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Immortal since Feb 10, 2010
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i am an eXperiment. a Syncopated word & image coLLage imported from Our minD sEnse-thoUght collective stream. a trial 2 eXpress the aRhythmia & the off beat that lies in-betwEEn the bond made of: imAge narrative & senSation. an aEsthetic act and aim of WondeR in the search for a CRaCK. as for if anything eXists at all it exisTs i n - b e T w e e n.
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    Where forward thinking terrestrials share ideas and information about the state of the species, their planet and the universe, living the lives of science fiction. Introduction
    Featuring Powers of Ten by Charles and Ray Eames, based on an idea by Kees Boeke.



    The other one, the one called Borges, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of Buenos Aires and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the arch of an entrance hall and the grillwork on the gate; I know of Borges from the mail and see his name on a list of professors or in a biographical dictionary. I like hourglasses, maps, eighteenth-century typography, the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Borges may contrive his literature, and this literature justifies me. It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to the language and to tradition. Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in him. Little by little, I am giving over everything to him, though I am quite aware of his perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things. Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being; the stone eternally wants to be a stone and the tiger a tiger. I shall remain in Borges, not in myself (if it is true that I am someone), but I recognize myself less in his books than in many others or in the laborious strumming of a guitar. Years ago I tried to free myself from him and went from the mythologies of the suburbs to the games with time and infinity, but those games belong to Borges now and I shall have to imagine other things. Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.


    I do not know which of us has written this page.






    text : Jorge Luis Borges
    video : Syncopath
    Sat, Mar 13, 2010  Permanent link

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    A true secret can be called out loud in public.
    have no doubt, concealed it shall remain, unheard,
    encoded, in its shy enclave.
    yet come across an ear,
    it will decode itself and be expanded,
    and still,
    a
    Secret
    it
    may
    stay.





























    text : Anonymous
    images : Pina Bausch, Nelken, 1982.
    Nelken video excerpt from the show

    Sat, Mar 13, 2010  Permanent link

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    Truth

    in her

    dress

    finds facts

    too

    tight.



    In

    fiction

    she moves

    with

    ease.










    text : Rabindranath Tagore
    image1 : skinny-jeans black
    image2 : 'Hasta las Narcices', An art installation by Ivan Puig, 2004.
    video : Rabindranath Tagore singing.







    Sun, Mar 7, 2010  Permanent link

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    And yet, and yet . . . Denying temporal succession, denying the self, denying the astronomical universe, are apparent desperations and secret consolations. Our destiny is not frightful by being unreal; it is frightful because it is irreversible and iron-clad. Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire. The world, unfortunately, is real; I, unfortunately, am Borges.

    Essay: "A New Refutation of Time," 1946


    Wed, Mar 3, 2010  Permanent link

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    One question that has always intrigued me is what happens to demonic beings when immigrants move from their homelands. Irish-Americans remember the fairies. Norwegian-Americans the nisses, Greek-Americans the vrykolakas, but only in relation to events remembered in the Old Country. When I once asked why such demons are not seen in America, my informants giggled confusedly and said:
    “They’re scared to pass the ocean, it’s too far”,
    pointing out that Christ and the apostles never came to America.





    This is not a guidebook this is a book of fiction.
    All of the people are fictional. Only the Gods are real.


    Neil Gaiman
    (American Gods)




    kaleidoscope: from dict. n. tube containing mirrors which reflect and create constantly changing symmetrical patterns from small pieces of colored glass held at one end of the tube; anything that changes constantly.
    Wed, Feb 24, 2010  Permanent link

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    I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school:

    They don't teach you
    how to love somebody.
    They don't teach you
    how to be famous.
    They don't teach you
    how to be rich or how to be poor.
    They don't teach you
    how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer.
    They don't teach you
    how to know what's going on in someone else's mind.
    They don't teach you
    what to say to someone who's dying.

    They don't teach you anything worth knowing.


    Neil Gaiman




    Wed, Feb 24, 2010  Permanent link

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    The orgasm
    is
    simply
    when the body
    does
    take over.





















    photoes : Nobuyoshi Araki
    saying : Betty Dodson
    (an American sex educator, author, and artist. She is widely known as a pioneer in women's, and to a somewhat lesser extent men's, sexual liberation.)
    Sat, Feb 20, 2010  Permanent link

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    • Love between man and man is impossible
      because there must not be sexual intercourse
      and friendship between man and woman is impossible
      because there must be sexual intercourse.

      James Joyce









    • Comme nos voix (badabada dabadabada)
      Chantent tout bas (badabada dabadabada)
      Nos coeurs y voient (badabada dabadabada)
      Comme une chance, comme un espoir





    * Paroles: Pierre Barouh * Musique: Francis Lay * Film: Claude Lelouch.



  • "L'Amour est bien plus fort que nous"




  • Mon, Feb 15, 2010  Permanent link

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    there is a state of slumber that is not sleep.

    and one sort of truth that comes out of us and which is not a dream not a reverie.

    the mouth’s guard is asleep, and words emerge that one would otherwise not allow to emerge.

    we are workers of a shadow that suits us but escapes us.

    Jean Cocteau





    Mon, Feb 15, 2010  Permanent link

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    poets die and come back to life.

    Dali invented a very beautiful science: Phoenixology. that means people often die in order to be reborn. this is the phoenix renaissance. it burns in order to turn into ashes, which in their own term change back into the phoenix.

    in my film (Blood of a Poet) the flower dies resurrected and dies again. this is Minerva goddess of reason who sees that it is a reborn flower and she will refuse it.

    Jean Cocteau

    Thu, Feb 11, 2010  Permanent link

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