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Saturday, December 30th, 2017
So what about a mashup of "In the Penal Colony" and "The Library of Babel"?
"So the prisoner goes on dying his inexorable death, his improbable death. The sentence engraved into his flesh mutates slowly, becomes itself the story, becomes all stories, an encyclopaedia of human knowledge written for all eternities on bodies which will rot away. The executioner turns away from the slaughter, lights a cigarette, walks slowly across the grounds to his barracks."
posted morning of December 30th, 2017: 1 response
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Sunday, December third, 2017
READIN syndication is once again live (after an interval of some years) at http://readin.com/blog/bfeed.xml. In case you're using Google Reader to manage your blog subscriptions... or you know, Feedly or something.
posted evening of December third, 2017: Respond
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Yet, can't we do better than silence? Today, each student will receive a musical score and a instrument designed to imitate birds. A birdcall. Once in Ani everyone will hide in the ruins and start calling the birds. At first a few cries will interrupt the silence, then a melody will grow until a chorus of bird calls echo across the valley all the way to Armenia. And the singing will go on to the point of exhaustion, until the birds return to Ani and life comes back to the forgotten city.
The silence of Ani from Francis Alÿs on Vimeo.
posted afternoon of December third, 2017: Respond
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Friday, October 27th, 2017
No debe ser marinero
quien quiere dejar rastro.
La estela de la barca
se ensancha y despacio
desaparece. Sin hacer ruido
golpea el remo
otra vez contra el agua.
posted evening of October 27th, 2017: 8 responses
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Pine branches like spokes
on a rimless wheel
posted afternoon of October 27th, 2017: Respond
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posted afternoon of October 27th, 2017: Respond
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Tuesday, October 10th, 2017
Deep blues, and reds,
And pastel shades of gray and tan
Are the colours that line Meeker Street
posted afternoon of October 10th, 2017: Respond
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Monday, September 25th, 2017
Flesh and bones, I wear you like an overcoat.
Flesh and bones, you carry me around
like a favorite toy.
posted morning of September 25th, 2017: Respond
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Tuesday, July 25th, 2017
The cool, heavy sun is mute: Apollo's
giddy, radiant youth
now past and gone.
The sky is cloudy. Daisy's
nervous growl
reminds you
you need to be somewhere
in an hour or two,
reminds you
it's Sunday.
posted evening of July 25th, 2017: Respond
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Wednesday, July 19th, 2017
Myriad the threads of sound, distinct, which woven together undergird
the forest's deep, majestic Silence-- the wind, the trickling water,
birds... distant traffic... angry fat guy yelling at his girlfriend on the
phone...
posted evening of July 19th, 2017: Respond
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