The Joyous Isles

[theunrememberedgate]

“Whatever you now find weird, ugly, uncomfortable and nasty about a new medium will surely become its signature. CD distortion, the jitteriness of digital video, the crap sound of 8-bit - all of these will be cherished and emulated as soon as they can be avoided. It’s the sound of failure: so much modern art is the sound of things going out of control, of a medium pushing to its limits and breaking apart. The distorted guitar sound is the sound of something too loud for the medium supposed to carry it. The blues singer with the cracked voice is the sound of an emotional cry too powerful for the throat that releases it. The excitement of grainy film, of bleached-out black and white, is the excitement of witnessing events too momentous for the medium assigned to record them.”

― Brian Eno, A Year With Swollen Appendices

[this-is-my-decline]

Hannibal Script Project Masterpost (complete)

I have now completed my little project where I would compile together deleted dialogue and scenes and other interesting parts from the scripts of each Hannibal episode. The posts often ended up being pretty long, because I included almost every single deleted line, no matter how small.

Here are links to each of these posts, to make searching for them easier. They can all also be found under THIS tag.

Season 1

Apéritif

Amuse-Bouche

Potage

Oeuf

Coquilles

Entrée

Sorbet

Fromage

Trou Normand

Buffet Froid

Rôti

Relevés

Savoureux

Season 2

Kaiseki

Sakizuke

Hassun

Takiawase

Mukozuke

Futamono

Yakimono

Su-zakana

Shiizakana

Naka-Choko

Ko No Mono

Tome-wan

Mizumono

Season 3

Antipasto

Primavera

Secondo

Aperitivo

Contorno

Dolce

Digestivo

The Great Red Dragon

…And The Woman Clothed With The Sun

…And The Woman Clothed In Sun

…And The Beast From The Sea

The Number Of The Beast Is 666

The Wrath Of The Lamb

Out of context Hannibal script (for funsies)

Season 1

Season 2

Season 3

Hannigram edition

If you wish to read the scripts yourself, here is the original source, on the Living Dead Guy website.

[theunrememberedgate]

Song of Myself, Verse 52

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,

It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.

Walt Whitman, 1819-1892

(Source)

[theunrememberedgate]

Encounter

by Czesław Miłosz 

We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn. A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road. One of us pointed to it with his hand.

That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive, Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

O my love, where are they, where are they going The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles. I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.

—via Poetry Foundation

[theunrememberedgate]

If you think that I am only this body, then you have not truly seen me. When you look at my friends, you see my continuation. When you see someone walking with compassion, you know he is my continuation.

I don’t see why we have to say “I will die,” because I can already see myself in you, in other people, and in future generations.

Even when the cloud is not there, it continues as snow or rain. It is impossible for a cloud to die. It can become rain or ice, but it cannot become nothing. The cloud does not need to have a soul in order to continue. There’s no beginning and no end. I will never die. There will be a dissolution of this body, but that does not mean my death.

I will continue, always.

– Thich Nhat Hanh, excerpt from I Am Not in Here

[theunrememberedgate]

“HI, What are these?”

[theunrememberedgate]

Beautiful Short Loser

by Ocean Vuong.

https://granta.com/beautiful-short-loser-ocean-vuong/

[theunrememberedgate]

As you integrate ignorance and failure into your knowledge and success, do the same with all the alien parts of yourself. Take everything that’s bright and beautiful in you and introduce it to the shadow side of yourself. Let your altruism meet your egotism, let your generosity meet your greed, let your joy meet your grief. Everyone has a shadow… But when you are able to say, “I am all of the above, my shadow as well as my light,” the shadow’s power is put in service of the good. Wholeness is the goal, but wholeness does not mean perfection, it means embracing brokenness as an integral part of your life.

– Parker Palmer, via The Marginalian

[theunrememberedgate]

Personally, I’m a mess of conflicting impulses—I’m independent and greedy and I also want to belong and share and be a part of the whole. I doubt that I’m the only one who feels this way. It’s the core of monster making, actually. Wanna make a monster? Take the parts of yourself that make you uncomfortable—your weaknesses, bad thoughts, vanities, and hungers—and pretend they’re across the room. It’s too ugly to be human. It’s too ugly to be you. Children are afraid of the dark because they have nothing real to work with. Adults are afraid of themselves. Oh we’re a mess, poor humans, poor flesh—hybrids of angels and animals, dolls with diamonds stuffed inside them. We’ve been to the moon and we’re still fighting over Jerusalem. Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet. I used to think that if I dug deep enough to discover something sad and ugly, I’d know it was something true. Now I’m trying to dig deeper.

– Richard Siken

[theunrememberedgate]

Buck Downs, via poetryisnotaluxury

[theunrememberedgate]

America Will Be

by Joshua Bennett

... He looks at me like the promise of another cosmos and I never know what to tell him. All of the books in my head have made me cynical and distant, but there’s a choir in him that calls me forward my disbelief built as it is from the bricks of his belief not in any America you might see on network news or hear heralded before a football game but in the quiet power of Sam Cooke singing that he was born by a river that remains unnamed that he runs alongside to this day, some vast and future country, some nation within a nation, black as candor, loud as the sound of my father’s unfettered laughter over cheese eggs & coffee his eyes shut tight as armories his fists unclenched as if he were invincible

(Full poem here)

[theunrememberedgate]

The Art of Museum Exhibitions, by Leslie Bedford

[theunrememberedgate]

To a Saxon Poet

The snowfalls of Northumbria have known and have forgotten the imprint of your feet, and numberless are the suns that now have set between your time and mine, my ghostly kinsman. Slow in the growing shadows you would fashion metaphors of swords on the great seas and of the horror lurking in the pine trees and of the loneliness the days brought in. Where can your features and your name be found? These are things buried in oblivion. Now I shall never know how it must have been for you, as a living man who walked his ground. Exiled, you wandered through your lonely ways. Now you live only in your iron lays.

– Jorge Luis Borges Translated by Alastair Reid (1968)

via hi spirits

[theunrememberedgate]

Each second the earth is struck hard                                                 by four and a half pounds of sunlight. Each second. Try to imagine that.                              No wonder deep shade is what the soul longs for, And not, as we always thought, the light. No wonder the inner life is dark.

– Charles Wright, excerpt from “In Praise of Thomas Hardy”

[theunrememberedgate]

Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

– Kahlil Gibran via Brain Pickings

[theunrememberedgate]

No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.

Chuck Palahniuk

[theunrememberedgate]

A speech by the late David Foster Wallace

David Foster Wallace, who died last week, was the most brilliant American writer of his generation. In a speech, published here for the first time, he reflects on the difficulties of daily life and 'making it to 30, or maybe 50, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head'

“This is water, this is water.”