Monday, 25 February 2008

old old

We make ourselves a place apart

Behind light words that tease and flout,

But oh, the agitated heart

Till someone really find us out.

'Tis pity if the case require

(Or so we say) that in the end

We speak the literal to inspire

The understanding of a friend.

But so with all, from babes that play

At hide-and-seek to God afar,

So all who hide too well away

Must speak and tell us where they are.

Robert Frost

And yet the last look of them he stepping from the kerb and she following him round the edge of the big building brims me with wonder floods me anew. Mysterious figures! Mother and son. Who are you? Why do you walk down the street? Where to-night will you sleep, and then, to-morrow? Oh, how it whirls and surges floats me afresh! I start after them. People drive this way and that. The white light splutters and pours. Plate-glass windows. Carnations; chrysanthemums. Ivy in dark gardens. Milk carts at the door. Wherever I go, mysterious figures, I see you, turning the corner, mothers and sons; you, you, you. I hasten, I follow. This, I fancy, must be the sea. Grey is the landscape; dim as ashes; the water murmurs and moves. If I fall on my knees, if I go through the ritual, the ancient antics, it's you, unknown figures, you I adore; if I open my arms, it's you I embrace, you I draw to me adorable world!


(Virginia Woolf
'a room of one's own',1929)


This is my dream,
It is my own dream,
I dreamt it.
I dreamt that my hair was kempt.
Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.

ogden nash

when kg messaged..

"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing direction. You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulvirized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm is all about."

Sunday, 24 February 2008

conversing in the dark

turn off the radio
yes,shut it off
shut it off so i can think
what do you mean there's nothing wrong?
tell me,why won't you tell me how i didn't see this earlier
when did we swing into this sludge
again ?
what happened to you and i sitting around each other just a week ago.
just sitting around.
with one hour for the bus to go.

where did you go?
no we can't see each other again
the memories don't heal you see
the memories only grow
they'll resurface because i live
because you live
please turn off the radio,this can't have ended.


if direction is a look,montage is a heartbeat.To foresee is the characteristic of both : but what one seeks to foresee in space, the other seeks in time. Suppose you notice a young girl in the street who attracts you.You hesitate to follow her. A quarter of a second.How to convey this hesitation? Mise en scène will answer the question 'How shall I approach her?' But in order to render explicit the other question,'Am I going to love her?',you are forced to bestow importance on the quarter of a second during which the two questions are born.
....When montage effects surpass those of mise en scènein effacacity,the beauty of the latter is doubled,the unforseen unveiling secrets by its charm in an operation analogous to using unknown quantities in mathematics.

'Montage my fine care',Cahiers du Cinéma 65,December 1956)

i'm the common cold

step back
stay away
be disjointed
no,don't speak in complete sentences
step back,i tell you and look at me
i wake up every morning and stare for an a bottle,at the window,at a lizard,at my toes.
i wake up every morning very early
i'm one of those.
no,i don't do yoga
no,i don't jog,.
no i start thinking about the running,and then that's it...
i picturise myself running purposefully in the football field,round and round the perimeter and want to sit down on the road and laugh.
running is absurd.
no,i'm fine,i don't need the pillow,do you mind if i stay for awhile?
no,nothing happened,just restless as usual
i saw a bat on the way here
left wing kite string injury
i took the sock off from his head and looked at him
he looked at me too
we're retards for bats.
no point in trying to communicate
we can't hear them
so .he just stared at me.
i stared back
his wing looked messy
goddamn kite strings.
no,i haven't had dinner,not hungry
could you pass the lighter?
(to be continued)

milann très

michelle,ma belle,
sont les mots qui vont très bien ensemble
très bien ensemble

(The Beatles,Rubber Soul,1966)


we have no war. aside from ourselves,our own faces,our own voices...we have nothing.but maybe it's important to recognize the sound of your own voice...and the shape of your own face.
on the inside,it's like this(she looks towards the mirror) ,and when i look at it,it's like this(she looks at you).

this is

this is for flitting by my life
this is for letting me sit wordless
this is for meeting my monsters in the quiet
this for getting hurt by them in the silence
this is for running away before i could get you to talk about the music

Saturday, 23 February 2008

where the sidewalk ends..

from what i heard yesterday..
'..because there is no love.this is how a community works.convenience takes precedence.'

and i look back at hans lucas ..
'..Such is the nature of dialectic in the cinema : one must live rather than last.It is pointless to kill one's feelings in order to live longer.We have indeed forgotten how to see : a sudden start of the shoulders means only fear,a wrinkling of the nose means only anger,when one is less anxious to grasp the action in its convultions than in its exposition.

..with old thoughts let us make new verses'
...'But what vanity,too,to insist at all costs on crediting language with a certain metaphysical quality.when it could only raise to the level of the sublime in very special circumstances.'

Thursday, 21 February 2008

jean luc

'It has been said aready:

In the crossways of kisses
The years pass too quickly

and life is rather like dancing.'
(Jean Luc Godard,
La ronde,Gazette du cinéma 4,October 1950)

from the writings of Lous Aragon:
Méfie-toi Jessica
Au biseau des baisers
Les ans passent trop vite
Evite, évite, évite
Les souvenirs brisés.

my attempt at a literal translation follows,keeping it literal so you can make of it as you live the open end!

I distrust you Jessica
In the crossways of kisses
the years pass too quickly
the broken memories


In English, the apostrophe has two main functions: it marks omissions, and it assists in marking the possessives of all nouns and many pronouns.

borges..and godard

'there once was a man who wanted to create a world:so he began by creating houses,provinces,valleys,rivers,tools,fish,lovers etc. and at the end of his life,he noticed that this patiently elaborated labyrinth was nothing other than his own portrait'.

the day after

it's one of those days.
the day which follows the day of utterly unbearable restlessness, you wish for the impossible, you sit for hours staring at the words in books you have loved, till you wrench yourself away from even them so you don't do them any harm. people are out of the question. it takes nothing to scare them. you see,.. these monsters have no tragic roots.
these monsters just simply are.
it's the day after one of those days when you don't know what to do with your hands, you feel your sleeves are too short, the shoes are too tight, the lips are too chapped, the music is not right.
yesterday the only thing right was the weather. Because it was the only real thing around.
yesterday the Beatles couldn't do me any good.
yesterday i struggled to be pleasant to all the people who had come and gone leaving a trail of violet dust in their wake
yesterday i wondered if i cared for anything really
yesterday i wondered at the restlessness, i wondered at its doing away with my sleep
yesterday i wondered about all the words stuck in my head with no place to go
yesterday i wondered about patience, and growing trees and families and children and traveling and ovarian in-growths
yesterday i wondered about staring at my ceiling fan through those days of fever, and then shifting to stare at the mosaic floor, le plancher et le plafond, le plafond et puis le plancher
yesterday i wondered at all the paracetamol i popped in so i could get moving again
yesterday i wondered at getting myself taken to the hospital because i couldn't handle my head any longer
yesterday i wondered at hearing from someone that soaring blood pressures also came of eating too much paracetamol
too much paracetamol.
was that what it feels like then have too much paracetamol?
yesterday i wondered at my bag with its paracetamols
yesterday i wondered about how much more i had to travel to put this head at rest
yesterday i realised i wouldn't travel ever if this head were at rest
yesterday i realised i wouldn't pick up a book to read if this head were at rest
yesterday i realised it is this unrest that keeps me going