Emissions in the Dark

"Fictions of the interlude, colourfully covering the torpor and sloth of our underlying disbelief." -- Pessoa var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-1630143-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();

[emissions]

been thinking about musical interludes in cinema lately. wasn’t able to find a clip of a “The Wire” song in a pedro costa flick so this will have to do. 

[criterioncollection]

See the cluttered nest of brilliance where Chris Marker brought his images to life.

[chaoscontrolled123]

Visit Original Link

Luke and I were looking at Hieronymus Bosch’s painting The Garden of Earthly Delights and discovered, much to our amusement, music written upon the posterior of one of the many tortured denizens of the rightmost panel of the painting which is intended to represent Hell. I decided to transcribe it into modern notation, assuming the second line of the staff is C, as is common for chants of this era.

so yes this is LITERALLY the 600-years-old butt song from hell 

[appendixjournal]

Question for readers: are there any other recordings of songs transcribed in Renaissance paintings? (Write to us here or here)

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I wonder if it is lustful A tank in its dreams What do airplanes think When left alone? We did not seek happiness We invented sadness Were we not of this world?

-- Orhan Veli

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Soviet plane spotters, 1917. 

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The struggle towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart…One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Camus

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Elegy for a Game

Once I was on earth and I liked it. I got to look at my toes underwater. They looked bigger than they were in real life. As anyone can tell by looking at it sugar is meaningless. You are not supposed to stay in the hot tub longer than ten minutes. After that it is meaningless. Like white poinsettias. I mean at Christmas. Maybe Christmas is meaningless too but we used to pretend it was not and I liked that. It's pointless. I don't actually know what a football looks like. I think they have something to do with babies. The man is carrying a baby across a field. He is trying to save it. It's hard. Sometimes people die trying to do things. That's OK. There are things more important than life or death. I miss holding my breath.

-- Mary Ruefle.

[emissions]

Rain drips, soaking into the floor, and Slothrop perceives that he is losing his mind. If there is something comforting—religious, if you want—about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.

Gravity's Rainbow, Pynchon. 

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For Victoria Ávalos

Best of luck to those bestowed with dark talents and no good fortune   I've seen them wake up on sea shores and light cigarettes as only those who long for teasing and tiny caresses can   Best of luck to these nomadic proletarians who put their heart in everything

-- Bolaño, from The Unknown University.

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Rajan is now heading a behemoth bureaucracy that elicits a wide range of appraisals. As juggler of growth and inflation, some analysts judge it among the world’s best, as The Economist did last year. Several Indian economists regard it as the worst. Many people consider it to be one of India’s most efficient bureaucracies, though a few others take the opposite view.

The Caravan profiles Raghuram Rajan.

[emissions]

Dora Maar with Green Fingernails, Picasso, 1936. 

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Photographed pages of Barthes' Camera Lucida combined into a single image. By Idris Khan. 

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The Stolen Man, Matias Piñeiro, 2007. 

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It was not suicide that was wanted, he said, it was struggle.

Vivian Gornick on Camus' Algerian Chronicles

[indianroadromeo]

#instamumbai walk live. CST. It’s stopped raining (at Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus)

[emissions]

The Hermitage at the Center

The leaves on the macadam make a noise- How soft the grass on which the desired Reclines in the temperature of heaven-

Like tales that were told the day before yesterday- Sleek in a natural nakedness She attends the tintinnabula-

And the wind sways like a great thing tottering- Of birds called up more than the sun, Birds of more wit, that substitute-

Which suddenly is all dissolved and gone- Their intelligible twittering For unintelligible thought. 

And yet this end and this beginning are one, And one last look at the ducks is a look At lucent children round her in a ring.

-- Wallace Stevens