Thursday, January 14, 2010
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Shutting down...
This blog is closing.
Around an unpublished post about the Capital Christmas (Natal Capital), I have been "keeping to myself" many "Shut the FUCK up"s. I can't just say it to everyone. Poor you (and me) if I did so.
So, I told it to myself: shut the fuck up, man. Enough of this Portuguese neurosis.
(have I ever told you that living in Porto for me, is exactly as what I believe a common Portuguese believes it is to live in Bucharest? let's use an euphemism: not as good as it could be)
Anyway, so much nonsense going around... we need silence people! SILENCE. Forget it, it's me and I that need silence, not you.
By the way, I bought new books... new schizotypalities coming soon (I am finally changing this fucking background color back to white):
Around an unpublished post about the Capital Christmas (Natal Capital), I have been "keeping to myself" many "Shut the FUCK up"s. I can't just say it to everyone. Poor you (and me) if I did so.
So, I told it to myself: shut the fuck up, man. Enough of this Portuguese neurosis.
(have I ever told you that living in Porto for me, is exactly as what I believe a common Portuguese believes it is to live in Bucharest? let's use an euphemism: not as good as it could be)
Anyway, so much nonsense going around... we need silence people! SILENCE. Forget it, it's me and I that need silence, not you.
By the way, I bought new books... new schizotypalities coming soon (I am finally changing this fucking background color back to white):
Planalto Telemaco
Telemaco, filho de Ulises, representa para mim a solução positiva do édipo. O seu irmão Telégono é um segundo Édipo que mata acidentalmente o pai (Ulises) e casa posteriormente com a mãe (Penelope).
Telemaco é, tal como o pai Ulises, um viajante. Mas, ao contrário do pai que tem como objectivo o retorno a Ítaca, um objectivo que eu diria negativo, o da volta ao início, o da recuperação, Telemaco, muito jovem, parte em busca do pai e descobre o mundo, a descoberta positiva da saída, do abandono do início.
E escrevo isto porque reparo que esta interpretação é minha. Não conheço nenhuma interpretação (psicanalítica ou não) deste personagem clássico: Telemaco.
A genialidade de Freud tem vários resultados, o mais conhecido é a utilização do clássico de Sofocles, o Rei Édipo, para falar, do sentimento de culpa pelos dois crimes que comete: homicídio e incesto. Édipo é um suicida, ele não sobrevive ao seu sentimento de culpa. É neste sentido que a viagem de Telemaco se torna positiva, Telemaco sobrevive à culpa, desviando-a: a culpa é de Telegono e não dele.
No texto de Sofocles esta interpretação não é explícita, Freud inventou esta interpretação. Freud, depois de Marx, é o grande interprete, o grande inventor de significados. Ele é o pai de todos os relativistas do significado. Freud interpretou tanto que seus filhos (os grandes filósofos do séc XX) não puderam deixar de o matar: a interpretação não está no texto. Será que não sobreviveram à culpa eles também?
O filme de Pasolini (Oedipus Rex 1967) é, neste sentido, uma visão muito mais psicanalítica do Édipo. Neste filme, Édipo é vítima do destino e depois do seu sentimento de culpa. O filme é um dos melhores de Pasolini e tal como muitos dos outros, uma história de encantar belíssima.
Falta-me agora ver o Édipo no teatro. Ou talvez procurar leituras de Telemaco, o Édipo positivo.
Deleuze no seu anti édipo (1972) descontrói o Édipo de uma forma semelhante ao que eu tento colar a Telemaco. O Édipo é posto de lado, o édipo é desvalorizado. Édipo é uma novela, mas há outras igualmente importantes, muitas outras. E é isto que tento colocar em Telemaco: há um mundo a descobrir para além do Édipo. Isto não está longe do anti-Édipo. A schizoanalysis de Deleuze e Guattari é um desdobrar do Édipo mas principalmente um fazer surgir outras novelas, outras esquizofrenias: o Édipo é só uma das esquizofrenias.
E aqui vejo eu a minha cada vez mais recorrente necessidade de me tornar académico do ponto de vista intelectual. Cada vez mais as ideias são referenciadas. É melhor repetir e misturar ideias de grandes pensadores do que progredir sozinho em círculos. Fazer isto é mais perigoso, mais neurótico, mas mais evolutivo: como o sobrehomem de Nietzsche que se apoia nos outros para se superar? A definição das referências para nelas construir os meus planaltos: o planalto Telemaco.
Deleuze, Bacon e o Édipo (no museu Berardo):
Telemaco é, tal como o pai Ulises, um viajante. Mas, ao contrário do pai que tem como objectivo o retorno a Ítaca, um objectivo que eu diria negativo, o da volta ao início, o da recuperação, Telemaco, muito jovem, parte em busca do pai e descobre o mundo, a descoberta positiva da saída, do abandono do início.
E escrevo isto porque reparo que esta interpretação é minha. Não conheço nenhuma interpretação (psicanalítica ou não) deste personagem clássico: Telemaco.
A genialidade de Freud tem vários resultados, o mais conhecido é a utilização do clássico de Sofocles, o Rei Édipo, para falar, do sentimento de culpa pelos dois crimes que comete: homicídio e incesto. Édipo é um suicida, ele não sobrevive ao seu sentimento de culpa. É neste sentido que a viagem de Telemaco se torna positiva, Telemaco sobrevive à culpa, desviando-a: a culpa é de Telegono e não dele.
No texto de Sofocles esta interpretação não é explícita, Freud inventou esta interpretação. Freud, depois de Marx, é o grande interprete, o grande inventor de significados. Ele é o pai de todos os relativistas do significado. Freud interpretou tanto que seus filhos (os grandes filósofos do séc XX) não puderam deixar de o matar: a interpretação não está no texto. Será que não sobreviveram à culpa eles também?
O filme de Pasolini (Oedipus Rex 1967) é, neste sentido, uma visão muito mais psicanalítica do Édipo. Neste filme, Édipo é vítima do destino e depois do seu sentimento de culpa. O filme é um dos melhores de Pasolini e tal como muitos dos outros, uma história de encantar belíssima.
Falta-me agora ver o Édipo no teatro. Ou talvez procurar leituras de Telemaco, o Édipo positivo.
Deleuze no seu anti édipo (1972) descontrói o Édipo de uma forma semelhante ao que eu tento colar a Telemaco. O Édipo é posto de lado, o édipo é desvalorizado. Édipo é uma novela, mas há outras igualmente importantes, muitas outras. E é isto que tento colocar em Telemaco: há um mundo a descobrir para além do Édipo. Isto não está longe do anti-Édipo. A schizoanalysis de Deleuze e Guattari é um desdobrar do Édipo mas principalmente um fazer surgir outras novelas, outras esquizofrenias: o Édipo é só uma das esquizofrenias.
E aqui vejo eu a minha cada vez mais recorrente necessidade de me tornar académico do ponto de vista intelectual. Cada vez mais as ideias são referenciadas. É melhor repetir e misturar ideias de grandes pensadores do que progredir sozinho em círculos. Fazer isto é mais perigoso, mais neurótico, mas mais evolutivo: como o sobrehomem de Nietzsche que se apoia nos outros para se superar? A definição das referências para nelas construir os meus planaltos: o planalto Telemaco.
Deleuze, Bacon e o Édipo (no museu Berardo):
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
life world word reality, my concepts flying to your concepts
These are simple words. Words used to build meaning, as a play.
Meaning itself does not exist. There is no such thing as the meaning of the word "reality".
There is the word. There is no word inside us. There is no word, maybe on the screen.
There are sound waves between my lips and your ears. And maybe some neurons representing the word "reality" to some other neurons. An open connection to the void. There is no meaning of the word "reality". There is no such thing as "the meaning of the word". There is the word. There are no words.
We may call CONCEPTS to those neurons open to the void of our brain. BUT "concept" is a word. And there are no words.
"Reality is a concept" are four words. And the easier ones are "reality" and "concept". Concept is a concept. What is a concept?
It is amazing how we are in sync, you and I. We must be in prison, for sure, it is too diverse to meet you and your concepts. There are concepts, neurons, in groups, with a structure? Is the concept the structure of the neuron network?
My concepts flying to your concepts!
As long as it remains inexhaustible, I will be.
As long as I can see it as inexhaustible, I will be.
Meaning itself does not exist. There is no such thing as the meaning of the word "reality".
There is the word. There is no word inside us. There is no word, maybe on the screen.
There are sound waves between my lips and your ears. And maybe some neurons representing the word "reality" to some other neurons. An open connection to the void. There is no meaning of the word "reality". There is no such thing as "the meaning of the word". There is the word. There are no words.
We may call CONCEPTS to those neurons open to the void of our brain. BUT "concept" is a word. And there are no words.
"Reality is a concept" are four words. And the easier ones are "reality" and "concept". Concept is a concept. What is a concept?
It is amazing how we are in sync, you and I. We must be in prison, for sure, it is too diverse to meet you and your concepts. There are concepts, neurons, in groups, with a structure? Is the concept the structure of the neuron network?
My concepts flying to your concepts!
As long as it remains inexhaustible, I will be.
As long as I can see it as inexhaustible, I will be.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Rimbaud/Cocteau en Enfer - Le mauvais sang d'un poète
"Faiblaisse ou force: te voilà, c'est la force.Tu ne sais ni où tu vas, ni pourquoi tu vas; entre partout, réponds à tout. On ne te tuera pas plus que si tu étais cadavre."
"L'ennui n'est plus mon amour. Les rages, les débauches, la folie, - dont je sais tous les élans et les désastres, - tout mon fardeau est déposé. Apprécions sans vertige l'étendu de mon innocence."
Why I am not a musician
Once I seariously considered becoming a professional musician. Two reasons that made me change my mind:
- I was so far from being naturally gifted, all my musical virtues were and will allways be "engineered"
- being a non gifted musician (and, most probably, even if I was gifted) would be to live with a constant frustration. To be a musician is to grasp perfection, without ever possessing it. To be a musician is to grasp but never reach.
I remember the moments I could listen to myself playing and think: this sounds good (my cello was amazing). At that moment, I was starting to grasp. I stopped playing.
Even today, when I listen to some graduate students with 20 years of practice, I think: shit, is he satisfied!? And the problem is that I am a beginner.
Bottom line, in music, not as in engineering, success (inner and outter) is very far from granted and failure is very common.
This is a negative vision of music, of course. Music is so much more than this: a different way of seeing music (OH MY GOD! It's me dancing back in Romania!).
All this applies to "why I am not a poet", although in poetry I haven't even grasped:
VIII - Quasi (1913)
Um pouco mais de sol — eu era brasa.
Um pouco mais de azul — eu era além.
Para atingir, faltou-me um golpe de asa...
Se ao menos eu permanecesse aquém...
- I was so far from being naturally gifted, all my musical virtues were and will allways be "engineered"
- being a non gifted musician (and, most probably, even if I was gifted) would be to live with a constant frustration. To be a musician is to grasp perfection, without ever possessing it. To be a musician is to grasp but never reach.
I remember the moments I could listen to myself playing and think: this sounds good (my cello was amazing). At that moment, I was starting to grasp. I stopped playing.
Even today, when I listen to some graduate students with 20 years of practice, I think: shit, is he satisfied!? And the problem is that I am a beginner.
Bottom line, in music, not as in engineering, success (inner and outter) is very far from granted and failure is very common.
This is a negative vision of music, of course. Music is so much more than this: a different way of seeing music (OH MY GOD! It's me dancing back in Romania!).
All this applies to "why I am not a poet", although in poetry I haven't even grasped:
VIII - Quasi (1913)
Um pouco mais de sol — eu era brasa.
Um pouco mais de azul — eu era além.
Para atingir, faltou-me um golpe de asa...
Se ao menos eu permanecesse aquém...
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Kleist before Sá Carneiro
Among my literary idols, Mário de Sá-Carneiro is a favourite.
But tonight I have read "The Marquise of O -" by Kleist and I realized how our letters build on top of each other, how we are built on top of each other, on top of our history, on top of repetition, on top of difference.
Kleist (1811) is an 100 years ahead of Sá-Carneiro (1916), and after this short story I can only point a few things in Sá Carneiro that are not already in Kleist. While Sá Carneiro is always wandering and crazy. Kleist makes us go from complete stability to complete madness in a few lines. Impressive.
But tonight I have read "The Marquise of O -" by Kleist and I realized how our letters build on top of each other, how we are built on top of each other, on top of our history, on top of repetition, on top of difference.
Kleist (1811) is an 100 years ahead of Sá-Carneiro (1916), and after this short story I can only point a few things in Sá Carneiro that are not already in Kleist. While Sá Carneiro is always wandering and crazy. Kleist makes us go from complete stability to complete madness in a few lines. Impressive.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Three "forgotten" travel episodes
Goa, India (March 2008)
In Panaji (Goa, India) I stayed the first night in a very nice hotel. The hosts were Portuguese Goan. I had a long conversation with the couple about Goa and Portugal. After the first night, I spent a complete day lying in bed with strong headaches... but I got better quickly. The hotel was good but a bit off the town center, so the next morning I decided to look for an hotel in the center.
Mid-morning, I walked for a long time around town looking at every hotel that I could find (or that was listed in Lonely Planet). I ended up haggling the price of a very cheap room (less than 3 eur per night I believe) with this other Portuguese Goan. His family was interesting, the wife and a 10 year old kid learning portuguese. He was very nice to me before closing the deal. After the check-in, and probably because I took the cheapest room, he became incredible monosilabic with me. I ended up sleeping in a horrible room in a wooden bed making a lot of noise and with a 5cm mattress over it.
Why I am telling this story? Well, during the night a leg of the bed broke completely and I almost fell on the floor. I had to sleep on the floor. The next morning I woke up, payed the bill, "but you were staying 3 nights!", and got a bus to Anjuna, the famous goan beach.
Bali, Indonesia (Jun 2007)
I barely remember the day I became a surfer, lol
I was on the beach renting a surf board. I remember I was surfing with these two guys (or was just one?) I had just met on the beach. They were also learning. I remember we caught the same wave (1m) and, on top of the board, I shouted "HEY!". In a not so synchronized movement, he extended his arm and I could touch his hand for a few seconds, then we almost fell one over the other. After the crash, we both gave the hang loose sign and shouted "yeah!!!!". I was now a surfer, lol
I don't remember my surf mate's face, name or nationality!
Uspallata, Argentina (Dez 2007)
The scenery here are the most incredible mountains I have ever seen. Uspallata is a small town in the Andes between Argentina and Chile. The story is short, a cozy hotel where I could relax and enjoy the mountains after a very active stay in Mendonza (I have a post about the Intriga Mendocina).
This is not really a story, but rather an insight description. Well, I could tell you about the large group of very young nouns (like 17 years old) that were praying out loud while the bus was going down an amazing cliff through a road with dozens of hair pin turns...
Back in Uspallata, I was walking up the road with the unbelievable scenario on my eyes, I started singing Mano Chao... the mountains, the wonderfull meal in a simple road restaurant I just had, the empty road, the hot asphalt, the frontier between Argentina and Chile just there, 4000m altitude or so, a backpack, three months of continuous lonely travelling, me absolutely alone in the carretera, my fate and the fate of the emigrants manu chao sings about, el viento... por la carretera...
In Panaji (Goa, India) I stayed the first night in a very nice hotel. The hosts were Portuguese Goan. I had a long conversation with the couple about Goa and Portugal. After the first night, I spent a complete day lying in bed with strong headaches... but I got better quickly. The hotel was good but a bit off the town center, so the next morning I decided to look for an hotel in the center.
Mid-morning, I walked for a long time around town looking at every hotel that I could find (or that was listed in Lonely Planet). I ended up haggling the price of a very cheap room (less than 3 eur per night I believe) with this other Portuguese Goan. His family was interesting, the wife and a 10 year old kid learning portuguese. He was very nice to me before closing the deal. After the check-in, and probably because I took the cheapest room, he became incredible monosilabic with me. I ended up sleeping in a horrible room in a wooden bed making a lot of noise and with a 5cm mattress over it.
Why I am telling this story? Well, during the night a leg of the bed broke completely and I almost fell on the floor. I had to sleep on the floor. The next morning I woke up, payed the bill, "but you were staying 3 nights!", and got a bus to Anjuna, the famous goan beach.
Bali, Indonesia (Jun 2007)
I barely remember the day I became a surfer, lol
I was on the beach renting a surf board. I remember I was surfing with these two guys (or was just one?) I had just met on the beach. They were also learning. I remember we caught the same wave (1m) and, on top of the board, I shouted "HEY!". In a not so synchronized movement, he extended his arm and I could touch his hand for a few seconds, then we almost fell one over the other. After the crash, we both gave the hang loose sign and shouted "yeah!!!!". I was now a surfer, lol
I don't remember my surf mate's face, name or nationality!
Uspallata, Argentina (Dez 2007)
The scenery here are the most incredible mountains I have ever seen. Uspallata is a small town in the Andes between Argentina and Chile. The story is short, a cozy hotel where I could relax and enjoy the mountains after a very active stay in Mendonza (I have a post about the Intriga Mendocina).
This is not really a story, but rather an insight description. Well, I could tell you about the large group of very young nouns (like 17 years old) that were praying out loud while the bus was going down an amazing cliff through a road with dozens of hair pin turns...
Back in Uspallata, I was walking up the road with the unbelievable scenario on my eyes, I started singing Mano Chao... the mountains, the wonderfull meal in a simple road restaurant I just had, the empty road, the hot asphalt, the frontier between Argentina and Chile just there, 4000m altitude or so, a backpack, three months of continuous lonely travelling, me absolutely alone in the carretera, my fate and the fate of the emigrants manu chao sings about, el viento... por la carretera...
Thursday, December 3, 2009
W for genius / W comme catastrophe
Gilles Deleuze on his "Abécédaire"
W comme Wittgenstein, Deleuze a dit: "Pour moi c’est une catastrophe philosophique […] c’est une régression massive de toute la philosophie […] S’ils l’emportent, alors là il y aura un assassinat de la philosophie s’ils l’emportent. C’est des assassins de la philosophie. Il faut une grande vigilance."
Bertrand Russell on his autobiography
Wittgenstein is "the most perfect example I have ever known of genius as traditionally conceived, passionate, profound, intense, and dominating".
W comme Wittgenstein, Deleuze a dit: "Pour moi c’est une catastrophe philosophique […] c’est une régression massive de toute la philosophie […] S’ils l’emportent, alors là il y aura un assassinat de la philosophie s’ils l’emportent. C’est des assassins de la philosophie. Il faut une grande vigilance."
Bertrand Russell on his autobiography
Wittgenstein is "the most perfect example I have ever known of genius as traditionally conceived, passionate, profound, intense, and dominating".
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Beethoven strasse
La Musique... Où est-elle aujourd'hui?
La Musique se meurt Madame!
Penses-tu! La Musique?
Tu la trouves à Polytechnique
Entre deux équations, ma chère!
Avec Boulez dans sa boutique
Un ministre à la boutonnière
Dans la rue la Musique!
Music in the street! La Musica nelle strade!
Beethoven strasse! MUSS ES SEIN? ES MUSS SEIN!
Ferré
Beethoven:
La Musique se meurt Madame!
Penses-tu! La Musique?
Tu la trouves à Polytechnique
Entre deux équations, ma chère!
Avec Boulez dans sa boutique
Un ministre à la boutonnière
Dans la rue la Musique!
Music in the street! La Musica nelle strade!
Beethoven strasse! MUSS ES SEIN? ES MUSS SEIN!
Ferré
Beethoven:
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Five talking books
Reich and Adorno are something like a "Nietzsche for the common man". Both should have read the Foucault from the 70s, if they were alive. Derrida started the deconstruction work. But it's Deleuze that explains it all. Deleuze is our saviour.
These are all Nietzsche's descendents. But while Nietzsche was bipolar (dangerous), we close the XXs century with a proudly consistent schizophrenic Deleuze (saviour).
* Wilhelm Reich; Listen, Little Man!
* Theodor W. Adorno; Minima Moralia
* Michel Foucault; Security, Territory, Population
* Jaques Derrida, Of Grammatology
* Gilles Deleuze; Pourparlers
Nietzsche said: "We are dead, you should play!" and all the others (decendents) said: "no, let's take a look again!"
Foucault said: "We are in jail!"
Reich said: "You are in jail!"
Adorno said: "Jail sucks!"
Derrida said: "This is all a meaning-play!"
and Deleuze closes it saying: "Let's play then!"
These are all Nietzsche's descendents. But while Nietzsche was bipolar (dangerous), we close the XXs century with a proudly consistent schizophrenic Deleuze (saviour).
* Wilhelm Reich; Listen, Little Man!
* Theodor W. Adorno; Minima Moralia
* Michel Foucault; Security, Territory, Population
* Jaques Derrida, Of Grammatology
* Gilles Deleuze; Pourparlers
Nietzsche said: "We are dead, you should play!" and all the others (decendents) said: "no, let's take a look again!"
Foucault said: "We are in jail!"
Reich said: "You are in jail!"
Adorno said: "Jail sucks!"
Derrida said: "This is all a meaning-play!"
and Deleuze closes it saying: "Let's play then!"
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Futuro:
É bom não saber que futuro teremos. Nada de mal vai acontecer, não tenhas medo.
É bom podermos vir a ser tudo, é bom podermos vir a ser nada. E ter os sonhos todos.
Ah, um axioma para esta teoria: futuro, não preciso de ti!
É bom podermos vir a ser tudo, é bom podermos vir a ser nada. E ter os sonhos todos.
Ah, um axioma para esta teoria: futuro, não preciso de ti!
Friday, November 20, 2009
Amigo:
Gosto de ti, cheio de virtudes e defeitos. Aproveito e partilho contigo as coisas que temos em comum e nos ligam. Evito (aceito) os teus defeitos. Faço o mesmo com todos os outros amigos. Tenho amigos com quem tenho laços mais fortes, outros menos. E nenhuns são os laços perfeitos e todos encerram em si algo de perfeito, por serem únicos.
Ah, um axioma para esta teoria: amigo, não preciso de ti!
Ah, um axioma para esta teoria: amigo, não preciso de ti!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
I almost died OR the fragility of life OR let's go?
I almost died, and since then, since now, I am constantly almost dying. In theory.
I can cease to exist in a fraction of a second AND this makes my life, my second, this one, a gift. This is an easy one, hey? But this is an ever recurrent gift.
Can you keep in mind, every second, that you can cease to exist the next moment?
What would your ethics be? This constant awareness of the fragility of life takes me to new ethical perspectives, particularly about avoiding all types of conflict and all types of waste. I am reading the Tao Te Ching... that's probably the reason why I am writing this... and it's funny because, no tomorrow, typically means, for an healthy catholic mind, no morals... but now it's rather obvious to me, no tomorrow, means, no conflict, no waste...
Not so far as the Tao Te Ching, once, I don't really remember when, I applied for a job in Ulaanbaatar. I was probably dreaming.
Just as tonight...Paris, Paris, Paris... Scotland? Stockholm and Copenhagen Berlin Poland? and Estonia, Latvia? Probably not... Turkey, Georgia, and some...istan, oh yeah! and then the train (not the country!), south africa, then madagascar and moçambique will be missing.
I will have to do it even faster this time. And then Ulaanbaatar. Or am i just dreaming...
I can cease to exist in a fraction of a second AND this makes my life, my second, this one, a gift. This is an easy one, hey? But this is an ever recurrent gift.
Can you keep in mind, every second, that you can cease to exist the next moment?
What would your ethics be? This constant awareness of the fragility of life takes me to new ethical perspectives, particularly about avoiding all types of conflict and all types of waste. I am reading the Tao Te Ching... that's probably the reason why I am writing this... and it's funny because, no tomorrow, typically means, for an healthy catholic mind, no morals... but now it's rather obvious to me, no tomorrow, means, no conflict, no waste...
Not so far as the Tao Te Ching, once, I don't really remember when, I applied for a job in Ulaanbaatar. I was probably dreaming.
Just as tonight...Paris, Paris, Paris... Scotland? Stockholm and Copenhagen Berlin Poland? and Estonia, Latvia? Probably not... Turkey, Georgia, and some...istan, oh yeah! and then the train (not the country!), south africa, then madagascar and moçambique will be missing.
I will have to do it even faster this time. And then Ulaanbaatar. Or am i just dreaming...
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Wagnerian Drawings and Rattles
I think I am finally starting to understand what is Wagner.
We can use either drawings or Rattles. Two ways of visualizing this musical beauty.
I met Simon Rattle in Nice, Opera House playing the Tchaikovsky's Pathetic (I think I wrote about this before). It's amazing how he "draws" this music (minute 2:30 of the video).
We can use either drawings or Rattles. Two ways of visualizing this musical beauty.
I met Simon Rattle in Nice, Opera House playing the Tchaikovsky's Pathetic (I think I wrote about this before). It's amazing how he "draws" this music (minute 2:30 of the video).
O Te, a merda ou o conflito
Sejamos francos, a maioria das vidas são uma merda, embrenhadas de conflitos, privações e frustrações. Para quê ter uma vida?
Havia o dia em que eu acreditava no estabelecido, "naquilo que está", e dizia, estamos a melhorar, estamos bem. Vamos lá!
Mas que interessa estarmos a evoluir?
Mas que interessa estarmos na merda?
Para quê ter uma vida?
Para quê a merda e o conflito?
Well, easy peasy! Dependence. We need, we want, thus, we take, "we greed" BUT The BUT and we fall. Oh Henry!
And what a wonder, and power, and full, feelings ... being able to disconnect. Oh Henry!
Divine ascestism, divine nihilism.
(this is me playing with "My Answer to the Question", making fun of the Tao, of myself, of suicide, and finally, of Miller... I have to explain why this blog is called Pobre Coitado before I forget).
Or maybe I should just go back to Miller...
"I am a free man - and I need my freedom. I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my despair in seclusion; I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company. What do you want of me? (...) I owe nothing to any one. I would be responsible to God alone — if He existed!", Henry Miller
Sunday, November 8, 2009
inexhaustible - miller and hermeto
As long as it remains inexhaustible, I will be. As long as I find books and vinyls as I found today, I will be.
Paris 1934 - Tropic of Cancer, Henry Miller
Miller makes me laugh out loud with his cunt international.
Tropic of cancer is an amazing positive line of flight, out of our conceptual-moral reality. Long live his drunken whores and filthy gutters, and his laughter and mine. He is like one of those drunken characters you meet on the street at night: the Chilean cocaine addict singing in Puno or even Paulo or the Beat generation 20 years before. But this drunkard managed to write a book so that sober people can meet him... things the intellectual culture does not keep or grasp. Or does it? With Miller's friends.
May we find such a consistent and vibrant line of flight! The two deterritorialization dimensions here are the extreme deterritorialization of the hedonist present and the respective reterritorialization on the cunt. Reterritorialization on the cunt, ahahahah!
São Paulo 1984 - Happy Parrot, Hermeto Pascoal
Hermeto is just like Miller, a laugh, a 5+3 laugh.
Paris 1934 - Tropic of Cancer, Henry Miller
Miller makes me laugh out loud with his cunt international.
Tropic of cancer is an amazing positive line of flight, out of our conceptual-moral reality. Long live his drunken whores and filthy gutters, and his laughter and mine. He is like one of those drunken characters you meet on the street at night: the Chilean cocaine addict singing in Puno or even Paulo or the Beat generation 20 years before. But this drunkard managed to write a book so that sober people can meet him... things the intellectual culture does not keep or grasp. Or does it? With Miller's friends.
May we find such a consistent and vibrant line of flight! The two deterritorialization dimensions here are the extreme deterritorialization of the hedonist present and the respective reterritorialization on the cunt. Reterritorialization on the cunt, ahahahah!
São Paulo 1984 - Happy Parrot, Hermeto Pascoal
Hermeto is just like Miller, a laugh, a 5+3 laugh.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
o médico, o clássico e a sua linha de vôo
Um dia encontrei-o num concerto e daí conversamos de música em música. Mostrou-me depois um concerto no CD do carro. Havia Geza Anda e um dos concertos de Mozart. Foi isto já há muito tempo. Foi ele que me indicou o movimento do dedo sobre a tecla, o jogo de velocidades do dedo, o bater da tecla no dedo, o limite do movimento do dedo, e nos dedos de Anda, mostrou-me uma nova dimensão: Mozart e o clássico.
Dizem-me hoje que pôs fim à vida, "a way out that turns the line of flight into a line of death". Quanto mais recto é o angulo da perfeição clássica mais a necessária curvatura explode e menos resta ao clássico, senão a morte.
Dizem-me hoje que pôs fim à vida, "a way out that turns the line of flight into a line of death". Quanto mais recto é o angulo da perfeição clássica mais a necessária curvatura explode e menos resta ao clássico, senão a morte.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Index Librorum Prohibitorum
From Galileo, Copernicus and Bruno to Sartre. From 1500 to 1966.
Examples of noteworthy figures on the Index include Sartre, Voltaire, Rousseau, Hume, Descartes, Bacon, Milton, Locke, Pascal, La Fontaine, Stendhal, Hugo, Flaubert, Beauvoir, Hobbes, Hume, Locke, Mill...
I use this Index Librorum Prohibitorum as an example of an obvious absurdity BUT the absurdities are all but obvious. Our own absurdity is ultimately difficult to recognize, because that recognition moment would have to be... absurd... that's why we will always be surrounded by very large hardcovers covering enormous absurdities...
Examples of noteworthy figures on the Index include Sartre, Voltaire, Rousseau, Hume, Descartes, Bacon, Milton, Locke, Pascal, La Fontaine, Stendhal, Hugo, Flaubert, Beauvoir, Hobbes, Hume, Locke, Mill...
I use this Index Librorum Prohibitorum as an example of an obvious absurdity BUT the absurdities are all but obvious. Our own absurdity is ultimately difficult to recognize, because that recognition moment would have to be... absurd... that's why we will always be surrounded by very large hardcovers covering enormous absurdities...
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Brassens en Bolivie
Quand on voyage, il y a des choses qu'on voit mais que se noient dans notre ame et que ne restent pas disponible! Deux ans aprés le voyage: un souvenir!!! Ecoutez.
Il y a 2 ans que je suis arrivé en Bolivie et que j'ai achetté ma guitare: 150 bolivianos (usd$20), elle joue encore! Lá-bas j'ai connu en couple Français qui venait de l'ile de la Reunion: Monsieur e Mme Guilly (?) Après avoir joué un Prelude de Villa Lobos avec ma nouvelle guitare, il m'a chanté cette chanson. Quelle merveille!!!
Il y a 2 ans que je suis arrivé en Bolivie et que j'ai achetté ma guitare: 150 bolivianos (usd$20), elle joue encore! Lá-bas j'ai connu en couple Français qui venait de l'ile de la Reunion: Monsieur e Mme Guilly (?) Après avoir joué un Prelude de Villa Lobos avec ma nouvelle guitare, il m'a chanté cette chanson. Quelle merveille!!!
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