La cogida y la muerte

Um touro é uma espécie de massa rebarbativa, com uma obscura vida interna onde se imagina que circulam imagens fundas e carregadas. É difícil discernir os teoremas que, pela acção, vai demonstrar. E a maneira como o fará, com as suas improvisações e inspirações repentinas. Mas existe uma fenda nesse sistema de energias, a ponta de um ferro, a imperceptível abertura oferecida pelo destino à derrota e à morte. Pois cada criatura subtilmente se conjuga com os impulsos da destruição. Tecido de imperscutáveis forças que de súbito se animam.

(Herberto Helder in "Os passos em volta")
(O título do post refere-se a um poema de Garcia Lorca sobre o mesmo tema)

Cinematou

My suggestion for a rainy weekend...

Taking place at Cinéma Uptown, Cinéma Pathé Rialto, Cinéma Nord-Sud.

More infos here.

Tuareg blues

"Legendary poet guitarists and soul rebels from the southern Sahara desert"

That's how Tinariwen's website describes them. Well, I think the epithet fits perfectly !

I already spoke about Tinariwen in this blog. They are a music band originary from Mali that combined traditional Tuareg music with electric guitar to create a new form of Blues. They sing in Tamashek, which is a Berber language spoken by the Tuareg in many parts of Mali, Niger, Algeria, Libya and Burkina Faso.

The good new is that they are playing in Geneva the 14 October in PTR:

Mercredi 14 octobre 2009
ptr
dès 20h30 - 28 CHF

dance, dance, dance

da bondade e outras mentiras

sobre a conservação da energia

A minha palavra preferida costumava ser "rebarbativo". É uma palavra-maremoto que se estabelece em linha recta. Sem embargo, tomei-lhe posse e quis mudar-lhe a essência: logrei chamar-lhe um sorvedouro de arquétipos. Achei piada à imagem de um movimento em espiral de forças marítimas, correntes, ondas. Tinha algo de Lagrangiano que me recordava as leis elementares.

Mas entretanto apareceu a palavra "adiabático", revolucionando a termodinâmica da poesia.

Escreveram-se tratados sobre a nova revolução. Contrataram-se peritos para analisar os tratados. Condecoraram-se os analistas e mataram-se os poetas. A revolução morria por dentro e eu consultava o dicionário.

Foi aí que descobri "fluctígero". E por agora basta-me.

(Texto de: O Coxo)

Koon and the Lobster

I was at the Jeff Koons exhibition in the Serpentine gallery, London, this saturday. Even if intentional, I must confess that his depiction of kitsch, banality and consumerism didn't impress me.

As an engineer what really impressed me was the realism of the cast aluminium models . In the present case children’s pool toys like the lobster in the picture above. Believe it or not it is an aluminium model. The thing really looks like plastic ! Just extremely well done.

La Bâtie

Had enough of August ? In desperate need to get away from the horde of tourists that queue up for a place in the kitschiest carousel rides ? Had your share of torticolis from watching forever-lasting fireworks ?

If not, then you're an optimist and I can only say: lucky you. However, do remember that you still have another couple of weeks to go before the end of the month.

If yes, then this post is for you. "La Bâtie" festival welcomes you into September, reminding you that the cultural scene in Geneva changes faster than the weather...

If not for the Theatre , the Music, the Danse then let it be for a drink in Manitoba, the usual meeting place for Batie's late nighters at Palladium...

two minutes ago

That was two minutes ago.

Now I really see things differently. Let me tell you

- I need to tell you -

that there's no present.

The present time is no time until we're past it. The moment doesn't exist until it's behind us.

Eternal is a nice word but that was before we learnt ephemeral. Grasping the moment is losing the moment. The present is no more.

It's a relativistic question: nothing travels faster than light, so when we think the present (thought being transmitted by electrical impulses), it has already become the past.

I guess this explains my leaning towards nostalgia.

Or it might just be the whole "fado" thing that is taking the best out of me...

But anyway, Einstein is a much nicer scapegoat.

(text by O Coxo)

uhuru

One thing I regret is to have slept past uhuru.

Or did I ?

Anyway, I have the feeling I will sleep past 2009 as well...

Or will I ?


(photo taken on the kilimanjaro summit, 2004)

insónia

(texto de O Coxo)

Todas as noites são uma viagem pela loucura. Agarramo-nos ao nosso bilhete de volta com ardor mas a maior atrocidade é acordar: o quotidiano que se insinua com despudor nas pálpebras fechadas, o doce desenrolar das horas matinais, a inocência do sono desfazendo-se em vulgaridades.

Tudo isto é apenas previsível.

Além disso há as insónias. As insónias em que o tédio nos consome pelo interior da loucura.

As insónias ou melhor

esse delírio febril em que pensamos estar acordados e afinal estamos. Em que pensamos estar loucos e afinal estamos.

As paredes do quarto, os sapatos debaixo da cama, o cabide: tudo se torna um imperativo. Os objectos revestem-se duma arrogância suspeita.

Há um gigantismo imprevisto na escuridão que eu nunca consegui decifrar. Por isso fecho os olhos.

Por enquanto vou fechando os olhos e finjo dormir.

The three dancers

I was quite impressed by this surrealistic painting by Picasso. I saw it in a visit to Tate Modern this weekend. It is part of the permanent exhibition, which you can visit for free.

Apparently this is one of Picasso's only surrealistic paintings. I was even more impressed when I read the interpretation given to the painting, which got me thinking how important is the context of any artwork to fully appreciate it.

Have a first look at the painting below without reading my explanation. Unfortunately I could not find a good quality picture on the web, so this one will have to do.

Do you make something of it ? I didn't think so.

Apparently Picasso started painting The Three Dancers in a period where the relation with his wife, Olga, who was a dancer, was degrading and soon after the death of a friend: Ramon Pichot. This death coincided with the anniversary of the suicide of another friend Carlos Casagemas. The two men were linked to each other by a woman: Germaine Gargallo, who was Pichot's wife, but also had been Casagemas' girlfriend and was the reason why Casagemas commited suicide, having failed to kill her after being rejected.

The picture is said to be all about this love triangle: the dancer on the right casts the shadow of Ramon Pichot, giving hands with the dancer on the left: his wife Germaine Gargallo. The red dot that the figure on the left seems to try to avoid by bending in an impossible way is thought to be the bullet with which Casagemas had tried to kill her. This makes the central dancer, with arms outstretched as if crucified, the ghost of the doomed Casagemas projected on the feminine figure of Picasso's wife, Olga.