'I went to Paris to exorcise some demons. Some kind of dread I harbored of moving forward. I went with this poetic conceit that we would meet in some melody hovering over his grave. But there was nothing. It was pouring rain and I sat there trying to conjure up some kind of grief or madness. I remembered this dream I had. I came in a clearing and saw a man on a marble slab. It was Morrison and he was human. But his wings were merging with the marble. He was struggling to get free but like Prometheus, freedom was beyond him.
I sat there for a couple hours. I was covering with mud and afraid to move. Then it was all over. It just didn’t matter anymore. Racing threw my skull were new plans new dreams voyages symphonies colors. I just wanted to get the hell outta there and go home and do my own work. to focus my floodlight on the rhythm within. I straightened my skirt and said good-bye to him. an old woman in black spoke to me in broken English. “look at this grave, how sad! why do you Americans not honor your poets?”
My mind moved before my mouth. I finished the dream. The stone dissolved and he flew away. I brushed the feathers off my raincoat and answered:
because we don’t look back.'
Words by
PATTI SMITH
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Brain Puzzle
This beautiful puzzle was created by Neil Fraser, from an MRI scan of his brain. Neil rendered and printed 60 images from the scan and applied them to what apparently seems to be ordinary wooden blocks. The third image of him delving into his own brain is magic. Check the link above to see a video he created of his brain scan in several planes. Science inspired design, indeed.
Hester Street, 1903
“The view, photographed from an elevated camera position, looks down on a very crowded New York City street market. Rows of pushcarts and street vendors’ vehicles can be seen. The precise location is difficult to ascertain, but it is certainly on the Lower East Side, probably on or near Hester Street, which at the turn of the century was the center of commerce for New York’s Jewish ghetto. Located south of Houston Street and east of the Bowery, the ghetto population was predominantly Russian, but included immigrants from Austria, Germany, Romania and Turkey. According to a description in a 1901 newspaper, an estimated 1,500 pushcart peddlers were licensed to sell wares (primarily fish) in the vicinity of Hester Street. At one point the film seems to follow three official looking men (one in a uniform) as they walk among the crowd. They may be New York City health inspectors, who apparently monitored the fish vendors closely.”
Hester Street Fair open to the LES: April 24-25
Words by
THOMAS A. EDISON
Extract from
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
Understanding Lines, Not Words
'100 Dresses', the Soviet pattern book that inspired Claire Lopemans' wonderful debut collection
Another enticing pattern book:
These are the kind of hats that communicate beauty to me-
On the look out, they make me smile
Another enticing pattern book:
These are the kind of hats that communicate beauty to me-
On the look out, they make me smile
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Edge
Philippe Petit walks on a wire between the Twin Towers in August, 1974
At the edge, we perform at our peak, our best. We have no choice, really. Anything less and we fall off the edge, plunging into the unknown. The edge is a limit, in the first place of our knowledge. We have to push ourselves to get to it. The closer we come to the edge, the more we have to use the knowledge we have. At the edge only the hard-core knowledge is useful. All the frills and redundancies, the posturings and pretensions, simply get in the way and in fact will doom us to failure. At the edge it is only the essential and the authentic that count.
Text by
LEBBEUS WOODS
Masked
Devils' Hour
'Most paranormal experiences have negative affective themes with emphasis on some aspect of death to others or dissolution of the self. Experiences concerning death or crisis to others are reported to occur predominantly at night, particularly between 2:00 and 4:00 A.M. The sensed presence is also more common during this nocturnal period. We have suggested that the hourly incidence of temporal lobe seizures (data collected in the late nineteenth century by W. P. Spratling before medication was available) and the circadian distribution of sensed presences attributed to paranormal sources reflect a shared source of variance within the human brain.'
Text source
'The Neuropsychiatry of Paranormal Experiences'
MICHAEL A. PERSINGER, PH.D., C.PSYCH
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Marina Abramović
"...in this monologue you create so many spaces that we can project onto, so many images, one after another. What’s also special is that the sound of the voice will create certain vibrations. Sometimes it’s not even the word but the space in between the words, a long pause that works magic. A monologue becomes something beyond language; it becomes so strong. The moment it becomes a conversation, I think, we try to be clever, we try to construct things, and then everything falls apart again. But with the monologue, emotions come in a different way. There are two people whose voices that I can listen to for a long time, you and Acconci."
Words by
MARINA ABRAMOVIC
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Fried Rice With Tofu & Broccoli
1 bunch broccoli, crowns broken into florets, stems peeled and diced
2 tablespoons canola oil or peanut oil
1/2 pound firm tofu, diced
1 to 2 tablespoons low-sodium soy sauce or Thai fish sauce
2 eggs
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon minced ginger
1 bunch scallions, finely chopped
3 cups cooked rice, preferably brown or brown basmati
1/4 to 1/2 cup chopped cilantro
1. Steam the broccoli for four minutes until just tender, or blanch in salted boiling water for two to three minutes. Drain, rinse with cold water and set aside.
2. Heat a large skillet or wok over high heat until a drop of water evaporates on contact. Add 1 tablespoon of the oil, turn the heat to medium-high and add the tofu. Stir-fry the tofu for two to three minutes until lightly colored. Transfer to a bowl, and toss with 2 teaspoons of the soy sauce. Set aside.
3. Beat the eggs and remaining soy sauce together in a bowl.
4. Turn the heat to medium-high, and add the remaining oil, garlic, ginger and scallions. Stir-fry for 20 to 30 seconds until fragrant, and stir in the broccoli. Toss together for a minute, and add the tofu and rice. Cook, scooping up the rice and pressing it back down into the pan, for a minute or two until the rice is hot. Add the egg and soy sauce mixture and the cilantro. Continue to stir and toss until the egg is cooked, about one minute. Remove from the heat, and serve.
Yield: Serves four.
Advance preparation: The cooked rice will keep for three or four days in the refrigerator. The dish is best when made just before serving, but you could make it a few hours ahead and reheat on top of the stove if necessary.
Nutrition (per serving): 365 calories; 12 grams total fat; 2 grams saturated fat; 51 grams carbohydrates; 9 grams dietary fiber; 225 milligrams sodium (does not include salt added during cooking); 16 grams protein.
Recipe by
MARTHA ROSE SHULMAN
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Cat's Dream
How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture,
sleeps with its wicked claws,
and with its unfeeling blood,
sleeps with all the rings--
a series of burnt circles--
which have formed the odd geology
of its sand-colored tail.
I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams.
I have seen how the cat asleep
would undulate, how the night
flowed through it like dark water;
and at times, it was going to fall
or possibly plunge into
the bare deserted snowdrifts.
Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
like a tiger's great-grandfather,
and would leap in the darkness over
rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.
Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
with episcopal ceremony
and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams;
control the obscurity
of our slumbering prowess
with your relentless heart
and the great ruff of your tail.
Words by
PABLO NERUDA
An Insurrection
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