, pense à moi, pense à moi
Mais si tu...
Et il y a des mots que je ne dirai pas
Tous ces mots qui font peur quand ils ne font pas rire
Qui sont dans trop de films, de chansons et de livres
Je voudrais vous les dire et je voudrais les vivre
Je ne le ferai pas, je veux, je ne peux pas
Je suis seule à crever, et je sais où vous êtes
J'arrive, attendez-moi, nous allons nous connaître
Préparez votre temps, pour vous j'ai tout le mien
Je voudrais arriver, je reste, je me déteste
Je n'arriverai pas, je veux, je ne peux pas
Je devrais vous parler, je devrais arriver ou je devrais dormir
J'ai peur que tu sois sourd, j'ai peur que tu sois lâche
J'ai peur d'être indiscrète
Je ne peux pas vous dire que je t'aime peut-être
Mais si tu crois un jour que tu m'aimes
Ne crois pas que tes souvenirs me gênent
Et cours, cours jusqu'à perdre haleine, viens me retrouver
Si tu crois un jour que tu m'aimes et si ce jour-là tu as de la peine
À trouver où tous ces chemins te mènent, viens me retrouver
Si le dégoût de la vie vient en toi
Si la paresse de la vie s'installe en toi, pense à moi, pense à moi
Mais si tu crois un jour que tu m'aimes
Ne le considère pas comme un problème
Et cours, cours jusqu'à perdre haleine, viens me retrouver
Si tu crois un jour que tu m'aimes, n'attends pas un jour, pas une semaine
Car tu ne sais pas où la vie t'emmène, viens me retrouver
Si le dégoût de la vie vient en toi
Si la paresse de la vie s'installe en toi, pense à moi, pense à moi
Mais si tu...
Monday, 30 August 2010
Sunday, 29 August 2010
Hanif Kureishi - "Intimacy"
Impressive novelle of the doubts and choices of a middle-aged man on the last night before he leaves his wife and their children.
Much to learn from his writing.
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