Caveat: Alternate Tracks

I’m not a musician. At all. I’m intimidated by the mere idea of trying to learn to play an instrument – I have hangups about it, even. Sometimes, I think I could have been a musician, though, given a very different childhood, where my parents weren’t so forgiving of my complaints of “it’s too hard” with respect to my brief forays into trumpet lessons or piano lessons. I like music, and I think about it a lot.

I have an acquaintance who was a coworker of mine back in the database days. I respected him hugely for his multitalented approach to solving business problems, and we had worked together some, though not as much as I would have liked, on a few projects.

So… in facebookland, he’s been sending me links to his son’s musical projects. His son seems to be attending the highly reputed Berklee in New England. I know something of this rarefied musical world, 3rd-hand, because of my bestfriend Bob’s musical career as a conductor and professor of music.

Until now, I hadn’t really paid attention to these links – there’s so much in facebookland that I simply don’t pay attention to, at all. But this morning I clicked the link and surfed around this music-for-musicians type website: mostly for people doing “high art” of various contemporary styles of music, such as house, electronica, hip-hop, etc. The site is called indaba.

Here’s the song that sent me there. I’m trying out the embed function for the website.

What I’m listening to right now.

[UPDATE 20211201: The embedded music from the site called “indaba,” above, had stopped working, due to “link rot” – a common problem on any long-running blog. I happened to notice this, this morning, and found what I think is the same music track uploaded the creator, my former coworker’s son, on youtube.]

ProfileTrick Smil3y, “Drenched (Trick Smil3y Remix).” I guess there’s some contest to remix this piece and he’s participating. I know very little about how remixing even works or what it means, artistically. But I enjoy listening to it and many of the various other tracks I surfed across on the site. I didn’t actually “vote,” however – registering a vote required integrating to facebook, which I have resisted for data privacy reasons because I deeply distrust facebook corporation despite using it – the same reasons that I have taken to almost always putting my own images, links and thoughts on this blog rather than on facebook directly. [Update: I confess I finally voted. I’m not very good at sticking by my corporate boicott principles, am I?]

Caveat: 아아아아 우우우 우우우

What I’m listening to right now.

A십센치 (10 cm.), “잊어야 한다는 마음으로.”
picture가사 (there are swear words in the lyrics below that aren’t in the “clean version” in the youtube above).

고요한 밤
우울한 이 밤에
만나줄 여인 하나 없이
비틀대는 눈부신 거리엔
다 everybody love tonight
나만 쏙 뺀 사랑
쏙 빠진 로맨스는 잔인해
OH no
나의 짝을 찾아
간절한 구애의 춤을 추네
비가 쏙아지는데
달이 차오르는데
눈물이 흐르는데
오늘밤에
땀이 쏟아지는데
숨이 차오르는데
눈물이 흐르는데
오늘밤에
우우 우-
외로운 밤
쓸쓸한 이밤에
놀아줄 여인 하나 없이
삐걱대는 만실 여관방에
다everybody fuck tonight
나만 쏙 뺀 사랑
쏙 빠진 로맨스는 잔인해
Oh no
나의 짝을 찾아
간절한 구애의 춤을 추네
비가 쏟아지는데
달이 차오르는데
눈물이 흐르는데
오늘밤에
땀이 쏟아지는데
숨이 차오르는데
눈물이 흐르는데
오늘밤에
아아아아 아아아아 아아아아
우우우 우우우
오늘밤에
아아아아 아아아아 아아아아
우우우 우우우
오늘밤에
미치도록 한적한 스탠드바에 문을 열지만
여전히 웨이터는 날 반기질 않는군
하아- 누구도 날 반기지 않아
촉촉히 젖은 글라스의 물기를 봐
이것은 한남자의 눈물이야
우리 과거는 묻지 않기로 해
어차피 우리 남이잖아
비가 쏙아지는데
달이 차오르는데
눈물이 흐르는데
오늘밤에
오늘밤에
오늘밤에
오늘밤에
오늘밤에

picture

Caveat: Não existo


Capa_fernando_pessoaComeço a Conhecer-me. Não Existo

Começo a conhecer-me. Não existo.
Sou o intervalo entre o que desejo ser e os outros me fizeram,
ou metade desse intervalo, porque também há vida …
Sou isso, enfim …
Apague a luz, feche a porta e deixe de ter barulhos de chinelos no corredor.
Fique eu no quarto só com o grande sossego de mim mesmo.
É um universo barato.

– Álvaro de Campos
(Heterónimo de Fernando Pessoa)

Caveat: Ah, Retribution… PSY Style

So I suspect I might be able to mention Korean rapper and satirist PSY without too many people not recognizing him, at this point. I was slightly ahead of the curve when I [broken link! FIXME] posted about his "Gangnam Style" way back in mid August.

But I recently ran across something interesting. His current social satire is pretty mild. Back in 2003, he as was full-on radical. And angry-radical, too.

In this short video clip, above, he's performing a song called "Anti-American" with a heavy metal band called "NEXT" and he's smashing a toy model of an American tank. Apparently the song included lyrics such as the following.

싸이 rap : 이라크 포로를 고문해 댄 씨발양년놈들과
고문 하라고 시킨 개 씨발 양년놈들에
딸래미 애미 며느리 애비 코쟁이 모두 죽여
아주 천천히 죽여 고통스럽게 죽여

Kill those —— Yankees who have been torturing Iraqi captives
Kill those —— Yankees who ordered them to torture
Kill their daughters, mothers, daughters-in-law, and fathers
Kill them all slowly and painfully

I did not do the translation, and it seems a little bit rough, but I found it online and it's close enough.

I do not condone, and never condone, violence as a response to violence. I dislike the ease with which people transition from violence they oppose to the idea of retributive violence such as that being espoused by the PSY and his metal-headed friends, above. Having said that, I, too, was deeply troubled by the US behavior in, especially, Iraq. I have long felt that Bush, Cheney, and subsequently the disappointing Mr Obama should be held responsible for war-crimes in Iraq and Afghanistan (and Yemen and Pakistan and other places where drone attacks are still being carried out). So without agreeing with his prescription for retribution, I do agree with PSY's anger as expressed in 2003. And I actually find him more interesting, because he's clearly a politically conscious animal – as indicated by both his recent, milder satire as well as this.

[Update added 2012-12-10] I just noticed that blogger Ask A Korean has a very brilliant post on this same topic. Please read it if you're one of those people who are uncomfortable with PSY's rhetoric. Or even if you're not, but just curious about the context of South Korean anti-Americanism.

Caveat: Mientras baja la nieve

Mientras baja la nieve

Ha bajado la nieve, divina criatura,
el valle a conocer.
Ha bajado la nieve, mejor que las estrellas.
¡Mirémosla caer!

Viene calla-callando, cae y cae a las puertas
y llama sin llamar.
Así llega la Virgen, y así llegan los sueños.
¡Mirémosla llegar!

Ella deshace el nido grande que está en los cielos
y ella lo hace volar.
Plumas caen al valle, plumas a la llanada,
plumas al olivar.

Tal vez rompió, cayendo y cayendo, el mensaje
de Dios Nuestro Señor.
Tal vez era su manto, tal vez era su imagen,
tal vez no más su amor.

– Gabriela Mistral

Hoy veo la primera nevada acá en las cercanías de Seul. Los coreanos tienen una tradición de que la primera nevada trae buena suerte, o algo así.

Saqué esta foto desde mi ventana hace momentos.

Snow 001

Caveat: it is bitter earnestness that makes beauty

Boats In A Fog

Sports and gallantries, the stage, the arts, the antics of dancers,
The exuberant voices of music,
Have charm for children but lack nobility; it is bitter earnestness
That makes beauty; the mind
Knows, grown adult.
A sudden fog-drift muffled the ocean,
A throbbing of engines moved in it,
At length, a stone's throw out, between the rocks and the vapor,
One by one moved shadows
Out of the mystery, shadows, fishing-boats, trailing each other
Following the cliff for guidance,
Holding a difficult path between the peril of the sea-fog
And the foam on the shore granite.
One by one, trailing their leader, six crept by me,
Out of the vapor and into it,
The throb of their engines subdued by the fog, patient and
cautious,
Coasting all round the peninsula
Back to the buoys in Monterey harbor. A flight of pelicans
Is nothing lovelier to look at;
The flight of the planets is nothing nobler; all the arts lose virtue
Against the essential reality
Of creatures going about their business among the equally
Earnest elements of nature.

– Robinson Jeffers

Caveat: Timor mortis conturbat me

I that in heill wes and gladnes,
Am trublit now with gret seiknes,
And feblit with infermite;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Our plesance heir is all vane glory,
This fals warld is bot transitory,
The flesche is brukle, the Fend is sle;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

The stait of man dois change and vary,
Now sound, now seik, now blith, now sary,
Now dansand mery, now like to dee;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

No stait in erd heir standis sickir;
As with the wynd wavis the wickir,
Wavis this warldis vanite.
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Above is excerpt (first 16 lines) from "Lament for the Makers" by William Dunbar, who lived 1456-1513. The Latin, "Timor mortis conturbat me," means "Fear of death disturbs me."

The picture below is "Parable of the Blind" by Bruegel the Elder (1568).

Theparableoftheblind-e1266781972683

Caveat: Ouroboros

Recently there's been some media hype about Peter Jackson's upcoming first installment of his Hobbit movies, to follow up on the Lord of the Rings series. And it got me to thinking about the books. The Hobbit had a major influence on me as a preteen. I remember my dad reading it to me and and my sister, in chapters when we were only maybe 6 or 7 years old.

OuroborosI attempted to read the Lord of the Rings series in junior high and it bored me – in the field of fantasy literature, I was much more interested in Herbert's Dune, on the one hand, or LeGuin's Earthsea books, on the other. But returning to it a few years later, I genuinely appreciated Tolkien, and moved on to consume the Silmarilion voraciously and repeatedly. That's my favorite of them – I'm into mythopoeia, obviously.

But thinking about the Lord of the Rings, though, lead me to recall the work in the genre that is most impressive to me, despite it's deeply flawed mythopoesis: E.R. Eddison's The Worm Ouroboros. The text is available online. So I began reading it, again. There's a strange tonal and linguistic authenticity – a lack of anachronism, perhaps, vis-a-vis the fantastic, high-medieval material – though in fact, the material is almost pre-medieval, but rather classical or Homeric. Regardless, it works. But it's not an easy book – a novel written in the 1920's that is in almost flawless 17th century English.     

Caveat: This

What is This?

Mud-ox from the bottom of the ocean running away, holding the moon in his mouth;
Stone-tiger in front of boulder is sleeping, holding a baby in his arm;

Iron-snake is passing through Diamond-ball;
Mount-Sumeru riding on elephant's back, being pulled by the sparrow.

– Shin, Myo Vong, Cookies of Zen, p 175.

Caveat: I am a thoroughfare

I watched a remarkable movie entitled Travellers and Magicians. The movie is from Bhutan. For me, it had a large number of literary resonances, everything from the Welsh myths of the Mabinogion to Rulfo's Pedro Páramo (which itself is perhaps at least partly rooted in Aztec mythology). I guess this points up the universality of myth.

ImagesI spent a good portion of the day reading the middle part of Henri Bergson's Creative Evolution. I like his conception of the living thing (including humans) as a thoroughfare for evolutionary forces. At the point I am now, he is saying that a living thing isn't really a "thing" at all – it's just an eddy in a flow, a locus of conservation and retrograde hesitation in a maelstrom of neverending change and growth. I like that.

Caveat: Oyendo los aguaceros

NOVIA DE LA TIERRA

Mirarte solo en mi ansiedad espero,
solo a mirarte en mi ansiedad aspiro,
y más me muero cuanto más te miro,
…y más te miro cuanto más me muero.

El tiempo, pasa por demás ligero,
lloro su raudo, turbulento giro,
y más te quiero cuanto más suspiro,
y más suspiro cuanto más te quiero.

Deja a tu talle encadenar mi brazo,
y, al blando son con que nos brinda el remo,
la mar surquemos en estrecho lazo.

Ni temo al viento ni a las ondas temo,
que más me quemo cuanto más te abrazo,
y más te abrazo cuanto más me quemo.

– Salvador Rueda.


Salvador_ruedaEs sencilla pero muy fuerte poesía. También me  gusta esta cita del mismo autor:

Aprendí administración de las hormigas; música, oyendo los aguaceros; escultura buscando parecido a los seres en las líneas de las rocas; color, en la luz; poesía, en toda la naturaleza.

Caveat: Love Never Ends

picture

I sat and watched a 4 hour movie basically straight through, this evening. I’m a little bit hesitant to recommend this movie in this venue – it was most definitely NSFW, if you catch my drift.

But it was epic, and fascinating. It was half Cervantes, half William S. Burroughs, and executed like a live-action anime cartoon. If you can stomach strong sexual content (perversions!), vast amounts of blood and gore (homage to Kill Bill), insults to religion and capitalism galore, Lacanian psychosexual philosophizing and sadomasochistic parenting … well, then… if you can stomach those things, then I heartily recommend: Love Exposure (愛のむきだし [ai no mukidashi]).

It was really about 4 or 5 different movies. I would have been interested to watch any of them, though for different reasons. It’s not a a very optimistic view of human nature, frankly, despite the “love-triumphs” ending. The significant quote that runs thematically through movie is 1 Corinthians 13:

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

But don’t misunderstand – it’s not at all clear that the message is “pro-Christian.” Or even pro-Love. I didn’t come away with that impression. And, as a product of 99% non-Christian Japan, that’s understandable. It’s messing with the symbolism, as a lot of Japanese pop culture does, but without any deference or loyalty or, for that matter, sincerity. But just because a movie is contrived and insincere doesn’t mean it can’t be a great work of art. It’s horribly contrived, and complicatedly switches between a kind of plausible emotional realism and a two-dimensional, adolescent, comic-book view of the world. Certainly, it is the case that Love Never Ends, if by love, you mean “lust” and by never ends you mean rape and bloody murder. For all that, the Corinthians quote is nevertheless perfect.

So much for trying to review it.

I liked the soundtrack, too.

What I’m listening to right now.

[UPDATE 2018-01-23: The old youtube video has disappeared from the internet. Probably gobbled up by the copyright police. But I like the song. So I found a “cover” of the song by another artist. That’s the current video embedded.]

ゆらゆら帝国 [Yurayurateikoku], “空洞です” [kūdōdesu = Hollow Me].
The lyrics:

ぼくの心をあなたは奪い去った
Boku no kokoro o anata wa ubai satta
俺は空洞 でかい空洞
Ore wa kūdō dekai kūdō
全て残らずあなたは奪い去った
Subete nokorazu anata wa ubai satta
俺は空洞 面白い
Ore wa kūdō omoshiroi
バカな子どもが ふざけて駆け抜ける
Bakana kodomo ga fuzakete kakenukeru
は空洞 でかい空洞
Ore wa kūdō dekai kūdō
いいよ くぐりぬけてみな 穴の中
Ī yo kugurinukete mina ana no naka
どうぞ 空洞
Dōzo kūdō

なぜか町には大事なものがない
Naze ka machi ni wa daijina mono ga nai
それはムード 甘いムード
Sore wa mūdo amai mūdo
意味を求めて無意味なものがない
Irikunda roji de anata ni deaitai
それはムード とろけそうな
Sore wa mūdo toroke-sō na
入り組んだ路地であなたに出会いたい
Irikunda roji de anata ni deaitai
それはムード 甘いムード
Sore wa mūdo amai mūdo
誰か 味見をしてみな 踊りたい
Dare ka ajimi o shite mina odoritai
さあどうぞ ムード
Sā dōzo mūdo

ぼくの心をあなたは奪い去った
Boku no kokoro o anata wa ubai satta
俺は空洞 でかい空洞
Ore wa kūdō dekai kūdō
全て残らずあなたは奪い去った
Subete nokorazu anata wa ubai satta
俺は空洞 面白い
Ore wa kūdō omoshiroi
バカな子どもが ふざけて駆け抜ける
Bakana kodomo ga fuzakete kakenukeru
俺は空洞 でかい空洞
Ore wa kūdō dekai kūdō
いいよ くぐりぬけてみな 穴の中
Ī yo kugurinukete mina ana no naka
さあどうぞ 空洞
Sā dōzo kūdō
空洞
Kūdō
空洞
Kūdō
空洞
Kūdō
空洞
Kūdō

Caveat: 아저씨

pictureI watched a movie called 아저씨 [ajeossi = literally, “uncle” but used as “Hey, Mister” also meaning any Korean man of a certain age beyond youth, so, colloquially, “old dude” as a teenager or child would mean it] – the English title of the movie is “The Man From Nowhere.” In line with my typical practice, I won’t try to “review” it here – I will only say that I enjoyed it and recommend it. It’s a pretty standard, excessively violent action flick with a heart-string-tugging ending. Thematically, it’s similar to “Man On Fire” (which is one of my favorites of the genre).
picture

Caveat: Offline

Pch_html_75e88c7dI had an "off-line" day – I forced myself to not go on my computer until now. And I'm not sure I have figured out my new phone, either – so I had a non-technological day. I've been reading a biography of Park Chung-Hee, by Chong-Sik Lee, that my friend Peter loaned to me. It's really very interesting.

Somewhat discordantly…or at the least, unrelatedly:

What I'm listening to right now.

McGinty, "Farewell to Nova Scotia."

I only visited Nova Scotia once. I was 11 or 12 years old.

Caveat: Reagan’s Skeleton

ZombiereaganGetting into the Halloween spirit, this is a truly interesting, funny, Halloweeny song.

Reagan's skeleton is leading armies of zombies – maybe near Ventura, which sorta makes sense.

 

What I'm listening to right now.

Yeasayer, "Reagan's Skeleton." Lyrics:

Down in a hole outside of Ventura
low and behold, found beauty
I said I've never seen a red head come boast just like that
She said outside, got something to see

We walked a quiet road for miles at first
Couldn't see a thing
Rattle from the dark, chills up my spine
Coming from the trees oh

That's Reagan's skeleton, in the moonlight
Don't fear the red eyes, fear the satellite overhead
That's Reagan's skeleton, marching our way
Sentimental violence, leading his armies of undead

That's Reagan's skeleton, in the moonlight
Don't fear the red eyes, fear the satellite overhead
That's Reagan's skeleton, marching our way
Sentimental violence, leading his armies in a fog eternally

Must of passed out – when I came to I'm tied up,
To my surprise, by the young lady
And as her face grew sick her nails tore out my heart
Blood trickled down, economically

The laughter from the dark was low at first
But what came could call for me
I recognise the stench of burning flesh
As they began to feed oh

On Reagan's skeleton, in the moonlight
Don't fear the red eyes, fear the satellite overhead
That's Reagan's skeleton, marching our way
Sentimental violence, leading his armies of undead

That's Reagan's skeleton, in the moonlight
Don't fear the red eyes, fear the satellite overhead
That's Reagan's skeleton, marching our way
Sentimental violence, leading his armies in a fog eternally

Gawker, horror, what an awful way to fall in love
Gawker, horror, what an awful way to fall in love

That's Reagan's skeleton, in the moonlight
Don't fear the red eyes, fear the satellite overhead
That's Reagan's skeleton, marching our way
Sentimental violence, leading his armies of undead

That's Reagan's skeleton, in the moonlight
Don't fear the red eyes, fear the satellite overhead
That's Reagan's skeleton, marching our way
Sentimental violence, leading his armies in a fog eternally

Caveat: ♡copyheart

… with a side-dish of irony.

About a week ago I posted [broken link! FIXME] a video by Nina Paley. That discovery led me to her website / blog. Her pet cause is the madness of current intellectual property laws – so she immediately won a place in my heart. A notable quote:

"What do religious fundamentalists and big media corporations have in common? They believe that they own culture." – Nina Paley.

Her interest in and advocacy for alternatives to the copyright regimen we all suffer under arose because she made a professional feature-length movie by herself over a period of years, only to essentially be blocked by the fact that the movie relied on still-copyrighted music from the 1930s that she'd perhaps assumed was public domain. The movie itself is awesome. It's called Sita Sings the Blues – you can get the full story at her relevant posts on her blog.

Her attention has lately turned to a reconceptualization of copyright that I find much more compelling than the fairly established "copyleft" associated with the free software movement: she calls it "♡copyheart." It's cool. I may even put a ♡copyheart at the bottom of my blog at some point.

Nobody owns culture. She made a song called "Copying is not theft."

Actually, although I thought Paley did an artistic and masterful job with her sequences involving the 1930s music by jazz singer Annette Hanshaw, those weren't my favorite tracks from the movie. My favorite musical track and video sequence was the part called "Agni Pariksha (Sita's Fire)," which is accompanied by a song by Todd Michaelsen, sung by Reena Shah. It took me more than a little bit of googling to figure that out – it wasn't immediately transparent on her various websites.

Here's the thing – the irony, if you will: I decided I liked that Todd Michaelsen song enough that I "wanted" it. I sort of assumed that, given it was part of this copyheart-advocating artist, that I'd surely find it downloadable, somewhere, But I didn't. Really, I didn't. When I went to use one of the free youtube-to-mp3 conversion utilities, to "capture" the audio stream from the youtube video, I got this message:

Ironicdenial_html_m7dc7a92e

Google doesn't block the youtube copywidgets unless it's getting takedown pressure from the copyright holder in question – this means that Todd Michaelsen or someone connected to him is specifically not allowing youtube users full access to the work. That's the irony – that the one song in Paley's work that I decided I wanted, I couldn't get. Paying for Michaelsen's song was literally not an option – because of my nefarious South Korean IP address, getting the credit card checkout widget to work on US-based websites is sometimes unreliable, because US banking websites shove South Korean IP addresses into a "probably evil fraudsters" bucket along with most other "Asian-except-Japan" addresses; either that, or they force you to a Korean-language- and Korean-bank based site that then requires a Korean credit card. What's often impossible is using a US credit card on a US site from South Korea. I really did intend to buy his "soundtrack" to Sita Sings the Blues.

Of course, I'm technically savvy enough that using other means to capture the song stream in question was pretty trivial. But still. I'm just sayin'.

What I'm listening to right now.

Todd Michaelson, Reena Shah, Laxmi Shah, "Agni Pariksha."

Caveat: corazón de vidrio

004985_0252_sMuy extraña experiencia:

Estaba caminando de regreso a casa y salió en mi mp3player la canción "Heart of Glass" de Blondie. Pues, me puso a pensar en el cuento "El licenciado vidriera" de Cervantes – por el "corazón de vidrio," por supuesto. "El licenciado vidriera" es el cuento cervantino que más me interesa – sin duda es el gérmen del Quijote.

El hombre, por un hechizo, contrae una locura:

… loco dela mas estraña locura, que entre las locuras hasta entonces se auia visto. Imaginose el desdichado, que era todo hecho de vidrio, y con esta imaginacion, quando alguno se llegaua a el, daua terribles vozes, pidiendo, y suplicando con palabras, y razones concertadas, que no se le acercassen, porque le quebrarian, que real, y verdaderamente el no era como los otros hombres, que todo era de vidrio de pies a cabeça. Para sacarle desta estraña imaginacion, muchos, sin atender a sus vozes, y rogatiuas arremetieron a el, y le abraçaron, diziendole, que aduirtiesse, y mirasse, como no se quebraua. Pero lo que se grangeaua en esto era, que el pobre se echaua en el suelo, dando mil gritos, y luego le tomaua vn desmayo, del qual no boluia en si en quatro horas: y quando boluia, era renouando las plegarias, y rogatiuas, de que otra vez no le llegassen. – Miguel de Cervantes, "El licenciado vidriera," (1613).

Así la conexión entre la literatura española del siglo de oro y la música "disco" de los 1980.

P116

Lo que estoy escuchando en este momento.

Blondie, "Heart of Glass."

Caveat: impressed by his rhodomontade

SosekicatI have been reading a book, I Am a Cat, by Soseki Natsume. In translation, of course – I can't read Japanese – I can barely remember my kana.

I came across a passage that featured the word rhodomontade, which I had never seen before.

Blacky [another cat], like all true braggarts, is somewhat weak in the head. As long as you purr and listen attentively, pretending to be impressed by his rhodomontade, he is a more or less manageable cat.

I had no idea what rhodomontade meant. I looked it up, and lo and behold, it's from Ariosto's Orlando Furioso (and the antecedant Orlando Innamorato by Boiardo). I supposedly read this work as part of my master's degree program, and though I could talk about its cultural impact, I suspect I never really made it through the text – my ability in 16th century century Italian wasn't the best, either – much less now.

When a translation features such an obscure word, it's an indication of either a poor quality translation or a masterful one. Based on my progress so far through Aiko Ito and Graeme Wilson's translation of Natsume's novel (original 吾輩は猫である [Wagahai wa neko de aru]), I'm inclined to believe the latter. It's an interesting picture of Meiji-era Japan – a period which has always fascinated me in any event.

Or l'alta fantasia, ch'un sentier solo non vuol ch'i'segua ognor, quindi mi guida, e mi ritorna ove il moresco stuolo assorda di rumor Francia e di grida, d'intorno il padiglione ove il figliuolo del re Troiano il santo Impero sfida, e Rodomonte audace se gli vanta arder Parigi e spianar Roma santa. – Orlando Furioso, Canto LXV.

Caveat: now Denver is lonesome for her heroes

I didn't watch the debate between Obama and Romney, live. But, being the politics addict that I am, I have followed it through that innovative new medium called "live blogging." And the consensus seems to be that Obama blew it, and that Romney did quite well. I haven't formed an opinion, except to say that Obama likes to play the "adult in the room," which rarely plays well on TV. Romney, on the other hand, comes off as a patriarch high on meth – which might not be that inaccurate.

So far the best part was when Ta-Nehisi Coates, blogging at The Atlantic, quoted Alan Ginsburg. I feel compelled to do the same, though somewhat more at length:

…I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
Denver and finally went away to find out the
Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
for each other's salvation and light and breasts,
until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
impossible criminals with golden heads and the
charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys
or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or
Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp
notism & were left with their insanity & their
hands & a hung jury…

From his poem, "Howl." If you're not getting it, the segment of the poem is relevant because the debate was held in Denver.

Caveat: Do not go gentle into that zombie plagued night

I awoke this morning from a dream about zombies. It was like I was inside a zombie movie, in the dream – and not a very good zombie movie, for all that. What's with zombies in my subconscious brain? I don't actually watch zombie movies. I haven't made it through a single episode of Walking Dead. I suppose I'm exposed to some degree of zombie thematics from my zombie-obsessed students, but … why did I have a zombie dream, last night? I wasn't meditating on zombie-related material yesterday, or over the weekend.

When I woke up, I googled zombie poetry, and guess what I found: "zombie haiku." This is most excellent, at least as a type of humor.

Here are some samples.


Zombiehaiku_html_m343ae861Zombie Haiku by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle
into that zombie plagued night.
And take the shotgun.

Zombie Haiku by Edgar Allen Poe
Beside of the sea
I killed my Annabel Lee
because zombies do that.

I also found this rather entertaining short story by a guy named Isaac Marion.

Caveat: Qué tranquilidad violeta

EL POETA A CABALLO

¡Qué tranquilidad violeta,
por el sendero, a la tarde!
A caballo va el poeta…
¡Qué tranquilidad violeta!

La dulce brisa del río,
olorosa a junco y agua,
le refresca el señorío…
La brisa leve del río…

A caballo va el poeta…
¡Qué tranquilidad violeta!

Y el corazón se le pierde,
doliente y embalsamado,
en la madreselva verde…
Y el corazón se le pierde…

A caballo va el poeta…
¡Qué tranquilidad violeta!

Se esté la orilla dorando…
El último pensamiento
del sol la deja soñando…
Se está la orilla dorando…

¡Qué tranquilidad violeta,
por el sendero, a la tarde!
A caballo va el poeta…
¡Qué tranquilidad violeta!

– Juan Ramón Jiménez

Siempre cuando leo a JRJ, pienso en el mejor profesor de mis estudios graduados, Ignacio López. Fue un verdadero maestro y profesor, y no sólo un académico.

Caveat: when Icarus fell it was spring

Landscape With The Fall of Icarus

According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring

a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry

of the year was
awake tingling
near

the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself

sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings' wax

unsignificantly
off the coast
there was

a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

 - William Carlos Williams

Caveat: Cluck and Drug

I thought it would be a short-lived joke, when I landed on the recent xkcd cartoon and it said, in the pop-up text, "click and drag."

I cluck and drug. And cluck and drug. And 30 minutes later I was still clicking and dragging. Very entertaining. Follow the link – it doesn't embed very well.

My favorite gem: after scrolling down and down and down and down there were these people trapped in a hole. They were hoping someone would friend them on facebook or twitter.

Image001

Caveat: Image going down, down, down

Tiktok image21Tiktok is the clockwork man of Oz. I read all the Oz stories when I was younger – actually mostly as an adolescent rather than as a child – and they influenced me profoundly.

Recently, having [broken link! FIXME] finished Wind in the Willows in my story-reading section too quickly (relative to the assigned syllabus), I was forced to find some short text to function as filler for the class. I settled on something from Oz. Most of the Oz books are available online, even with original illustrations: there's a collection of shorter Oz stories at the Project Gutenberg website.

So we're reading "Tiktok and the Nome King," a story of about 10 pages when you print out the HTML. The language in these original, un-bowdlerized versions is pretty challenging for a group of 5th and 6th grade Korean ESL kids, but they seem to find the story compelling enough, especially given the pictures, to plow through it. Tiktok was always one of my favorite Oz characters, and there's something especially fascinating by this thoroughly futuristic clockwork man having been conceptualized 100 years ago (I believe this particular story is exactly 100 years old this year).

I have been trying to teach the kids how to write a coherent summary. Sort of approaching it as a paraphrasing exercise with subsequent condensing and shrinking. I think that paraphrasing is, in some ways, the single most important writing skill a teacher can impart, and goes to the core of what competency in a foreign language represents, too. Well, actually, not just in a foreign language – in fact, I've reached the conclusion that it's actually easier to teach paraphrasing in ESL than in native-language language-arts classes – because the students have the ability to sort of do a "round trip translation" in their heads – they can translate from English to their native language and back again, retaining the sense or meaning of it. This is a mental processing tool not available to monolinguals. I'll have more to say about this, later, sometime. It's been on my mind a lot, lately.

What I'm listening to right now.

[Update 2017-06-02: Link rot repaired.]

America, "Tin Man." It matches the above theme, and also fits in with the nostalgia kick that this weekend has been – old music and reading history books all weekend, as I battle this really annoying flu-like-thing that attacked me last week.

Lyrics:

Sometimes late when things are real and people share the gift of gab between themselves
Some are quick to take the bait and catch the perfect prize that waits among the shelves

But Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
That he didn't, didn't already have
And Cause never was the reason for the evening
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad
So please believe in me

When I say I'm spinning round, round, round, round
Smoke glass stain bright color
Image going down, down, down, down
Soapsuds green like bubbles

Oh, Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
That he didn't, didn't already have
And Cause never was the reason for the evening
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad

So please believe in me
When I say I'm spinning round, round, round, round
Smoke glass stain bright color
Image going down, down, down, down
Soapsuds green like bubbles

No, Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
That he didn't, didn't already have
And Cause never was the reason for the evening
Or the tropic of Sir Galahad

So please believe in me

Caveat: la ciudad carga con su otoño

BenedettiCada ciudad puede ser otra

Los amorosos son los que abandonan,
son los que cambian, los que olvidan.
-  Jaime Sabines

Cada ciudad puede ser otra
cuando el amor la transfigura
cada ciudad puede ser tantas
como amorosos la recorren

el amor pasa por los parques
casi sin verlos amándolos
entre la fiesta de los pájaros
y la homilía de los pinos

cada ciudad puede ser otra
cuando el amor pinta los muros
y de los rostros que atardecen
unos es el rostro del amor

y el amor viene y va y regresa
y la ciudad es el testigo
de sus abrazos y crepúsculos
de sus bonanzas y aguaceros

y si el amor se va y no vuelve
la ciudad carga con su otoño
ya que le quedan sólo el duelo
y las estatuas del amo

– Mario Benedetti

Caveat: Catgroovy Sunday Banality

I went out to lunch with a friend today and we had a kind of Thai fusion food at a restaurant inside the "New Core" mall that's between Jeongbalsan and Madu stations on the subway, here in Ilsan. It wasn't bad, but it left me mostly craving more authentic Thai cuisine. My friend and I decided maybe next time, we could go to the Thai restaurant I remember at the WesternDom mall.

I tried to study Korean today, for a good portion of the day. I'm not feeling very diligent, though.

Supposedly, we're getting another typhoon tomorrow. It looks big on the weather map, but after the last one I'm sceptical. The rain has already started.

I recently discovered some new music that interests me. It seems to be related to (or descended from?) a 90s trend that was called Chicago Swing House, a sort of re-imagining of 30s era swing music combined with contemporary electronica house or club music production styles. One artist that I was liking is called Parov Stelar. And then I was looking for a track to put here on this here blog thingy and I found this wacky amazing dancing guy in his basement.

What I'm listening to right now.

Parov Stelar, "Catgroove."

Caveat: I am a brief flash, the abstract

Dang if I’m not utterly blown-over-infatuated with this track, at the moment.

I basically have been listening to it all day. More than that, I’ve been reading the lyrics, too – like I would study a new, compelling poem. This is rap/hip-hop at the level of lyric poetry – in my opinion, of course: musical tastes are entirely subjective. But even if you don’t like the track, read the poetry. It’s good. That good, in my opinion: half cinema-noir, half lucid gnostic fantasy, a kind of philosophical dreamscape littered with the detritus of too much living.

What I’m listening to right now.

Doomtree, “Beacon.”

Doomtree is from Minneapolis. There’s an official video that goes with the song, but I don’t actually like the video, so I found a non-official recording with just the album cover for the youtube, above. I would urge you NOT to watch the official video, until after you’ve listened a few times, and read the lyrics, and formed your own opinion about what the song is about – the video cheapens the narrative. It doesn’t fit. I’m very glad I didn’t watch the video the first time I heard the track.

Lyrics.

[Dessa]
I took it for a kiss, but it couldn’t have been, could it?
I see now what it is, we were just biting the same bullet
You called it in the air
it landed it on its edge
when the crowd gathers around
you turn tail
I turn heads
Shavin down the puzzle piece
tryna make a clean fit
Take what is lovely
leave before the rain hits
It’s a heartbreaker for starters, as you age not too much changes
practice doesn’t make perfect, just makes the game more dangerous

[Stef]
Start repo
negative sleep nauseous
barf party for sure
intelligent creep stalking awkward
Flush flustered rush for doors
advance fire-plan
handy with the way out
routes explored
Cover catching up
careful with your care
We don’t go there, naw
We keep locks and keys steadily swallowed
never be followed, none of em dare
Channel up your anger leave it here
kindly disappear
Mind your mannerisms
I can’t be flattered back
The patterns the concern
lessons prolly turned to fact
By now you’d surely drown yourself
before you’d help me with this sail
I’m the wind
crossed fingers for the win
Up to ten til they hammer in the very last nail
Challenging like every last stalemate
Deal… with it
No mission ends
Precision lack of friends
Happily recommend nothing to no one, ever

[Cecil]
I know, I know
I know, wake up, wake up
But I don’t go there, go there
She knows the way home
I know, I know
I know, wake up, wake up
But I don’t go there, go there
She knows the way home

[Cecil]
You know your way home?
You gonna be all right?
Yeah, but I had faith that you’d see the light
and ride with me or kiss me goodbye
Now you got me feeding kites into the night sky
Covered them with nightlights – like, did you see the beacon?
I swear I let those kites fly around all weekend, no?
Well someone must have cut the lines or something, no?
Or maybe something, oh, you weren’t looking
…Ok Plan B just panic
run up the stairs and shut the door to the attic and don’t come up for air
until you’re torn from her fabric completely…
and just like magic, you’re all in one piece again
But, I’m nothing like I used to be…
elusive and reclusive
Now I’m just both times a hundred… exclusively
Truthfully, I was blind to the deep end
until that piece of us went and died that weekend

[Cecil]
I know, I know
I know, wake up, wake up
But I don’t go there, go there
She knows the way home
I know, I know
I know, wake up, wake up
But I don’t go there, go there
She knows the way home

[Sims]
Then it flashed forward, but I asked for it
Rip out the doubt, I’m way too south
I gulped it up, I laid back
peeling off the layers
the mantra saying “fear can’t stay here – self, see you later”
Fire chakra dissolve to ether
I have to meet her, I know she knows the way
I’ll have to die twice, no novocaine
See the Eye of Horace, I am Osiris
I meet the devil, it ain’t the first time
He kills me quick like I am nothing
Scream St. Peter, I need you now cousin
I see the owls coming, they float me safe
I learn their grace, they help me heal
under stars, peeling off my skin to rid my scars
it’s the first time I am reborn, but I am not me
No identity, and I am finally free< /span>
I am my brother, I am my father
I am the sun, I am the water
I am an ion, I am everything
I am the vapor, a cloud of smoke
I am a cheap laugh, but I get the joke
I am a brief flash, the abstract

I’ve been feeling more creative, lately.

Firstly, I made a rather creative dinner tonight, that came out quite deliciously: a tricolor rotini pasta alfredo with brocolli and cranberry and nutmeg. An unusual combination that I was quite pleased with.

Secondly, I’m trying to draw something every day. I’ve been messing with my pastels. Today, in about 10 minutes, I did the below self-portrait, while listening to this song. So now, every time I see this picture, I will think of this song.

picture

CaveatDumpTruck Logo

Caveat: Wait, here comes a cowboy

This is a little bit dated, but it's some serious anti-war stuff. Minneapolitan Sims (of Doomtree Collective) with Crescent Moon, rapping about Iraq.

What I'm listening to right now.

ImagesSims, "Frontline (feat. Crescent Moon)."

Lyrics.

(…thousand miles from home, an American army is fighting for you…He'll do everything he can to bring peace to our land through the guiding of God's hand…take action…this message is brought to you as a public service by your department of wealth and helfare…and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea)

[Chorus]
Left right, march to your grave site
They got 'em ready on the front line
Every man, woman, and child
For miles, single file
Take a number and they'll call you when it comes time
The air feels thick not as thick
As the black smoke blockin' out the sunshine
Speak up boy they can't hear your voice
And I never had a choice when they hold mine

[Crescent Moon]
Yo, you put up your pride
They burn, gonna burn it down
You speakin' your mind
They turn, gonna turn it down
They feed you their lies
You word, spread and learn it now
Live by it (Learn to smile)
Big riots (Burn awhile)
Thank you for savin' us savages
Godless primates that never had a prayer
Bottom of the food chain
Around where the maggots is
Trippin' antagonists
Layer by layer (By layer)
Now do we divide or do we divide?
You don't believe in evolution
Or improvin' with time
Now you standin' there
Talkin' 'bout what's truly divine
I know right from wrong
Wherein you need a sign from the sky
Back, back to where you all came
Give me every brother back
Lynched in your God's name
Your lords gold plated on a chain
Mine's hangin' from a tree
By his neck in the rain
Shit, I got blood
To watch the trail of tears
Watch a trail of tears
Survived and kept comin'
How'm I supposed to feel
About honorin' my country
When I'm lookin' at they killer
Every time I see a 20
What the fuck is he talkin' 'bout?
You're so patriotic
I ain't fightin' in a war
I don't believe dyin' for
Hide behind that sticker on your bumper
You ain't sendin' folded up
flags back home to their mothers
You ain't overseas fightin'
Dyin' with the others
You would rather send your neighbors
Teachers, cousins, nephews, little brother
Hidin' in your mansion in the suburbs
Like your God wouldn't judge you
Sleepin' under silk covers
'Bout to reach Vietnam numbers
While your president leads you
In prayer for his brothers
We 'bout to reach Vietnam numbers
Why don't you go ahead
Say me a prayer while you're under

[Chorus]
Left right, march to your grave site
They got 'em ready on the front line
Every man, woman, and child
For miles, single file
Take a number and they'll call you when it comes time
The air feels thick not as thick
As the black smoke blockin' out the sunshine
Speak up boy they can't hear your voice
And I never had a choice when they hold mine

[Sims]
I believe in the spirit
And the feathered serpent
But never in the curtain
Words sown by a sermon
In the service of your churches
T-t-t-tighten up the wire
Turnin' t-t-turnin' citizens to servants
It's the c-c-c-constant chaotic
F-f-f-fear of Bin Laden
Either him or it's Saddam
God we hit bottom
Wait, here comes a cowboy
And he's a hero he promise
Wavin' crosses, and pistols
And fistfuls of profits
But, there's blood in your hands
There's blood in your pockets
Blood fills your goblets
Patriotic gun
With the scum in the office
With no conscience
I hope you choke
On your own broken soul
Oh-overdose your God's a remote
I know you're usin' up the social control
Abusin' human rights
Cuz your views confused at birth right
And you want me to march
Left right, left death toll
You'll eat what you said so souls
No, won't march for your C.E.O.s
I roll with the murder of crows
Flyin' over the booms
Over the wreckage
And so we go
Why would I waste a mile
In your crooked footsteps?
We don't see eye to eye
You see me as that prodigal son
But I see I got nowhere to move and nowhere to run
But I see why you got power from day one
From the slaves that you captured
Sell em' in to hell and tell 'em
To wait for the rapture
To the day we slaves you manufacture
Master, pastor, same hegemony
Subtle demise makes a legitimate plea
Jesus, please save me from the Jesus freaks
There's vultures in the skies
And there's solders overseas
Christian's on a mission
With missiles positioned and ready to launch
'Til somebody's ghost is ready to haunt
God love's America the most
Cuz it gives him what he wants

[Chorus]
Left right, march to your grave site
They got 'em ready on the front line
Every man, woman, and child
For miles, single file
Take a number and they'll call you when it comes time
The air feels thick not as thick
As the black smoke blockin' out the sunshine
Speak up boy they can't hear your voice
And I never had a choice when they hold mine

[4x]
Speak up boy they can't hear your voice

Caveat: free / from man’s ghost

Looking Across the Fields and Watching the Birds Fly

Among the more irritating minor ideas
Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home
To Concord, at the edge of things, was this:

To think away the grass, the trees, the clouds,
Not to transform them into other things,
Is only what the sun does every day,

Until we say to ourselves that there may be
A pensive nature, a mechanical
And slightly detestable operandum, free

From man’s ghost, larger and yet a little like,
Without his literature and without his gods . . .
No doubt we live beyond ourselves in air,

In an element that does not do for us,
so well, that which we do for ourselves, too big,
A thing not planned for imagery or belief,

Not one of the masculine myths we used to make,
A transparency through which the swallow weaves,
Without any form or any sense of form,

What we know in what we see, what we feel in what
We hear, what we are, beyond mystic disputation,
In the tumult of integrations out of the sky,

And what we think, a breathing like the wind,
A moving part of a motion, a discovery
Part of a discovery, a change part of a change,

A sharing of color and being part of it.
The afternoon is visibly a source,
Too wide, too irised, to be more than calm,

Too much like thinking to be less than thought,
Obscurest parent, obscurest patriarch,
A daily majesty of meditation,

That comes and goes in silences of its own.
We think, then as the sun shines or does not.
We think as wind skitters on a pond in a field

Or we put mantles on our words because
The same wind, rising and rising, makes a sound
Like the last muting of winter as it ends.

A new scholar replacing an older one reflects
A moment on this fantasia. He seeks
For a human that can be accounted for.

The spirit comes from the body of the world,
Or so Mr. Homburg thought: the body of a world
Whose blunt laws make an affectation of mind,

The mannerism of nature caught in a glass
And there become a spirit’s mannerism,
A glass as warm with things going as far as they can.

– Wallace Stevens

1984_ArcataCABirdsOnMadRiverBeach02

[Picture is photograph I took at Mad River Beach, Arcata, California, in 1984. Not fields, birds not flying. But seems to fit anyway.]

Caveat: शिला

pictureThere is a philosopher named Justin E. H. Smith whose blog I sometimes read. Lately, he’s been studying Sanskrit, and so he recently wrote a composition in Sanskrit. I can’t read Sanskrit – I studied it for a few weeks a few decades ago, and I can barely even remember how to decipher the writing system. But I can sympathize with and relate to the idea of trying to write an interesting or creative composition in a language one is only just beginning to master – consider a few of the horribly bad and embarrassingly juvenile efforts I’ve made at putting up blog posts in Korean (which I won’t even link to here, because I’m too embarrassed).
But in fact, in reading his translation back to English of his Sanskrit composition, I got to thinking. The composition – his little parable of the stone – is excellent. As is so often the case, operating within very tight constraints can lead to very good writing – in this case, the constraint of working in a language one doesn’t know well. I can’t judge the quality of the Sanskrit – perhaps it’s full of grammatical errors or mis-used vocabulary. But the English version is compelling. I will reproduce it here.

शिला
एकदासित् शिला । एतायाः शिलायाः पदाः न सन्ति स्म, न नेत्रेपि, न श्रवने, न लोमचर्मनम्, न वदनम् । शिला गन्तुं न शक्नोति स्म, प्रानितुं न शक्नोति स्म, खदितुं न शक्नोति स्म, न किं अपि कर्तुं शक्नोति स्म । परन्तु एतायाः शिलायाः जिवात्मन् अस्ति स्म । सातिवाकुशलिन्यासित् । एक्स्मिन् दिने पक्शिनि शिलायायाम् उपविशति स्म । पक्शिनि झटित्यनुभवत् यत् शिला जिवितासित् । सोक्तवति : “भो शिला” इति, “तव किं अभवत् । शिलाः केवलम् अजिवनि वस्तुनि सन्ति” । शिला प्रत्युक्तोवति : “धिक् ! अहं न जानामि किं मम अभवत् । अहं शिलास्मि । गन्तुं न शकनोमि । प्रानितुं न शक्नोमि । खदितुं न शक्नोमि । न किं चित् कर्तुं न शक्नोमि । अहं केवलम्  वस्तुवस्मि । मया न जीतव्यम् । न जानामि अपि कुतः अहं विशयः एतायाः कथायाः अस्मि” इति । पक्शिनि उक्तोवति : “तद्विशये चिन्ता मस्तु । गन्तुं नातिव सु्नदरम् अस्ति । अहं च नितरम् बुबुक्शास्मि । तव जीवनम् सुलभम् अस्ति । त्वया केवलम् चिन्तयितव्यम् च ध्यनम् कर्तव्यम् च । भूमिः तव भार्यास्ति । चिन्तनम् तव भोजनम् अस्ति । सुन्दरम् एतत् जिवनम्” इति । एतैः शब्दैः पक्शिनि समुत्पतति स्म । शिला पुन एककिन्यासित् । कुशलिन्यासित् । सा तस्या भार्याम् अलिन्गति स्म च भोजनम् खदति स्म च । भक्शणम् कृत्वा प्रस्वपिति स्म च स्वपनम् पक्शगमस्य विशये करोति स्म च ।
The Stone
Once there was a stone. This stone had no feet, no eyes, no ears, fur, or face. It could not move, could not breath, could not eat, could not do anything at all. But this stone had a soul. It was very unhappy. One day a bird landed on it. The bird immediately sensed that the stone was alive. It said: “Hey, stone! What’s with you? Stones are only non-living things.” The stone replied: “What a pity! I don’t know what’s with me. I am a stone. I cannot move. I cannot breath. I cannot eat. I cannot do anything at all. I am only a thing. It is not for me to live. I do not even know why I am the subject of this story.” The bird said: “Don’t worry about it. Moving is not so wonderful. And I’m always hungry. Your life is easy. You just have to think and meditate. The earth is your wife. Thoughts are your food. What a nice life.” With these words the bird flew away. The stone was again alone.  It was happy. It embraced its wife and had a meal. Having eaten, it went to sleep and dreamt of flying.

picture

Back to Top