Sad Santa

I've stumbled upon Willard Grant Conspiracy few weeks ago while listening to Richmond Fontaine radio on Last.fm and I was hooked. Did some reading, a bit more listening and finally decided to invest some time and money into attending their concert at SC last night (Dec 3rd 2008).

Quite more jazzy/bluesy than I actually expected them to be having heard their studio albums they proved to be peculiar and enchanting experience.

It was kind of like watching a living schism, paradox in flesh.

It started with watching annoyed, fat dude ambling through the stage to his chair and sitting down despondently and ended with his transubstantiation into desperate Santa stripped of his powers, fairytale creature barren to mere frame – to humane, to identifiable, to heartaching possibility of common experience – transubstantiation being fulfilled by Robert Fisher opening his mouth and singing – disturbingly, aching, wonderful.

I've listened to them stunned, my jaw hangin' open, bright-eyed and engulfed in wonder.

I've listened them make beautiful music.

Construction site

Through porotherm brick I saw the first snow slowly and fluffily cover the asphalt beneath the street light. It smelled like construction site should smell: it smelled of lime and of cement and of wet wood and of dust. Snow and intermittent breeze rustled the nylon fabric that covered the building from the outside.

You bit my lip muffling the sigh, legs wrapped around my waist, until the skin gave in and one large drop of blood rolled over your glistening breasts to the floor.

In slow motion.

Surreal.

Green irises glittered in the darkness staring into my eyes as I came, holding your buttocks in my palms.

Letter

I'm writing...

I sit by the fire watching the troglodyte shadows waver on cave walls.

Small pile of tears and shreds that used to be a rope laughs at me from the corner. As in a dream I touch them and let them fall from my hands flutteringly, hemplike.

I wake up crazed by fear that I'll forget how you look like.

xkcd 334

Go to xkcd and hover with your mouse over the comic.

Will your grace command me any service to the world's end?

Second Life Syndrome

Nothing helps.
Every one lost leaving a dent
That no replacement could ever fill;
No ersatz touch, or feel, or scent,
No self-delusion or strength of will.

Nothing helps.
Every one lost leaving a brand,
Leaving a skid mark on one's soul
Where something sacred used to stand
'till one is forced to let it go.

Loneliness sucks

So, few days ago, I was reading an interesting article on Popsci portal about how science has proven the obvious in 2008.


One of the obviouses confirmed was that "Loneliness sucks". Information especially pointed out was the fact that there are "25 percent of Americans unable to name a trusted confidante, according to the American Sociological Review".

Wow!

25 % ?!

One in every 4 people could not bare his guts to anyone if he had the need to do so?!

Shocking perspective!

Blogday 2008

Brazen careerist

I love reading her work. I love basking ih her eloquence. The advice there might be golden or might be crap, but the way she delivers it is utterly enchanting.


Oddee

"Quality entertainment. Be amazed."

Bibliophile Stalker

Try as I might I just cannot fathom where this guy gets the time needed for all the reading and staying up to date with the....stalking and books and podcasts and interviews and whatnots.

Bock's Car

"A webshit blog to end all webshit blogs" as he puts it. Brilliantly intelligent, stunningly cool guy.

Overcoming Bias

Interdisciplinary approach to reality. Quality reading, scientific approach, mind-boggling force of inspirational effect.

Midnight inspiration in a looooong workday

Thank you Randall Munroe of xkcd :o)

Anais Nin - Henry and June

Recently, I've been reading a book Henry and June by Anais Nin. I was quite reluctant to read it until now, since all of the people who read her work said that it is feministic and/or erotic prose written by promiscuous and easygoing/frivolous/fickle woman.

Now I feel they could not have been farther from the truth.

As I see it, we may not have the ability or even the inclination to question or understand somebody else's motivation, but we can all acknowledge the difficulty of somebody else's position. We may not understand the why, but we can all see the how.

Reading this book has really proven to be quite a task - I can only muster up the will to read about ten to twenty pages at any one time, it is so filled with meaning, with heartache, with courage, with existential angst. Line between joie de vivre and escapism becomes so blurry and dissipates into nothingness.

Surely, it really must BE nothingness. As it, ultimately, should be. That line. That chasm.

And further I read, more I become conscious that this experience will ultimately end. That the book will be read, returned to the shelf. So I read it slowly, I take notes, read paragraphs out loud, talk about it, think about it - growing myself a copious rain forest of engrams to preserve the memory.

Ingrained irony.

Vacation

Dear Visitor,

I'm going to spend the next ten days basking in the sun in Mrljane on wonderful Pašman island. Hopefully I won't forget my camera at home, so you'll be in for a treat when I come back.

D.F.