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44 Los Angeles, CA Man


I’m looking for

  • Women
  • Ages 18–99
  • Located anywhere
  • For new friends, long-term dating, short-term dating, casual sex

My details

Last online
Today – 9:44am
5′ 8″ (1.73m)
Body type
Strictly vegetarian
Space camp
Art / Music / Writing
Strictly monogamous
Doesn’t have kids
Has dogs
English (Fluently), Hebrew (Okay), French (Okay), Russian (Okay), German (Okay)

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My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
"Let architects sing of aesthetics that bring
Rich clients in hordes to their knees.
Just give me a home, in a great circle dome
Where stresses and strains are at ease.

Roam home to a dome,
No banker would back with a dime.
No mortgage to show, no payments to go,
Where you dream, dwell and spend your own time."
(Sung to the tune of “Home on the Range”)
- Bucky Fuller
Mozart Spring Quartet choose me -- Alan Rudolph The MOderns -- Alan Rudolph

Mozart Sonata for Two Guitars in D Major whisch was right here a minute agoi: (I think I'll have to work on this.)
Jodie Foster and Alfred Lutter III (1974) Amelia -- Joni Mitchell David Bowie -- Low

Electric power is everywhere present in unlimited quantities and can drive the world's machinery without the need of coal, oil, gas, or any other of the common fuels." –Nikola Tesla

Kubla Khan
Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise. ~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Cher says it all! Iddddiot Wind ( listening to this song).

"capto as vibrações" -- thats all I can say-- in Portuguese, but it's idomatic to spanish not Portuguese, I meant to say -- "Grab hold of the vibrations" , which I belive does have a cool spanish translation.

I'll google it. -- agarrar la onda ?

Alas! this is not what I thought life was.
I knew that there were crimes and evil men,
Misery and hate; nor did I hope to pass
Untouched by suffering, through the rugged glen.
In mine own heart I saw as in a glass
The hearts of others ... And when
I went among my kind, with triple brass
Of calm endurance my weak breast I armed,
To bear scorn, fear, and hate, a woful mass!
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

I threw the I-Ching yesterday, it said there’d be some thunder at the well.
I haven’t tasted peace and quiet for so long it seems like living hell.
There’s a lone soldier on the hill, watchin’ falling raindrops pour.
You’d never know it to look at him, but at the final shot he won the war
After losin’ every battle.
I woke up on the roadside, day dreamin’ about the way things sometimes are
Hoofbeats pounding in my head at break-neck speed and making me see stars.
You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies.
One day you’ll be in the ditch, flies buzzin’ around your eyes,
Blood on your saddle.

Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb,
Blowing through the curtains in your room.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You’re an idiot, babe.
It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

It was gravity which pulled us in and destiny which broke us apart
You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn’t enough to change my heart.
Now everything’s a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped,
What’s good is bad, what’s bad is good, you’ll find out when you reach the top
You’re on the bottom.
I noticed at the ceremony, that you left your bags behind
The driver came in after you left, he gave them all to me, and then he resigned.
The priest wore black on the seventh day, and walzed around while the building burned.
You didn’t trust me for a minute, babe. I’ve never known the spring to turn
So quickly into autumn.

Idiot wind, blowing everytime you move your jaw,
From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Mardi Gras.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You’re an idiot, babe.
It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

We pushed each other a little too far, and one day it just turned into a raging storm.
A hound dog bayed behind your trees as I was packing up my uniform.
I figured I’d lost you anyway, Why go on? What’s the use?
In order to get in a word with you, I’d have had to come up with some excuse.
It just struck me kinda funny.
I been double-crossed too much, at times I think I’ve almost lost my mind
Lady-killers load ice on me behind my back, while imitators steal me blind
You close your eyes and part your lips, and slip your fingers from your glove
You can have the best there is, but it’s gonna cost you all your love
You won’t get it for money

Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats,
Blowing through the letters that we wrote.
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves,
We’re idiots, babe.
It’s a wonder we can even feed ourselves. Marc Bolan

We hit all the dull bars in the French Quarter with Old Bull and went back home at midnight. That night Marylou took everything in the books; she took tea, goofballs, benny, liquor, and even asked Old Bull for a shot of M, which of course he didn't give her; he did give her a martini. She was so saturated with elements of all kinds that she came to a standstill and stood goofy on the porch with me. It was a wonderful porch Bull had. It ran clear around the house; by moonlight with the willows it looked like an old Southern mansion that had seen better days. In the house Jane sat reading the want ads in the living room; Bull was in the bathroom taking his fix, clutching his old black necktie in his teeth for a tourniquet and jabbing with the needle into his woesome arm with the thousand holes; Ed Dunkel was sprawled out with Galatea in the massive master bed that Old Bull and Jane never used; Dean was rolling tea; and Marylou and I imitated Southern aristocracy.

"Why, Miss Lou, you look lovely and most fetching tonight."

"Why, thank you, Crawford, I sure do appreciate the nice things you do say."

You all look most fetching tonight!

Local Hero, I think I'll watch this movie.
"Just LIke Heaven" -- Dinosaur Junior

Wouldn't it be amazing if after all of the crap on this profile , someone fell in love with my picture of a Peacock Spider from Western Australia? Or wanted to be new friends with it , desired long-term dating with it , short-term dating with it , or just casual sex with it . Please ,let me know if you're that person!
Julia Fischer and Gordan Nikolic recording Mozart

Win -- David Bowie

(Hey, it ain't over)
Me, I hope that I'm crazy
I feel you driving and rolling the wheel
Slow down, let someone love you
Ohh, I've never touched you since I started to feel
If there's nothing to hide me
Then you've never seen me hanging naked and wired
Somebody lied, but I say it's hip
To be alive

Now your smile is spreading thin
Seems you're trying not to lose
Since I'm not supposed to grin
All you've got to do is win
(that's all ya gotta do)
(ooh, it ain't over)

Me, I'm fresh on your pages
Secret thinker sometimes listening aloud
Life lies dumb on its heroes
Wear your wound with honor, make someone proud
Someone like you should not be allowed
To start any fires

Now your smile is spreading thin
Seems you're trying not to lose
Since I'm not supposed to grin
All you've got to do is win
(that's all ya gotta do)
(ohh, it ain't over)
You know, I could make this a normal profile but I have elected to leave all the links and all the crap I have collected on the profile over time . I am certain it's more interesting than my personal narrative would be at this time.
Mighty Joe Young (1949) Marc Bolan - The Singles Collection: T. Rex
Young Americans David Bowie (Full Album)

Win -- David Bowie

The Jimi Hendrix Experience- If 6 Was 9

A photo goes with this actually.


Here's a good one for Labor Day:
The Rolling Stones - Salt of the Earth

Alfred Hitchcock on Salvador Dali from the movie Spellbound --

"Isis" -- -- Bob Dylan"

When I Paint My Masterpiece" -- Bob Dylan
"toute une vie" (1974)

Angelique Pettyjohn (March 11, 1943 – February 14, 1992) was an American actress and burlesque queen.[1] She appeared as the drill thrall Shahna in the Star Trek episode, "The Gamesters of Triskelion".

I'd love to get the whole concert, anyway, Heroes -- David Bowie Live

The Kinks -- Waterloo Sunset (Live)
Bowie Concert in Berlin

Olivia Newton-John was born in Cambridge, England, to a Welsh father, Brinley ("Bryn") Newton-John, and a Berlin-born mother, Irene Helene (née Born), the eldest child of the Nobel Prize-winning atomic physicist Max Born.

"The Mechanics of the Atom" -- Max Born
"Principles of Optics" -- Max Born & Emil Wolf
"Einstein's Theory of Relativity" -- Max Born


I am sorry, another chess marathon with my nephew.( which of course I lost).

An ostentation of peacocks
A wilderness of monkeys
A sea of troubles
A surfeit of slaughter
A heart of furious fancies
A knight of ghosts and shadows
A cloud of witnesses
A rubble of gods
A knot of witches
A harvest of souls
A grand democracy of forest trees
A raft of kings
A nest of gentlefolk
A diversity of creatures
A coven of kettles
A springul of larks
Screams of newsboys
An amazement of women
A crocodile of choirboys
A cloud of bats
A squalor of honest men
A prisonhouse of nations
A drizzle of empires
A bodyguard of lies
A marathon of deletions

A foreclosure of bankers

Talking Heads -- Pulled Up


Favorite Throwing Muses Album: The Real Ramona

Annals of Mathematics 168
(2008), 97–125
Growth of the number of simple
closed geodesics on hyperbolic surfaces
By Maryam Mirzakhani

( She just won a Fields Medal, the first woman to win that award. Why did it take so long?)

Hmm..., someone took down my picture of Pablo Picasso
so my profile summary part doesn't make any sense. Oh well!

Modern Lovers (Full Album) Pablo Picasso -- Modern Lovers

Love you madly! Einstürzende Neubauten - Kollaps (Mix)

Neu! - Neu!

Lou Reed - Metal Machine Music (1975) (Full Album)

The MEKONS & Kathy Acker ~ Live ~ Pussy, King of the Pirates

WOW - Wendy O. Williams

Nick Cave -- Let Love In

Lou Reed -- Rock And Roll Animal
Fahrenheit 451- Full audiobook - Ray Bradbury

Henry miller reads

“We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't fuck them.”
― John Waters
Reuters, 1966
Big Yellow Taxi -- Joni Mitchell. "You don't meet too many straight guys into Joni Mitchell" (movie quote from: The Kids Are Alright)
But is that true. I don't know.

Paul Mawhinney, a former music-store owner in Pittsburgh, spent more than 40 years amassing a collection of some three million LPs and 45s, many of them bargain-bin rejects that had been thoroughly forgotten. The world’s indifference, he believed, made even the most neglected records precious: music that hadn’t been transferred to digital files would vanish forever unless someone bought his collection and preserved it.

Mawhinney spent about two decades trying to find someone who agreed. He struck a deal for $28.5 million in the late 1990s with the Internet retailer CDNow, he says, but the sale of his collection fell through when the dot-com bubble started to quiver. He contacted the Library of Congress, but negotiations fizzled. In 2008 he auctioned the collection on eBay for $3,002,150, but the winning bidder turned out to be an unsuspecting Irishman who said his account had been hacked.

Interesting story , read it in the NY Times Magazine August 10, 2014

Toots and the Maytals -- Sweet and Dandy Toots and the Maytals -- Sweet and Dandy

Tengo hambre de tu boca, de tu voz, de tu pelo
y por las calles voy sin nutrirme, callado,
no me sostiene el pan, el alba me desquicia,
busco el sonido líquido de tus pies en el día.

Estoy hambriento de tu risa resbalada,
de tus manos color de furioso granero,
tengo hambre de la pálida piedra de tus uñas,
quiero comer tu piel como una intacta almendra.

Quiero comer el rayo quemado en tu hermosura,
la nariz soberana del arrogante rostro,
quiero comer la sombra fugaz de tus pestañas

y hambriento vengo y voy olfateando el crepúsculo
buscándote, buscando tu corazón caliente
como un puma en la soledad de Quitratúe.

I am very sorry to bother you. I have been doing a lot of research in the past couple of months about the Illuminati and NWO. It was actually an accidental discovery when I was doing research on chemtrails, and something led me to the Illuminati and it's control at the Olympics, which apparently are related. However, now I know all this stuff about the Illuminati and masonry, I am seeing the reprogramming everywhere. ~Einstein ( Letter to Bohr)
Mireille Mathieu - Non, je ne regrette rien

Larry David is hilarious!

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child's balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There's no sense in trying.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool's gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.

Temptation's page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover
That you'd just be
One more person crying.

So don't fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.
As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don't hate nothing at all
Except hatred.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Made everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.
An' though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.
Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you're the one
That can do what's never been done
That can win what's never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.

A question in your eyes is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
cultivate what they do to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society's pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he's in.
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.
Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares Propaganda, all is phony.

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer's pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False goals, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me?
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.


Who cares what it says about me. who cares !!!

Yes, thank you for telling me my profile sucks. I realize it does , but I don't feel like editing it now because I'm not in the mood. - Alan
Images by Piero Fornasetti ( 1913-1988)

He lived most of life in Milan, attending the Brera Art Academy from 1930-32 when he was expelled for insubordination. During World War II, he went into exile in Switzerland from 1943-46. He created more than 11,000 items, many featuring the face of a woman, operatic soprano Lina Cavalieri, as a motif. Fornasetti found her face in a 19th-century magazine. “What inspired me to create more than 500 variations on the face of a woman?” asks Italian designer, Piero Fornasetti of himself. “I don’t know,” he admits, “I began to make them and I never stopped.” The “Tema e Variazioni” (theme and variation) plate series based on Cavalieri's face numbered more than 350.

Other common features in his work include heavy use of black and white, the sun and time. His style is reminiscent of Greek and Roman architecture, by which he was heavily influenced.

Today it is most common to see Fornasetti's style in fashion and room accessories such as scarves, ties, lamps, furniture, china plates and tables.

His son, Barnaba Fornasetti, continues to design in his father's name.

I think I'll watch Slavoj Zizek's "The Pervert's Guide To Ideology "
Seinfeld Clip

The Kinks: ( for whatever your kink happens to be)

Waterloo Sunset:

One day I was thinking about the people I’ve met – specifically, the really strange ones. The more I thought about them, the more I realized that they were like me: free, uncompromising, boldly displaying their strengths, and unashamed of their weaknesses. People who turned their weaknesses into strengths, by making me love them and get lost in them. I suddenly decided that I wanted to write about these people. I wanted to analyze them deeply, to understand them, to master their mentality. I wanted to know why they came, why they left, why they captured so strikingly my whole existence.

(miles does spanish key .)


From Horses...

Shined open coiled snakes white and shiny twirling and encircling
Our lives are now entwined, we will fall yes we're together twining
Your nerves, your mane of the black shining horse
And my fingers all entwined through the air
I could feel it, it was the hair going through my fingers
(I feel it I feel it I feel it I feel it)
The hairs were like wires going through my body
I I that's how I
That's how I
I died
(at that Tower of Babel they knew what they were after)
(they knew what they were after)
[Everything on the current] moved up
I tried to stop it, but it was too warm, too unbelievably smooth
Like playing in the sea, in the sea of possibility, the possibility
Was a blade, a shiny blade, I hold the key to the sea of possibilities

タンポポ -- 伊丹十三 Tampopo - 1985 - Juzo Itami (Intro Tampopo)
( Death of the Gangster ) Gangster eating Oysters ( Tampopo )

Oh, here it is:
" know if I read more Russian novels..." great part by Julianne Moore .

Syd: It's like cultural studies or semiotics. Philosophy, you know? Foucault, Derrida, Kristeva , whatevah.

Horses/ Patti Smith

Others are jotting down notes:

The scene is at about 2:00:00 Link: -- Alan


And this was what? Oh, guitar practice 1:30:00 Bitches Brew

Janna Levin is doing an AMA on reddit today. Very interesting if you like astrophysics. Here's a link:
So omit the end of "Tropic of Cancer" (which you didn't write by the way.) just leave the one sentence.

Human beings make a strange fauna and flora. From a distance they appear negligible; close up they are apt to appear ugly and malicious. More than anything they need to be surrounded with sufficient space -- space even more than time.


Gallery Blurb on the Richard Jackson Installation in London.

Some Mozart: Mitsuko Uchida Plays K. 271 Concerto in E flat , No. 9

Negative Feedback :

Hi, thanks. I can see the DeKooning! It was actually a matter of not being able to hold the phone still, but still!

I don't have a tumblr; I barely have a facebook. I might've had a livejournal once, but unfortunately we don't have access to livejournal anymore so we'll never know for sure. (That's a joke--not a good one.) I'm savvy on the internet like I'm savvy with language: I get it, all of it. I just choose to ignore certain parts. Too much is less than nothing.

And speaking of, I'm not sure how to respond to your novella-length profile composed mostly in verse, but that refuses to post one clear photograph. If we are indulging ourselves here, lay out the facts. I'm not mysterious and it's always a relief when somebody's not mysterious.
Honestly, I have to agree with her, I think I'll dump this stupid profile and start over again .
And Romeo wanted Juliette
and Juliette wanted Romeo
And Romeo wanted Juliette
and Juliette wanted Romeo
Lou Reed - Romeo Had Juliette

Caught between the twisted stars
the plotted lines the faulty map
that brought Columbus to New York
Betwixt between the East and West
he calls on her wearing a leather vest
the earth squeals and shudders to a halt
A diamond crucifix in his ear
is used to help ward off the fear
that he has left his soul in someone's rented car
Inside his pants he hides a mop
to clean the mess that he has dropped
into the life of lithesome Juliette Bell

And Romeo wanted Juliette
and Juliette wanted Romeo
And Romeo wanted Juliette
and Juliette wanted Romeo

Romeo Rodriguez squares
his shoulders and curses Jesus
runs a comb through his black pony-tail
He's thinking of his lonely room
the sink that by his bed gives off a stink
then smells her perfume in his eyes
And her voice was like a bell

Outside the street were steaming the crack
dealers were dreaming
of an Uzi someone had just scored
I betcha I could hit that light
with my one good arm behind my back
says little Joey Diaz
Brother give me another tote
those downtown hoods are no damn good
those Italians need a lesson to be taught
This cop who died in Harlem
you think they'd get the warnin'
I was dancing when his brains run out on the street

And Romeo had Juliette
and Juliette had her Romeo
And Romeo had Juliette
and Juliette had her Romeo

I'll take Manhattan in a garbage bag
with Latin written on it that says
"it's hard to give a shit these days"
Manhattan's sinking like a rock
into the filthy Hudson what a shock
they wrote a book about it
they said it was like ancient Rome

The perfume burned his eyes
holding tightly to her thighs
And something flickered for a minute
and then it vanished and was gone


That hurt we embrace becomes joy.
Call it to your arms where it can change.
A silkworm eating leaves makes a cocoon.
Each of us weaves a chamber of leaves and sticks.
Like silkworms, we begin to exist
as we disappear inside that room.

Without legs, we fly.
When I stop speaking, this poem will close
in silence more magnificent….

I don’t regret how much I love,
And I avoid those who repent of their passion.

Hundreds of sweethearts!
I am the lover and the one lovers long for.
Blue, and a cure for blues,
sky in a small cage,
badly hurt but flying.
Everybody’s scandalous flaw is mine.

~ Ashley Madison


reading the newpaper...

Here's an interesting story:


The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even (La mariée mise à nu par ses célibataires, même), most often called The Large Glass (Le Grand Verre), is an artwork by Marcel Duchamp. Duchamp worked on the piece from 1915 to 1923, creating two panes of glass with materials such as lead foil, fuse wire, and dust. It combines chance procedures, plotted perspective studies, and laborious craftsmanship. Duchamp's ideas for the Glass began in 1913, and he made numerous notes and studies, as well as preliminary works for the piece. The notes reflect the creation of unique rules of physics, and myth which describes the work. He published the notes and studies as The Green Box in 1934.[1] The notes describe that his "hilarious picture" is intended to depict the erotic encounter between the "Bride," in the upper panel, and her nine "Bachelors" gathered timidly below in an abundance of mysterious mechanical apparatus in the lower panel.[2] The Large Glass was exhibited in 1926 at the Brooklyn Museum before it was broken during transport and carefully repaired by Duchamp. It is now part of the permanent collection at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Duchamp sanctioned replicas of The Large Glass, the first in 1961 for an exhibition at Moderna Museet in Stockholm and another in 1966 for the Tate Gallery in London.[3][4] The third replica is in Komaba Museum, University of Tokyo.[5]

Lou Reed's shock at Edward Snowden's NSA revelations

Be right back! Sweet Jane -- Lou Reed Heroes -- David Bowie

"Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht" Werner Herzog (1979) with Klaus Kinski . On the off chance you have nothing better to do!
Warren Zevon -- "Werewolves of London"
(new day , new mood)



(summary) Social Distortion: Story of My LIfe
Social D again:
One more time:
Ball and Chain
Dig a Pony: St Vincent ( Annie Clark) -- (2009)

Hey she mentions the seventh seal!

Annie Clark plays a Harmony Bobcat H-17. I think she's great,
I think David Byrne thinks so too.
Nirvana with Annie Clark / St. Vincent - Lithium
I think I'll watch "The Seventh Seal" by Ingmar Bergman. I've already got the popcorn.
- Do you like those old movies?

- Yeah, I guess, why do you ask?

"brevity is the soul of wit." ~Polonius (from Hamlet by Willy the Shake.)

My liege, and madam, to expostulate
What majesty should be, what duty is,
What day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time;
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad. . . .

Hamlet Act 2, scene 2, 86–92

Hello , I'm Johnny Cash.

Wow,this one got a zillion hits!
Jack White/ White Stripes / Jolene

Carla Bozulich / The Geraldine Fibbers - " California Tuffy"

Nels Cline plays with Wilco:

He looked a lot like Che Guevara?


I met a friend of spirit
He drank and womanized
And I sat before his sanity
I was holding back from crying
He saw my complications
And he mirrored me back simplified
And we laughed how our perfection
Would always be denied
"Heart and humor and humility"
He said "Will lighten up your heavy load"
I left him for the refuge of the roads

I fell in with some drifters
Cast upon a beachtown
Winn Dixie cold cuts and highway hand me downs
And I wound up fixing dinner
For them and Boston Jim
I well up with affection
Thinking back down the roads to then
The nets were overflowing
In the Gulf of Mexico
They were overflowing in the refuge of the roads

There was spring along the ditches
There were good times in the cities
Oh radiant happiness
It was all so light and easy
Till I started analyzing
And I brought on my old ways
A thunderhead of judgment was
Gathering in my gaze
And it made most people nervous
They just didn't want to know
What I was seeing in the refuge of the roads

I pulled off into a forest
Crickets clicking in the ferns
Like a wheel of fortune
I heard my fate turn turn turn
And I went running down a white sand road
I was running like a white-assed deer
Running to lose the blues
To the innocence in here
These are the clouds of Michelangelo
Muscular with gods and sungold
Shine on your witness in the refuge of the roads

In a highway service station
Over the month of June
Was a photograph of the earth
Taken coming back from the moon
And you couldn't see a city
On that marbled bowling ball
Or a forest or a highway
Or me here least of all
You couldn't see these cold water restrooms
Or this baggage overload
Westbound and rolling taking refuge in the roads

Happy Birthday Miles! 88.
========================================== Alex Chilton -- The Replacements From "Pleased To Meet Me".
"I change during the course of a day.
I wake up and I'm one person, and when
I go to sleep I know for certain I'm
somebody else." ~ Bob Dylan


So, Franz Marc is one of my favorite painters.

One of Marc's best-known paintings is Tierschicksale (Animal Destinies or Fate of the Animals), which hangs in the Kunstmuseum Basel. Marc had completed the work in 1913, when "the tension of impending cataclysm had pervaded society", as one art historian noted.On the rear of the canvas, Marc wrote, "Und Alles Sein ist flammend Leid" ("And all being is flaming agony").Serving in World War I, Marc wrote to his wife of the painting, "it is like a premonition of this war—horrible and shattering. I can hardly conceive that I painted it."

My version of See Emily Play:
(but I love the original psychedelic school girl version the most.)

Does this work yet?

See Emily Play, my favorite version :


I think I'll write a script about wine .

Can I ask you a personal question?

(bracing himself)

Why are you so into Pinot? It's like
a thing with you.

Miles laughs at first, then smiles wistfully at the question.
He searches for the answer in his glass and begins slowly.

I don't know. It's a hard grape to
grow. As you know. It's thin-skinned,
temperamental, ripens early. It's
not a survivor like Cabernet that
can grow anywhere and thrive even
when neglected. Pinot needs constant
care and attention and in fact can
only grow in specific little tucked-
away corners of the world. And only
the most patient and nurturing growers
can do it really, can tap into Pinot's
most fragile, delicate qualities.
Only when someone has taken the time
to truly understand its potential
can Pinot be coaxed into its fullest
expression. And when that happens,
its flavors are the most haunting
and brilliant and subtle and thrilling
and ancient on the planet.

Maya has found this answer revealing and moving.

I mean, Cabernets can be powerful
and exalting, but they seem prosaic
to me for some reason. By comparison.
How about you?

What about me?

I don't know. Why are you into wine?

I suppose I got really into wine
originally through my ex-husband. He
had a big, kind of show-off cellar.
But then I found out that I have a
really sharp palate, and the more I
drank, the more I liked what it made
me think about.

Yeah? Like what?

Like what a fraud he was.

Miles laughs.

No, but I do like to think about the
life of wine, how it's a living thing.
I like to think about what was going
on the year the grapes were growing,
how the sun was shining that summer
or if it rained... what the weather
was like. I think about all those
people who tended and picked the
grapes, and if it's an old wine, how
many of them must be dead by now. I
love how wine continues to evolve,
how every time I open a bottle it's
going to taste different than if I
had opened it on any other day.
Because a bottle of wine is actually
alive -- it's constantly evolving
and gaining complexity. That is,
until it peaks -- like your '61 --
and begins its steady, inevitable
decline. And it tastes so fucking
good. One more time!

James Brown? James Brown!!!

Bringing you the hits, Hot Pants -- Carla Fibber and Nels Cline:

Ethyl Meatplow, Carla Bozilich :

Just one more:
Let's here it for George Jones!

And the Possum one more time:

And the Geraldine Fibbers for all you out there in radioland :

Just an old country song: "He Stopped Lovin' Her Today" by George Jones

Deep in the heart of me is you. The fun house mirror is just a metaphor.

Duck Soup (1933) The Marx Brothers

The Byrds - Eight miles high

I should watch the U.S. chess championship in St. Louis ..

If you see her say hello, she may be in Tangier...

In answer to the important question :

Q: Does a Mobius strip remain connected when the center is removed?

A: Yes, apparently it does!

I once won $2,00,000 in a poker game but I find sometimes my self reporting is inaccurate. crazy old lady scene in Tompopo.

Ravel Synthesized:

Q: Is it just me, or is this just a shitty way of meeting people?

A: Well , look at your answers , they are batshit crazy!

Q: Oh...

A: Someone has to tell you.

Q: So, honesty is the best policy.

A: I didn't say that, but yes , you should consider it. Anyway, people don't always make decisions based on what you say.

Q: By the way , I didn't catch your name.

A: I didn't pitch it.

Q: That sounds like a line out of a movie.

A: Yes, an old movie, but I don;t recall which one.

Q: Carry Grant and James Mason?

A: No, you're on the right track. Carry Grant and Leo G. Carrol.

- Roger Thornhill: I don't think I caught your name.
- The Professor: I don't think I pitched it.

Ernest Lehman wrote the script.

Q: Well , that's whats great about the internet, you can always look things up, even trivial stupid things.

A: Yes, and people will always have this conversation that you're having with yourself!

Q: Why should I care?

A: What do you think this is ? The question and answer chapter of Ulysses?

Q: I always loved that part of the book!

A: That's Chapter 17.

... What reflection concerning the irregular sequence of dates 1884, 1885, 1886, 1888, 1892, 1893, 1904 did Bloom make before their arrival at their destination?

He reflected that the progressive extension of the field of individual development and experience was regressively accompanied by a restriction of the converse domain of interindividual relations.

As in what ways?

From inexistence to existence he came to many and was as one received: existence with existence he was with any as any with any: from existence to nonexistence gone he would be by all as none perceived.

What action did Bloom make on their arrival at their destination?

At the housesteps of the 4th of the equidifferent uneven numbers, number 7 Eccles street, he inserted his hand mechanically into the back pocket of his trousers to obtain his latchkey.

Was it there?

It was in the corresponding pocket of the trousers which he had worn on the day but one preceding.

Why was he doubly irritated?

Because he had forgotten and because he remembered that he had reminded himself twice not to forget.

What were then the alternatives before the, premed
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
“This is a world where everybody’s got to do something. You know, somebody laid down this rule that everybody’s got to do something. They got to be something. You know, a dentist, a fighter pilot, a narc, a janitor, a preacher, all that. Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things I don’t want to do. All the things that I don’t want to be. All the places that I don’t want to go, like India, or to get my teeth cleaned. Save the whale, all that. I don’t understand that.” ~ Henry Chinaski
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
Je tiens à faire l'amour avec vous ce soir.

Who cares, this was ages ago.
Setlist -Nürnberg , Zeppelinfeld, July 1, 1978 ( Thanks to Olof Björner)

1. She's Love Crazy
2. Baby Stop Crying
3. Mr. Tambourine Man
4. Shelter From The Storm
5. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue
6. Tangled Up In Blue
7. Ballad Of A Thin Man
8. Maggie's Farm
9. I Don’t Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)
10. Like A Rolling Stone
11. I Shall Be Released
12. Going, Going, Gone
13. A Change Is Gonna Come (Sam Cooke)
14. Love Minus Zero/No Limit
15. A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
16. One Of Us Must Know (Sooner Or Later)
17. You're A Big Girl Now
18. One More Cup Of Coffee (Valley Below)
19. Blowin' In The Wind
20. I Want You
21. Señor (Tales Of Yankee Power)
22. Masters Of War
23. Just Like A Woman
24. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
25. All Along The Watchtower
26. All I Really Want To Do
27. It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)
28. Forever Young
29. I'll Be Your Baby Tonight
30. The Times They Are A-Changin'
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
I'm a big Bob Dylan Fan.

"You’ve been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books
You’re very well read
It’s well known" he said.

My favorite Russian shaggy dog story:

Вот что рассказал мне князь.
"Неделю тому назад, собираясь на Цейлон, уже на борту корабля среди других провожающих я увидел атташе российского посольства, который обратил мое внимание на одного из пассажиров, вполне представительного господина.
– Взгляните на этого достойного джентльмена, – сказал атташе, – вы мне не поверите, но это известный торговец живым товаром. Кто бы мог догадаться об этом, основывая свои впечатления на его наружности!
В суете, предшествующей отплытию, я не уделил особого внимания этому сообщению и вскоре совсем выбросил его из головы.
Корабль отчалил, была чудесная погода, поэтому я почти все время проводил на палубе, прогуливая своего фокстерьера Джека. К нам подошла очаровательная девушка и, приласкав собаку, протянула ей на ладони кусочек сахару. Так как Джек был приучен ничего не брать у чужих без моего разрешения, он вопросительно взглянул на меня, навострив уши. После того как я позволил собаке съесть сахар, мы разговорились, и оказалось, что девушка прекрасно говорит по-русски. Она представилась Витвицкой и рассказала мне, что отправляется в Александрию, чтобы поступить гувернанткой в семью русского консула. Во время нашей беседы пожилой джентльмен, на которого мне указал атташе, приблизился к нам и позвал девушку, после чего они вместе куда-то ушли. Я вспомнил то, что было сказано об этом господине, и его знакомство с моей собеседницей показалось мне подозрительным. Еще покопавшись в памяти, я припомнил, что семья русского консула, с которым я был хорошо знаком, не нуждалась в услугах гувернантки. Мои подозрения усилились настолько, что я в ближайшем же порту в Дарданеллах послал телеграмму консулу, упомянув в ней о девушке-гувернантке, и еще одну отправил своим друзьям в Салоники, куда корабль должен был вскоре прибыть. Я также поделился своими подозрениями с капитаном нашего судна. Еще до прибытия в Салоники мне все стало ясно: девушку заманили в сети путем обмана и дальнейшая судьба ее ужасна. Я почувствовал себя обязанным изменить ход событий и принял решение отправить ее обратно в Россию, а до тех пор, пока не устрою ее судьбу, прервать поездку на Цейлон. Мы вместе покинули корабль в Салониках и в тот же день поднялись на борт судна, которое возвращалось в Константинополь. Вскоре выяснилось, что в России у девушки нет никого, кто бы мог о ней позаботиться, вот почему я задержался здесь.
Ее история была не совсем обычной. Она родилась в Волынской губернии и все детство провела недалеко от города Ровно, в имении одного графа, где ее отец служил управляющим. Мать умерла, когда дети, две девочки и двое мальчиков, были еще совсем маленькими, и их воспитывала старая тетушка. Когда Витвицкой было четырнадцать лет, а ее старшей сестре шестнадцать, отец умер. К тому времени один из братьев учился на католического священника где-то в Италии, а другой, впоследствии оказавшийся негодяем, бросил колледж и, по слухам, обделывал какие-то темные делишки в Одессе. После смерти отца девочки вместе с тетей должны были покинуть имение, так как граф уже взял нового управляющего. Несчастья следовали одно за другим, и вскоре после переезда в город Ровно тетя скончалась. Находясь в очень затруднительной ситуации, девочки по совету дальних родственников уехали в Одессу, где стали обучаться профессии портнихи. Витвицкая отличалась необыкновенной красотой и, в отличие от старшей сестры, была довольно легкомысленна. У нее было много поклонников и среди них один коммивояжер, которому удалось соблазнить ее и увезти в Санкт-Петербург. Витвицкая захватила с собой свою долю наследства, и по приезде в Санкт-Петербург спутник ограбил ее и бросил одну в незнакомом большом городе. Испытывая огромные лишения, она вынуждена была стать содержанкой одного пожилого сенатора, который вскоре выгнал ее, так как ревновал к каждому встречному. Затем она попала в "уважаемую" семью одного практикующего доктора, который с ее помощью очень оригинальным способом увеличивал свою клиентуру. Жена доктора, увидев ее сидящей в полном отчаянии в саду напротив Александрийского театра, проявила к ней участие и привела к себе домой, где ей и сообщила, в чем будут заключаться ее обязанности. Девушка должна была прогуливаться по Невскому проспекту и позволять какому-нибудь мужчине, привлеченному ее необыкновенной внешностью, сопровождать ее до дверей дома. Здесь она покидала своего поклонника, разбудив у него определенные надежды. Тот, конечно, осведомлялся о ней у портье и узнавал, что эта прелестная девушка – компаньонка жены доктора, и мгновенно находил у себя кучу болезней. В результате доктор приобретал еще одного пациента, который под предлогом визита к доктору проникал в апартаменты, где он надеялся познакомиться с восхитившей его красавицей. Ближе познакомившись с Витвицкой, – продолжал князь, – я убедился, что только безысходная нужда заставила ее вести подобный образ жизни, который ей самой был глубоко отвратителен. Однажды, когда она шла по Невскому проспекту, выполняя свою обычную работу, она совершенно неожиданно встретила своего младшего брата, с которым не виделась много лет. Он был очень хорошо одет и производил впечатление богатого человека. Брат рассказал ей, что у него свой бизнес и он ведет торговлю в Одессе и даже за границей. Узнав, что дела ее далеко не блестящи, он предложил ей свою помощь и увез в Одессу, где, по его рассказам, имел связи в высшем обществе, и обещал устроить ее судьбу. В Одессе брат сообщил, что нашел ей отличное место гувернантки в доме русского консула в Александрии, и, представив пожилого респектабельного джентльмена привлекательной наружности, предложил ехать туда в его сопровождении. Дальнейшее вам известно".
Князь утверждал, что только бедность и несчастливое стечение обстоятельств привели ее к краю пропасти, но что она и в таких условиях сохранила свои лучшие качества. Поэтому он решил помочь несчастной девушке устроить ее дальнейшую судьбу, наставив на путь истинный.
"Я отправляю ее к своей сестре в Тамбовское имение, где она сможет оправиться от всего пережитого, а там будет видно", – в заключение сказал князь.
Зная доброту и некоторую наивность моего друга, я очень скептически отнесся к этому проекту, помня старую поговорку: "Что в воду упало, то пропало". Решив, что Витвицкая дурачит князя, я сразу же проникся к ней отвращением и скрепя сердце согласился сопровождать ее, так как не мог ни в чем отказать моему другу. Только через несколько дней после того, как мы поднялись на борт корабля, я внимательно взглянул на нее. Это была очень красивая брюнетка с чудесными карими глазами и изящной фигурой. Ее взгляд выдавал сильную натуру, и я подумал, что Таис Афинская наверняка была женщиной того же типа. Несмотря на всю ее привлекательность я продолжал испытывать к ней смешанные чувства, иногда презирая, иногда жалея, а иногда и любуясь ею. Прибыв с ней в Тамбов, я оставил ее у сестры князя, которая очень полюбила Витвицкую и взяла с собой за границу, где они долгое время жили, особенно в Италии. Мало-помалу под влиянием самого князя и его сестры молодая женщина стала интересоваться оккультными науками и всем тем, во что верили ее покровители. Она занялась самообразованием, много работала над собой, и каждый, кто беседовал с ней хотя бы один раз, отмечал ее острый ум и глубокие познания.
Расставшись с ней в России, я не видел ее в течение довольно длительного времени. Мне кажется, прошло не менее четырех лет, когда я встретил ее в Италии вместе с сестрой князя Юрия Любовецкого. Это произошло при следующих обстоятельствах.
Однажды в Риме я очутился в затруднительном положении, так как у меня кончились почти все деньги, и, следуя совету двух молодых айсоров, с которыми я здесь познакомился, я стал уличным чистильщиком обуви. Нельзя сказать, что с самого начала мой бизнес пошел успешно, поэтому я решил внести в него некоторые усовершенствования. С этой целью я заказал специальное кресло, под сиденьем которого незаметно для окружающих помещался фонограф Эдисона, к которому было прикреплено нечто вроде наушников. Таким образом, клиент, севший в кресло, мог насладиться оперными ариями, пока я занимался его обувью. В дополнение к этому я укрепил на подлокотнике небольшой поднос, на который ставил стакан, графин с водой и вермут, а также клал несколько иллюстрированных журналов. Теперь мои дела пошли исключительно хорошо, и на меня посыпались не сантимы, а лиры. Любопытствующие зеваки весь день толпились вокруг меня. Они ждали своей очереди и глазели на диковинку, производя впечатление не очень нормальных людей. В этой толпе я несколько раз замечал одну юную леди, которая показалась мне знакомой. Так как я был очень занят, то не имел возможности хорошенько рассмотреть ее, но однажды она сказала своей пожилой спутнице: "Держу пари – это он". Я был так заинтригован, что, немедленно бросив работу, подошел к ней и спросил: "Скажите, пожалуйста, кто вы. Мне кажется, я вас где-то видел".
"Я та, которую вы однажды так возненавидели, что мухи, попадая в поле этой ненависти, немедленно дохли, – сказала молодая женщина. – Если вы помните князя Юрия Любовецкого, тогда, возможно, вспомните и бедную девушку, которую сопровождали в Россию из Константинополя".
Я конечно же узнал Витвицкую и ее спутницу, и все последующие дни, вплоть до их отъезда в Монте-Карло, мы встречались и разговаривали. Через полтора года после этого Витвицкая в сопровождении профессора Скридлова приехала на место сбора нашей очередной экспедиции и с тех пор принимала участие во всех наших путешествиях.
Чтобы дать вам полное представление о характере Витвицкой, женщины, которая смогла остановиться на краю пропасти и благодаря поддержке благородного человека стала, не побоюсь этого слова, выдающейся личностью, приведу только один пример из ее жизни.
Витвицкая серьезно интересовалась теорией музыки, доказательством этого интереса может служить разговор между нами во время одной из экспедиций, маршрут которой проходил через центральные районы Туркестана. Благодаря особым рекомендациям нам было позволено остановиться на три дня в одном монастыре, недоступном для большинства. Утром, когда мы покидали стены монастыря, я заметил, что Витвицкая бледна как смерть, а на руке у нее повязка. Она не могла сама сесть на лошадь, и нам пришлось подсаживать ее. Когда наш караван двинулся в путь, я постарался держаться поближе к ней, чтобы узнать, что случилось. Я заподозрил, что кто-то из нашей группы грубо обошелся с ней, оскорбив ее чувства – чувства женщины, которая стала для нас святой, и решил, что пристрелю этого подонка как куропатку. Но в ответ на мой вопрос Витвицкая сказала, что причиной ее плохого настроения была "эта чертова музыка", и поинтересовалась, какое впечатление она произвела на меня. Эта монотонная мелодия религиозных песнопений и в самом деле оказала на меня странное воздействие. Мы стали обсуждать эту тему, и наш диалог перешел в монолог Витвицкой, в котором она рассказала о своем прошлом. Не знаю, что было причиной ее откровений – удивительно красивая местность, по которой проезжал наш караван, или что-то иное, но я до сих пор помню почти каждое слово из ее интересного рассказа.
Он начинался так:
"В юности музыка не производила на меня глубокого впечатления. Беседуя с кем-либо на эту тему, я, не желая проявлять своего невежества, произносила какие-то глубокомысленные фразы, оставаясь в душе равнодушной. Как правило, я критиковала музыкальное произведение, чтобы выдать себя за знатока, и при этом старалась использовать специфические музыкальные термины. Если же я иногда и хвалила какую-нибудь вещь, то только потому, что думала: прославленный композитор выпустил в свет свое произведение, значит он абсолютно уверен в том, что оно ему удалось. Высказывая какое-либо суждение, я всегда была неискренней и при этом не испытывала ни малейшего угрызения совести. Мне казалось, что так поступают все окружающие.
Впоследствии, когда эта добрая женщина, сестра князя Любовецкого, взяла меня под свое крыло, она убедила меня научиться играть на пианино. "Каждая образованная интеллигентная леди должна хорошо владеть этим инструментом", – говорила она. Для того чтобы не огорчать эту достойную женщину, я стала усердно учиться играть на пианино и через шесть месяцев достигла таких хороших результатов, что была приглашена принять участие в благотворительном концерте. Все наши знакомые, присутствовавшие там, выражали свое восхищение моей игрой, высоко оценивали мои способности. Однажды, взволнованная моим исполнением одного музыкального произведения, княгиня подошла ко мне и торжественно сказала, что раз Всевышний наградил меня таким талантом, то было бы большим грехом пренебречь этим даром и не дать ему развиться полностью. Она добавила, что я должна продолжать совершенствовать свою игру, но мне не следует пренебрегать и теорией музыки. С этого дня она начала выписывать всевозможную литературу по этому предмету и даже лично ездила в Москву, чтобы приобрести там несколько редких изданий. Вскоре все полки моих многочисленных книжных шкафов были заполнены книгами, посвященными теории музыки, и я принялась усердно изучать их, на этот раз не только чтобы доставить удовольствие моей покровительнице. Я увлеклась теорией музыки, и мой интерес усиливался день ото дня. Но книги не давали ответа на возникающие у меня вопросы, там ничего не говорилось о том, что такое музыка, каковы законы ее воздействия на психику человека. Как правило, в них содержалась информация из истории музыки. Например сообщалось, что в то время, как наша октава состоит из семи нот, китайская ограничивается пятью; что арфа древних египтян называлась тебуни, а флейта – мем; что полифония впервые появилась в музыке в девятом веке и первоначально воспринималась как какофония, так что были случаи преждевременных родов у женщин, которые услышали в церкви рев органа; что в одиннадцатом веке монах Гвидо д'Ареццо изобрел сольфеджио и т.д. и т.п. Кроме того эти книги помещали биографии знаменитых музыкантов и композиторов и описывали их путь к славе. Приводились такие подробности как цвет их галстука или длина волос, но ничего не говорилось о сути их творчества, о принципе воздействия их произведений на психику человека. Я потратила целый год впустую, занимаясь так называемой теорией музыки, но мой интерес к этой проблеме не уменьшался. И тогда я оставила в покое эти книги и стала искать другие источники информации.
Однажды совершенно случайно в библиотеке князя я наткнулась на книгу под названием "Мир звуков", которая изменила ход моих мыслей. Автор не был музыкантом, и из содержания книги следовало, что он вообще не интересовался музыкой. Математик и инженер, он использовал в этой книге музыку в качестве примера для объяснения теории вибрации. Автор высказывал мнение, что звуки – это определенные вибрации, которые провоцируют соответствующие вибрации в организме человека, вызывая различные эмоции. Эта гипотеза необычайно заинтересовала меня, и я сумела увлечь ею мою покровительницу. Мы часто беседовали на эту тему и наконец решили провести некоторые эксперименты. Сначала мы изучали воздействие музыки на различных животных, купив для этих целей несколько кошек и собак. Затем мы стали приглашать в гостиную наших слуг: угостив их хорошим ужином, усаживали в кресла и играли для них различные музыкальные произведения. Сперва наши эксперименты не приносили никаких определенных результатов, но вскоре я заметила, что во время исполнения одного вальса моего собственного сочинения наших "подопытных" начинало клонить в сон. В дальнейшем количество засыпавших увеличилось, но это был единственный эффект, которого нам удалось добиться. Увлекшись этими идеями и опытами, я так переутомилась, что, встревоженная моим состоянием, княгиня по совету врачей увезла меня за границу. Там, в Италии, под влиянием новых впечатлений, я вполне оправилась от нервного истощения. Но только через пять лет, во время экспедиции на Памир и в Афганистан, я нашла в себе силы вернуться к этой теме. Вспоминая мои прежние "эксперименты", я с трудом удерживалась от смеха. Наша наивность была беспредельна. Нам ни разу не пришло в голову, что наши "подопытные" погружались в дремоту потому, что после долгого рабочего дня и сытного ужина их должно было клонить в сон, и музыка тут ни при чем.
Возвратившись в Россию, я возобновила опыты уже на более разумной основе, учитывая мельчайшие детали: характер и темперамент каждого из присутствующих и даже время дня и погоду. И тем не менее мне не удалось достичь того, чтобы одна и та же мелодия вызывала тождественную реакцию у разных людей. Это происходило только при условии, что участники эксперимента были представителями одной расы и имели похожие характеры и темпераменты.
Поэтому меня поразило то, что нынешней ночью эта странная мелодия вызвала у всех присутствующих одно и то же впечатление. Этот факт нельзя объяснить так называемым "стадным инстинктом", так как все участники эксперимента были развитыми, независимыми личностями. Не найдя разумного объяснения этому явлению, я, вернувшись в свою комнату, не смогла заснуть. Желание разгадать эту загадку превратилось в настоящее наваждение. Проведя всю ночь без сна, я на следующий день ничего не ела и не пила и в приступе внезапно охватившего меня гнева укусила себя в руку. Вот почему я в повязке. Палец поврежден так сильно, что я едва могу держать поводья".
Этот рассказ произвел на меня сильное впечатление, под влиянием которого я поделился с госпожой Витвицкой результатами собственных экспериментов и наблюдений. Особое внимание я уделил одному феномену, наблюдать который я смог благодаря доброму отношению ко мне отца Евлиссия. Он дал мне рекомендацию, благодаря которой я смог общаться с представителями одной секты, члены которой смогли с помощью древнееврейских мелодий, звучавших в течение получаса, добиться заметного прироста растений.
Госпожа Витвицкая была просто поражена моим рассказом и предложила мне продолжить эксперименты, поселившись в каком-нибудь маленьком российском городке, где нам никто не помешает. Вскоре она совершенно оправилась от нервного потрясения и на протяжении всей экспедиции вела себя как обычно. Несмотря на пораненный палец она была самой неутомимой наезд�
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"Autobiography of a Genius" by Salvador Dali

What's all this supposed to mean, delete,delete,delete!!!

 Ach Mutter, der ist der Welt und den Menschen auf ewig entzogen. - Er hat sich den Eingeweihten gewidmet.

Den Eingeweihten? - Unglückliche Tochter, nun bist du auf ewig mir entrissen. -

 Entrissen? - O fliehen wir liebe Mutter! unter deinem Schutz trotz’ ich jeder Gefahr.

 Schutz? Liebes Kind, deine Mutter kann dich nicht mehr schützen. - Mit deines Vaters Tod ging meine Macht zu Grabe.

PAMINA Mein Vater -

Übergab freywillig den siebenfachen Sonnenkreis den Eingeweihten; diesen mächtigen Sonnenkreis trägt Sarastro auf seiner Brust. - Als ich ihn darüber beredete, so sprach er mit gefalteter Stirne: Weib! meine letzte Stunde ist da - alle Schätze, so ich allein besaß, sind dein und deiner Tochter. - Der alles verzehrende Sonnenkreis, fiel ich hastig ihm in die Rede, - ist den Geweihten bestimmt, antwortete er: - Sarastro wird ihn so männlich verwalten, wie ich bisher. - Und nun kein Wort weiter; forsche nicht nach Wesen, die dem weiblichen Geiste unbegreiflich sind.- Deine Pflicht ist, dich und deine Tochter der Führung weiser Männer zu überlassen.


Liebe Mutter, nach allem dem zu schließen, ist wohl auch der Jüngling auf immer für mich verloren.


Verloren, wenn du nicht, eh' die Sonne die Erde färbt, ihn durch diese unterirdischen Gewölbe zu fliehen beredest. - Der erste Schimmer des Tages entscheidet, ob er ganz Dir oder den Eingeweihten gegeben sey.

Liebe Mutter, dürft ich den Jüngling als Eingeweihten denn nicht auch eben so zärtlich lieben, wie ich ihn jetzt liebe? - Mein Vater selbst war ja mit diesen weisen Männern verbunden; er sprach jederzeit mit Entzücken von ihnen, preiste ihre Güte - ihren Verstand - ihre Tugend. - Sarastro ist nicht weniger tugendhaft. -

 Was hör ich! - Du meine Tochter könntest die schändlichen Gründe dieser Barbaren vertheidigen? - So einen Mann lieben, der mit meinem Todfeinde verbunden, mit jedem Augenblick mir meinen Sturz bereiten würde? - Siehst du hier diesen Stahl? - Er ist für Sarastro geschliffen. - Du wirst ihn tödten, und den mächtigen Sonnenkreis mir überliefern.

 Aber liebste Mutter! -



"Der Hölle Rache"

The Lady Who Loved Lightening by Vivian Darkbloom

The author is an anagram for Vladimir Nabokov.

Time to get rid of this too! delete ,delete,delete!!!

He called her back to pay for the cognac. He closed his book (the emblem of the secret brotherhood), and she thought of asking him what he was reading.
Can you have it charged to my room? he asked.
Yes, she said. What number are you in?
He showed her his key, which was attached to a piece of wood with a red six drawn on it.
That's odd, she said. Six.
What's so odd about that? he asked.
She had suddenly recalled that the house where they had lived in Prague before her parents were divorced was number six. But she answered something else (which we may credit to her wiles): You're in room six and my shift ends at six.
Well, my train leaves at seven, said the stranger.
She did not know how to respond, so she gave him the bill for his signature and took it over to the reception desk. When she finished work, the stranger was no longer at his table. Had he understood her discreet message? She left the restaurant in a state of excitement.
Opposite the hotel was a barren little park, as wretched as only the park of a dirty little town can be, but for Tereza it had always been an island of beauty: it had grass, four poplars, benches, a weeping willow, and a few forsythia bushes.
He was sitting on a yellow bench that afforded a clear view of the restaurant entrance. The very same bench she had sat on the day before with a book in her lap! She knew then (the birds of fortuity had begun alighting on her shoulders) that this stranger was her fate. He called out to her, invited her to sit next to him. (The crew other soul rushed up to the deck other body.) Then she walked him to the station, and he gave her his card as a farewell gesture. If ever you should happen to come to Prague...

Much more than the card he slipped her at the last minute, it was the call of all those fortuities (the book, Beethoven, the number six, the yellow park bench) which gave her the courage to leave home and change her fate. It may well be those few fortuities (quite modest, by the way, even drab, just what one would expect from so lackluster a town) which set her love in motion and provided her with a source of energy she had not yet exhausted at the end of her days.
Our day-to-day life is bombarded with fortuities or, to be more precise, with the accidental meetings of people and events we call coincidences. Co-incidence means that two events unexpectedly happen at the same time, they meet: Tomas appears in the hotel restaurant at the same time the radio is playing Beethoven. We do not even notice the great majority of such coincidences. If the seat Tomas occupied had been occupied instead by the local butcher, Tereza never would have noticed that the radio was playing Beethoven (though the meeting of Beethoven and the butcher would also have been an interesting coincidence). But her nascent love inflamed her sense of beauty, and she would never forget that music. When-ever she heard it, she would be touched. Everything going on around her at that moment would be haloed by the music and take on its beauty.
Early in the novel that Tereza clutched under her arm when she went to visit Tomas, Anna meets Vronsky in curious circumstances: they are at the railway station when someone is run over by a train. At the end of the novel, Anna throws herself under a train. This symmetrical composition—the same motif appears at the beginning and at the end—may seem quite novelistic to you, and I am willing to agree, but only on condition that you refrain from reading such notions as fictive, fabricated, and untrue to life into the word novelistic. Because human lives are composed in precisely such a fashion.
They are composed like music. Guided by his sense of beauty, an individual transforms a fortuitous occurrence (Beethoven's music, death under a train) into a motif, which then assumes a permanent place in the composition of the individual's life. Anna could have chosen another way to take her life. But the motif of death and the railway station, unforgettably bound to the birth of love, enticed her in her hour of despair with its dark beauty. Without realizing it, the individual composes his life according to the laws of beauty even in times of greatest distress.
It is wrong, then, to chide the novel for being fascinated by mysterious coincidences (like the meeting of Anna, Vronsky, the railway station, and death or the meeting of Beethoven, Tomas, Tereza, and the cognac), but it is right to chide man for being blind to such coincidences in his daily life. For he thereby deprives his life of a dimension of beauty. ~ Milan Kundera ( from: "The Unbearable Lightness Of Being")
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
( The robot likes association , so I'm feeding it something )

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I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
The deliciously creepy partnership of Clare Quilty (Peter Sellers) and Vivian Darkbloom (Marianne Stone) in Stanley Kubrick's 1962 adaptation of Vladimir Nabokov's controversial classic Lolita

They're a sinister utterly immoral pair of avant garde playwrights who, intrigued by James Mason's character Humbert's relationship with his 'daughter' Lolita (Sue Lyon) begin to track the pair down, purely so Quilty can indulge in his own child molestation with Lolita too. In that respect, Quilty is Humbert's dark double; the man without scruples who takes advantage of Humbert for his own love and sexual desire for the girl and in turn takes advantage of a disadvantage.

Darkbloom's role on the other hand is more clear, and like all the best vampires, she's an anagram, an anagram of the author himself Vladimir Nabokov. As Nabokov writes the novel, so too does Darkbloom eventually write the biography of her companion and partner. Played by Stone, she's clearly vampish, a distorted beat girl heavily influenced in terms of look by Vampira herself, Maila Nurmi, who in turn was inspired by Charles Addams' New Yorker cartoon strip The Addams Family. Indeed, there's something of the Gomez and Morticia about Clare and Vivian, albeit something that aims far more for the sinister than for the laughs.
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
I am Batman.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
Hey, is today really Cinco de Mayo?
Because if it is, there is this great song by Bob Dylan to play.

I married Isis on the fifth day of May
But I could not hold on to her very long
So I cut off my hair and I rode straight away
For the wild unknown country where I could not go wrong

I came to a high place of darkness and light
The dividing line ran through the center of town
I hitched up my pony to a post on the right
Went in to a laundry to wash my clothes down

A man in the corner approached me for a match
I knew right away he was not ordinary
He said, “Are you lookin’ for somethin’ easy to catch?”
I said, “I got no money.” He said, “That ain’t necessary”

We set out that night for the cold in the North
I gave him my blanket, he gave me his word
I said, “Where are we goin’?” He said we’d be back by the fourth
I said, “That’s the best news that I’ve ever heard”

I was thinkin’ about turquoise, I was thinkin’ about gold
I was thinkin’ about diamonds and the world’s biggest necklace
As we rode through the canyons, through the devilish cold
I was thinkin’ about Isis, how she thought I was so reckless

How she told me that one day we would meet up again
And things would be different the next time we wed
If I only could hang on and just be her friend
I still can’t remember all the best things she said

We came to the pyramids all embedded in ice
He said, “There’s a body I’m tryin’ to find
If I carry it out it’ll bring a good price”
’Twas then that I knew what he had on his mind

The wind it was howlin’ and the snow was outrageous
We chopped through the night and we chopped through the dawn
When he died I was hopin’ that it wasn’t contagious
But I made up my mind that I had to go on

I broke into the tomb, but the casket was empty
There was no jewels, no nothin’, I felt I’d been had
When I saw that my partner was just bein’ friendly
When I took up his offer I must-a been mad

I picked up his body and I dragged him inside
Threw him down in the hole and I put back the cover
I said a quick prayer and I felt satisfied
Then I rode back to find Isis just to tell her I love her

She was there in the meadow where the creek used to rise
Blinded by sleep and in need of a bed
I came in from the East with the sun in my eyes
I cursed her one time then I rode on ahead

She said, “Where ya been?” I said, “No place special”
She said, “You look different.” I said, “Well, not quite”
She said, “You been gone.” I said, “That’s only natural”
She said, “You gonna stay?” I said, “Yeah, I jes might”

Isis, oh, Isis, you mystical child
What drives me to you is what drives me insane
I still can remember the way that you smiled
On the fifth day of May in the drizzlin’ rain
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
You can answer the following question with surety:
For what creature was the door of egress a door of ingress?

Answer (For a cat).

Well, are you sure that surety means "with certainty"? Because it seems that the word has a primary usage, and you've chosen the second meaning, you should just say "certainty". It's more direct. ...and I like to be direct, ( I expect this indicator to show up as a new
appendage to my "personality ", or whatever they call it.

NOT: You've read all of Italo Calvino's Books. (This has led to some near misses , but no hits .)

"If On A Winters Night A Traveler" by Italo Calvino
You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, "No, I don't want to watch TV!" Raise your voice--they won't hear you otherwise--"I'm reading! I don't want to be disturbed!" Maybe they haven't heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: "I'm beginning to read Italo Calvino's new novel!" Or if you prefer, don't say anything; just hope they'll leave you alone.
Find the most comfortable position: seated, stretched out, curled up, or lying flat. Flat on your back, on your side, on your stomach. In an easy chair, on the sofa, in the rocker, the deck chair, on the hassock. In the hammock, if you have a hammock. On top of your bed, of course, or in the bed. You can even stand on your hands, head down, in the yoga position. With the book upside down, naturally.
Of course, the ideal position for reading is something you can never find. In the old days they used to read standing up, at a lectern. People were accustomed to standing on their feet, without moving. They rested like that when they were tired of horseback riding. Nobody ever thought of reading on horseback; and yet now, the idea of sitting in the saddle, the book propped against the horse's mane, or maybe tied to the horse's ear with a special harness, seems attractive to you. With your feet in the stirrups, you should feel quite comfortable for reading; having your feet up is the first condition for enjoying a read.
Well, what are you waiting for? Stretch your legs, go ahead and put your feet on a cushion. on two cushions, on the arms of the sofa, on the wings of the chair, on the coffee table, on the desk, on the piano, on the globe. Take your shoes off first. If you want to , put your feet up; if not, put them back. Now don't stand there with your shoes in one hand and the book in the other.
Adjust the light so you won't strain your eyes. Do it now, because once you're absorbed in reading there will b no budging you. Make sure the page isn't in shadow, a clotting of black letters on a gray background, uniform as a pack of mice; but be careful that the light cast on it isn't too strong, doesn't glare on the cruel white of the paper, gnawing at the shadows of the letters as in a southern noonday. Try to foresee now everything that might make you interrupt your reading. Cigarettes within reach, if you smoke, and the ashtray. Anything else? Do you have to pee? All right, you know best.
It's not that you expect anything in particular from this particular book. You're the sort of person who, on principle, no longer expects anything of anything. There are plenty, younger than you or less young, who live in the expectation of extraordinary experiences: from books, from people, from journeys, from events, from what tomorrow has in store. but not you. you know that the best you can expect is to avoid the worst. This is the conclusion you have reached, in your personal life and also in general matters, even international affairs. What about books? Well, precisely because you have denied it in every other field, you believe you may still grant yourself legitimately this youthful pleasure of expectation in a carefully circumscribed area like the field of books, where you can be lucky or unlucky, but the risk of disappointment isn't serious.
So, then, you noticed in a newspaper that If on a winter's night a traveler had appeared, the new book by Italo Calvino, who hadn't published for several years. You went to the bookshop and bought the volume. Good for you.
In the shop window you have promptly identified the cover with the title you were looking for. Following this visual trail, you have forced your way through the shop pas the thick barricade of Books You Haven't Read, which were frowning at you from the tables and shelves, trying to cow you. But you know you must never allow yourself to be awed, that among them there extend for acres and acres the Books You Needn't Read, the Books Made For Purposes Other Than Reading, Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong To The Category Of Books Read Before Being Written. And thus you pass the outer girdle of ramparts, but then you are attacked by the infantry of the Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered. With a rapid maneuver you bypass them and move into the phalanxes of the Books You Mean To Read But There Are Others You Must Read First, the Books Too Expensive Now And You'll Wait Till They're Remaindered, the Books ditto When They Come Out In Paperback, Books You Can Borrow From Somebody, Books That Everybody's Read So It's As If You Had Read Them, Too. Eluding these assaults, you come up beneath the towers of the fortress, where other troops are holding out:

the Books You've Been Planning To Read For Ages,
the Books You've Been Hunting For Years Without Success,
the Books Dealing With Something You're Working On At The Moment,
the Books You Want To Own So They'll Be Handy Just In Case,
the Books You Could Put Aside Maybe To Read This Summer,
the Books You Need To Go With Other Books On Your Shelves,
the Books That Fill You With Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified.
Now you have been able to reduce the countless embattled troops to an array that is, to be sure, very large but still calculable in a finite number; but this relative relief is then undermined by the ambush of the Books Read Long Ago Which It's Now Time To Reread and the Books You've Always Pretended To Have Read And Now It's Time To Sit Down And Really Read Them.
With a zigzag dash you shake them off and leap straight into the citadel of the New Books Whose Author Or Subject Appeals To You. Even inside this stronghold you can make some breaches in the ranks of the defenders, dividing them into New Books By Authors Or On Subjects Not New (for you or in general) and New Books By Authors Or On Subjects Completely Unknown (at least to you), and defining the attraction they have for you on the basis of your desires and needs for the new and the not new (for the new you seek in the not new and for the not new you seek in the new).
All this simply means that, having rapidly glanced over the titles of the volumes displayed in the bookshop, you have turned toward a stack of If on a winter's night a traveler fresh off the press, you have grasped a copy, and you have carried it to the cashier so that your right to own it can be established.
You cast another bewildered look at the books around you (or, rather: it was the books that looked at you, with the bewildered gaze of dogs who, from their cages in the city pound, see a former companion go off on the leash of his master, come to rescue him), and out you went.
You derive a special pleasure from a just-published book, and it isn't only a book you are taking with you but its novelty as well, which could also be merely that of an object fresh from the factory, the youthful bloom of new books, which lasts until the dust jacked begins to yellow, until a veil of smog settles on the top edge, until the binding becomes dog-eared, in the rapid autumn of libraries.
No, you hope always to encounter true newness, which , having been new once, will continue to be so. Having read the freshly published book, you will take possession of this newness at the first moment, without having to pursue it, to chase it. Will it happen this time? You never can tell. Let's see how it begins.
Perhaps you started leafing through the book already in the shop. Or were you unable to, because it was wrapped in its cocoon of cellophane? Now you are on the bus, standing in the crowd, hanging from a strap by your arm, and you begin undoing the package with your free hand, making movements something like a monkey, a monkey who wants to peel a banana and at the same time cling to the bough. Watch out, you're elbowing your neighbors; apologize, at least.
Or perhaps the bookseller didn't wrap the volume; he gave it to you in a bag. This simplifies matters. You are at the wheel of your car, waiting at a traffic light, you take the book out of the bag, rip off the transparent wrapping, start reading the first lines. A storm of honking breaks over you; the light is green, you're blocking traffic.
You are at your desk, you have set the book among your business papers as if by chance; at a certain moment you shift a file and you find the book before your eyes, you open it absently, you rest your elbows on the desk, you rest your temples against your hands, curled into fists, you seem to be concentrating on an examination of the papers and instead you are exploring the first pages of the novel. Gradually you settle back in the chair, you raise the book to the level of your nose, you title the chair, poised on its rear legs, you pull out a side drawer of the desk to prop your feet on it; the position of the during reading is of maximum importance, you stretch your legs out on the top of the desk, on the files to be expedited.
But doesn't this seem to show a lack of respect? Of respect, that is, not for your job (nobody claims to pass judgment on your professional capacities: we assume that your duties are a normal element in the system of unproductive activities that occupies suck a large part of the national and international economy), but for the book. Worse still if you belong--willingly or unwillingly--to the number of those for whom working means really working, performing, whether deliberately or without premeditation, something necessary or at least not useless for others as well as for oneself; then the book you have brought with you to your place of employment like a kind of amulet or talisman exposes you to intermittent temptations, a few seconds at a time subtracted from the principal object of your attention, whether it is the perforations of electronic cards, the burners of a kitchen stove, the controls of a bulldozer, a patient stretched out on the operating table with his guts exposed.
In other words, it's better for you to restrain you impatience and wait to open the book at home. Now. Yes, you are in your room, calm; you open the book to page one, no, to the last page, first you want to see how long it is. It's not too long, fortunately. Long novels written today are perhaps a contradiction: the dimension of time has been shattered, we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along its own trajectory and immediately disappears. We can rediscover the continuity of time only in the novels of that period when time no longer seemed stopped and did not yet seem to have exploded, a period that lasted no more than a hundred years.
You turn the book over in your hands, you scan the sentences on the back of the jacket, generic phrases that don't say a great deal. So much the better, there is no message that indiscreetly outshouts the message that the book itself must communicate directly, that you must extract from the book, however much or little it may be. Of course, this circling of the book, too, this reading around it before reading inside it, is a part of the pleasure in a new book, but like all preliminary pleasures, it has its optimal duration if you want it to serve as a thrust toward the more substantial pleasure of the consummation of the act, namely the reading of the book.
So here you are now, ready to attack the first lines of the first page. you prepare to recognize the unmistakable tone of the author. No. you don't recognize it at all. But now that you think about it, who ever said this author had an unmistakable tone? On the contrary, he is known as an author who changes greatly from one book to the next. And in these very changes you recognize him as himself. Here, however, he seems to have absolutely no connection with all the rest he has written, at least as far as you can recall. Are you disappointed? Let's see. Perhaps at first you feel a bit lost, as when a person appears who, from the name, you identified with a certain face, and you try to make the features you are seeing tally with those you had in mind, and it won't work. but then you go on and you realize that the book is readable nevertheless, independently of what you expected of the author, it's the book in itself that arouses your curiosity; in fact, on sober reflection, you prefer it this way, confronting something and not quite knowing yet what it is.