Blogas ir Afrikoj blogas

Buvau nusprendusi atsisveikinti su blogu ir su visais iš to išplaukiančiais "malonumais", bet šiandien gavau tiek gražių žodžių, kad negaliu nutilti taip staiga.

Graudinate mane savo gražiais laiškais, esate labai dosnūs žmonės. Seniai negavau tiek komplimentų.

Na, ką gi. Priimu tai kaip kreditą. Pasistengsiu nenuvilti.

Jei sudėčiau visus jūsų žodžius į viena, dabar išeitų kažkokia keista postmodernistinė meditacija.

Myliu jus, apkabinu, jūs man daug reiškiate.

Jūsų - Vienaragis

time out

Бывают дни, когда опустишь руки,
И нет ни слов, ни музыки, ни сил.
В такие дни, я был с собой в разлуке,
И никого помочь мне не просил.

И я хотел уйти, куда попало,
Закрыть свой дом и не найти ключа,
Но верил я, не все еще пропало,
Пока не меркнет свет, пока горит свеча.

И спеть меня никто не мог заставить.
Молчание, начало всех начал.
Но если плечи песней мне расправить,
Как трудно будет сделать так, чтоб я молчал.

И пусть сегодня дней осталось мало,
И выпал снег, и кровь не горяча,
Я в сотый раз опять начну с начала,
Пока не меркнет свет, пока горит свеча...

You are my sweetest downfall

You are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first, I loved you first

Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth

I have to go, I have to go

Your hair was long when we first met

Samson went back to bed

Not much hair left on his head

He ate a slice of wonder bread and

went right back to bed

And history books forgot about us and

the bible didn't mention us

And the bible didn't mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first, I loved you first

Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads

But they're just old light, they're just old light

Your hair was long when we first met

Samson came to my bed

Told me that my hair was red

Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed

Oh I cut his hair myself one night

A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light

And he told me that I'd done alright

And kissed me 'til the mornin' light, the mornin' light

And he kissed me 'til the mornin' light

Samson went back to bed

Not much hair left on his head

Ate a slice of wonderbread and went right back to bed

Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down

Yeah we couldn't destroy a single one

And history books forgot about us

And the bible didn't mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall

I loved you first

Lyrics: Samson, Regina Spektor

Correction//Diorthosi (Greece)

Albanian or Greek Ὀδυσσεύς (Odysseus)? (I.A.)

Hailed as the best Greek film of last year, Thanos Anastopoulos' second feature is a purposely-mystifying affair which leads its audience in a hide 'n seek game from the beginning and refuses to reveal itself until the final frame (a gambit which also makes it difficult to review). Minimalist, with sparse dialogue, and without the relief of a musical soundtrack or much change in the hero's facial expression, this will be a tough sell for general audiences. Festivals love it already, though, (it plays in New York 's New Directors/New Films this week after success at Thessaloniki and Berlin) and specialised art house exposure may follow.
Correction deals with right-wing hooliganism, discrimination against immigrants and the brutality of thuggish soccer fans, all of which cross over quite easily to any European country. A handheld camera shows the main character, Yorgos (Simeonidis) as he gets ready to leave his prison cell and return to civilian life, and follows him tightly for the rest of the film. He emerges onto the busy graffiti-covered Athens streets, visits a day-care centre for released convicts, and then stalks a young girl, Savvina (Alimani) as she leaves school and returns to her mother (Kapetani).
It takes some time, however, before relations between these three are clarified. During the brief periods the camera leaves Yorgos, it is to follow Savvina and her mother, who turn out to be Albanian. References abound: Yorgos crosses a cemetery on a bus trip; policemen stop Savvina and her mother to ask for their documents; a packed Greece Vs Turkey football match features nationalistic slogans chanted by an angry crowd; and TV reports make reference to past violence at previous international football games. All of these will only be put in context as Correction nears a close.
Proceeding slowly, the camera keeps Yorgos in perfect isolation, hardly uttering a word, as he goes purposefully about some unknown business. Simeonidis keeps his performance under strict control, delivering a concept as opposed to a fully-fledged character. Which is true of the entire picture as well: sober, laconic, well-intentioned once viewed in its entirety, but impersonal.

Dir/prod:Thanos Anastopoulos. Greece , 2007. 83 mins.

Keisčiausias filmas pasaulyje.

My number 150 - to Emily Dickinson

Biography of Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
from Michael Myers,Thinking and Writing About Literature, 138-42
Emily Dickinson grew up in a prominent and prosperous household in Amherst, Massachusetts. ...

The Dickinsons were well known in Massachusetts. Her father was a lawyer and served as the treasurer of Amherst College (a position Austin eventually took up as well), and her grandfather was one of the college's founders.

...
Dickinson, however, withdrew not only from her father's public world but also from almost all social life in Amherst. She refused to see most people, and aside from a single year at South Hadley Female Seminary (now Mount Holyoke College), one excursion to Philadelphia and Washington, and several brief trips to Boston to see a doctor about eye problems, she lived all her life in her father's house. She dressed only in white and developed a reputation as a reclusive eccentric. Dickinson selected her own society carefully and frugally. Like her poetry, her relationship to the world was intensely reticent. Indeed, during the last twenty years of her life she rarely left the house.
Though Dickinson never married, she had significant relationships with several men who were friends, confidantes, and mentors. She also enjoyed an intimate relationship with her friend Susan Huntington Gilbert, who became her sister-in-law by marrying Austin. Susan and her husband lived next door and were extremely close with Dickinson. Biographers have attempted to find in a number of her relationships the source for the passion of some of her love poems and letters, but no biographer has been able to identify definitely the object of Dickinson's love. What matters, of course, is not with whom she was in love--if, in fact, there was any single person--but that she wrote about such passions so intensely and convincingly in her poetry.
... "heaven,'" she wrote, "is what I cannot reach!" This line, along with many others, such as "Water, is taught by thirst" and "Success is counted sweetest / By those who ne'er succeed," suggest just how persistently she saw deprivation as a way of sensitizing herself to the value of what she was missing. For Dickinson hopeful expectation was always more satisfying than achieving a golden moment.
Today, Dickinson is regarded as one of America's greatest poets, but when she died at the age of fifty-six after devoting most of her life to writing poetry, her nearly 2,000 poems--only a dozen of which were published anonymously during her lifetime--were unknown except to a small numbers of friends and relatives. Dickinson was not recognized as a major poet until the twentieth century, when modern readers ranked her as a major new voice whose literary innovations were unmatched by any other nineteenth-century poet in the United States.

http://www.vcu.edu/engweb/eng384/emilybio.htm

along with Emily

Emily Dickinson (1830–86).

I envy seas whereon he rides,
I envy spokes of wheels
Of chariots that him convey,
I envy speechless hills

That gaze upon his journey;
How easy all can see
What is forbidden utterly
As heaven, unto me!

I envy nests of sparrows
That dot his distant eaves,
The wealthy fly upon his pane,
The happy, happy leaves

That just abroad his window
Have summer’s leave to be,
The earrings of Pizarro
Could not obtain for me.

I envy light that wakes him,
And bells that boldly ring
To tell him it is noon abroad,—
Myself his noon could bring,

Yet interdict my blossom
And abrogate my bee,
Lest noon in everlasting night
Drop Gabriel and me.