There's this amazing song called "Airplanes" by a band named Local Natives, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head for the last couple of days. It's just so good. I initially thought it was about wanting to get back together with an ex-lover. But apparently it's about the loss of a grandfather. The latter interpretation fits with the lyrics better.
The desk where you sit inside of a frame
made of, made of, of wood
I keep those chopsticks you had from when
you taught abroad, taught abroad, in Japan
I love it all
So much I call
I want you back, back, back
You back
I did not know you as well
as my father, father, knew you
Every question you took the time to sit and
look it up, look it up, encyclopaedia
I love it all
So much I call
I want you back, back, back
You back
I love it all
So much I call
I want you back, back, back
You back
It sounds like we would have had a great deal
to say, to say, to each other
I bet when I leave my body for the sky
the wait, the wait, will be worth it
I love it all
So much I call
I want you back, back, back
You back
I love it all
So much I call
I want you back, back, back
You back
Happy listening and have a great day.
G.
Sunday, 12 February 2012
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Sh*tuff Christian girls say
Hilarious video about stuff Christian girls say, courtesy of awesome Maximite Lawrence Tuck. These lines are funny because I've either heard them in real life, or they encapsulate the mindset of lots of Christian girls I know (myself included).
I think it's true (and maybe a bit sad) that 90% of what Christian girls say are to do with meeting the right man to do life with. I do wish we wouldn't stress so much about finding and marrying the person God has set apart for us. Let's just have a bit of a laugh and devote our time to living faithfully instead.
G.
I think it's true (and maybe a bit sad) that 90% of what Christian girls say are to do with meeting the right man to do life with. I do wish we wouldn't stress so much about finding and marrying the person God has set apart for us. Let's just have a bit of a laugh and devote our time to living faithfully instead.
G.
Monday, 6 February 2012
Twenty love poems and a song of despair
Yesterday I read "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair" by Pablo Neruda, the famous Chilean poet and Nobel laureate. His poems took my breath away. The creative use of language, the passion and emotion of each poem, the images evoked by the words of magic... I couldn't believe that Neruda wrote these poems when he was only 19.
Here are my favourite poems from the collection.
V. So That You Will Hear Me
So that you will hear me
my words
sometimes grow thin
as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches.
Necklace, drunken bell
for your hands smooth as grapes.
And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.
It climbs the same way on damp walls.
You are to blame for this cruel sport.
They are fleeing from my dark lair.
You fill everything, you fill everything.
Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy,
and they are more used to my sadness than you are.
Now I want them to say what I want to say to you
to make you hear as I want you to hear me.
The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual.
Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over.
You listen to other voices in my painful voice.
Lament of old mouths, blood of old supplications.
Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. Follow me.
Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish.
But my words become stained with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy everything.
I am making them into an endless necklace
for your white hands, smooth as grapes.
XIII. I Have Gone Marking
I have gone marking the atlas of your body
with crosses of fire.
My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide.
In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.
Stories to tell you on the shore of evening,
sad and gentle doll, so that you should not be sad.
A swan, a tree, something far away and happy.
The season of grapes, the ripe and fruitful season.
I who lived in a harbour from which I loved you.
The solitude crossed with dream and with silence.
Penned up between the sea and sadness.
Soundless, delirious, between two motionless gondoliers.
Between the lips and the voice something goes dying.
Something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion.
The way nets cannot hold water.
My toy doll, only a few drops are left trembling.
Even so, something sings in these fugitive words.
Something sings, something climbs to my ravenous mouth.
Oh to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy.
Sing, burn, flee, like a belfry at the hands of a madman.
My sad tenderness, what comes over you all at once?
When I have reached the most awesome and the coldest summit
my heart closes like a nocturnal flower.
XIV. Every Day You Play
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Amazing. I'm going to check out some more of Neruda's work when I get the chance.
G.
Here are my favourite poems from the collection.
V. So That You Will Hear Me
So that you will hear me
my words
sometimes grow thin
as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches.
Necklace, drunken bell
for your hands smooth as grapes.
And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.
It climbs the same way on damp walls.
You are to blame for this cruel sport.
They are fleeing from my dark lair.
You fill everything, you fill everything.
Before you they peopled the solitude that you occupy,
and they are more used to my sadness than you are.
Now I want them to say what I want to say to you
to make you hear as I want you to hear me.
The wind of anguish still hauls on them as usual.
Sometimes hurricanes of dreams still knock them over.
You listen to other voices in my painful voice.
Lament of old mouths, blood of old supplications.
Love me, companion. Don't forsake me. Follow me.
Follow me, companion, on this wave of anguish.
But my words become stained with your love.
You occupy everything, you occupy everything.
I am making them into an endless necklace
for your white hands, smooth as grapes.
XIII. I Have Gone Marking
I have gone marking the atlas of your body
with crosses of fire.
My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide.
In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.
Stories to tell you on the shore of evening,
sad and gentle doll, so that you should not be sad.
A swan, a tree, something far away and happy.
The season of grapes, the ripe and fruitful season.
I who lived in a harbour from which I loved you.
The solitude crossed with dream and with silence.
Penned up between the sea and sadness.
Soundless, delirious, between two motionless gondoliers.
Between the lips and the voice something goes dying.
Something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion.
The way nets cannot hold water.
My toy doll, only a few drops are left trembling.
Even so, something sings in these fugitive words.
Something sings, something climbs to my ravenous mouth.
Oh to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy.
Sing, burn, flee, like a belfry at the hands of a madman.
My sad tenderness, what comes over you all at once?
When I have reached the most awesome and the coldest summit
my heart closes like a nocturnal flower.
XIV. Every Day You Play
Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.
You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.
The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.
You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.
My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
Amazing. I'm going to check out some more of Neruda's work when I get the chance.
G.
Sunday, 5 February 2012
The obliteration room
I don't know too much about art but I appreciate and enjoy it. Today I came across a project called "The Obliteration Room" by Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama, which is currently on exhibition at the Gallery of Modern Art in Queensland, Australia. The piece was created by inviting visitors, particularly children, to use round coloured stickers to "obliterate" the completely white surfaces of a living room installation. Apparently Kusama is obsessed with dots, and she almost always uses them in her work: "When [Kusama] was a small girl she started seeing the world through a screen of tiny dots. They covered everything she saw - the walls, ceilings and even her own body. For 40 years she has made paintings, sculptures and photographs using dots to cover surfaces and fill rooms. Kusama calls this process 'obliteration', which means the complete destruction of every trace of something."
Here are the "before" shots of the room:
And then obliteration happened:
I think one of the coolest things about this project is the fact that people get to contribute to the creation of the art they then enjoy with their eyes. And it's fascinating how the room in fact does get "obliterated" by the dots - the furniture becomes blended into the walls; the frenzy of colour envelops perspective and distinction.
Have a great day.
G.
Here are the "before" shots of the room:
And then obliteration happened:
I think one of the coolest things about this project is the fact that people get to contribute to the creation of the art they then enjoy with their eyes. And it's fascinating how the room in fact does get "obliterated" by the dots - the furniture becomes blended into the walls; the frenzy of colour envelops perspective and distinction.
Have a great day.
G.
All the buildings in New York
There's this Australian artist called James Gulliver Hancock who is currently based in Brooklyn, New York. He's on a quest to draw all the buildings in New York, and he puts his drawings up on a blog called "All the Buildings in New York": http://allthebuildingsinnewyork.blogspot.com. His work is really cool, and it seems like his project has been receiving a lot of attention lately.
On this blog I found some buildings that I really enjoyed when I was in New York a couple of years ago. (Of course there are heaps of others, like Rockefeller Centre, the The Museum Of Modern Art and the buildings that make up Times Square, but I don't want to go through all the posts to find these, if they were there at all.)
The above selection consists of major landmarks - not surprising that these kinds of buildings were the ones that stood out most for me during my 10 short days as a tourist in New York - but Hancock's drawings of regular New York buildings are really neat too, like these ones.
I love New York. I miss New York. I hope to go back to New York one day.
G.
On this blog I found some buildings that I really enjoyed when I was in New York a couple of years ago. (Of course there are heaps of others, like Rockefeller Centre, the The Museum Of Modern Art and the buildings that make up Times Square, but I don't want to go through all the posts to find these, if they were there at all.)
 |
| The Metropolitan Museum of Art. |
 |
| The Guggenheim Museum. |
 |
| The Chrysler Building. |
 |
| The Empire State Building. |
 |
| The New York Stock Exchange. |
The above selection consists of major landmarks - not surprising that these kinds of buildings were the ones that stood out most for me during my 10 short days as a tourist in New York - but Hancock's drawings of regular New York buildings are really neat too, like these ones.
 |
| 17 East 70th Street. |
 |
| 1 West Street. |
 |
| 142 West 4th Street. |
 |
| 313 20th Street. |
I love New York. I miss New York. I hope to go back to New York one day.
G.
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