tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35446414557564275232024-03-19T04:40:08.380+01:00geography of lightpiotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-81616903278857008722021-02-11T15:34:00.003+01:002021-02-22T10:35:49.013+01:00cztery grafiki. grzymski///jędrasik - czyli timelines soundscapes<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/qTssjYqFJpk" width="480"></iframe>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-5687403585705200342021-02-10T11:02:00.002+01:002021-02-10T11:09:55.841+01:00Bazgrolikarnia 24/7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEede62X7XVuUEJDyz_r1ZZmxxH7swLbBe0gm86hXrCIRwK4UcEnHJwhGsVQ6kuWdtSPre_byS_xZBLnIw_S_SffZWkpdy-cG8c-5wkjq2-cXJ7i6JuZD5MmITDTcab8IEKnpifYo78ff/s4096/20180209_183914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEede62X7XVuUEJDyz_r1ZZmxxH7swLbBe0gm86hXrCIRwK4UcEnHJwhGsVQ6kuWdtSPre_byS_xZBLnIw_S_SffZWkpdy-cG8c-5wkjq2-cXJ7i6JuZD5MmITDTcab8IEKnpifYo78ff/s320/20180209_183914.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-28222269791528466522021-02-10T10:36:00.001+01:002021-02-10T10:36:06.860+01:00Bazgroliki i LTJ Bukem<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LdhSqUna1LI" width="320" youtube-src-id="LdhSqUna1LI"></iframe></div><br /><p></p>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-62124610664809894282021-02-10T10:12:00.003+01:002021-02-10T10:12:50.615+01:00Salvatore Sciarrino, bazgroliki i wierszolik - all in one<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Chi1T1Tcsnc" width="320" youtube-src-id="Chi1T1Tcsnc"></iframe></div><br /> <p></p>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-56117082501383474952015-07-02T08:57:00.003+02:002015-07-02T08:57:19.119+02:00CATALOGUE - Artbook - limited paper edition. Available soon :Dhttps://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10204597526206527.1073741849.1485583825&type=1&l=98c2cdf318piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-89641875361749492082014-01-17T21:29:00.001+01:002014-01-17T21:29:00.408+01:00Samuel Beckett: Quad I+II (play for TV)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/4ZDRfnICq9M" width="459"></iframe><br />
piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-61104614494157947512014-01-17T20:22:00.001+01:002014-01-17T20:22:51.807+01:00Samuel Beckett Quad<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/LPJBIvv13Bc" width="459"></iframe><br />
piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-41979732915631529772012-01-11T13:04:00.000+01:002012-01-11T13:04:03.891+01:00JOHN ASHBERY LATE ECHO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjUX0Nz9oZ0UQS-rMPbiUzzQYBjacNujYERT7WUf4wgGvdgFOK2huithUUj1AZ26_Dk4KJVy0rZBeOHXGqvdosxioiS9u1cI32h_fgq-R6iD5wSntSilC10Ary2aq1mvq9zcPbZWaiHGyq/s1600/_MG_7668.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjUX0Nz9oZ0UQS-rMPbiUzzQYBjacNujYERT7WUf4wgGvdgFOK2huithUUj1AZ26_Dk4KJVy0rZBeOHXGqvdosxioiS9u1cI32h_fgq-R6iD5wSntSilC10Ary2aq1mvq9zcPbZWaiHGyq/s320/_MG_7668.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-15045125162643501332010-05-11T12:35:00.000+02:002010-05-11T12:35:20.824+02:00piotr grzymski : geografia światła | UniBook<a href="http://www.unibook.com/en/piotr-grzymski/geografia-%C5%9Bwiat%C5%82a">piotr grzymski : geografia światła UniBook</a>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-16279377309622301062009-10-04T18:19:00.006+02:002009-11-04T15:55:48.193+01:00SOME WORDS ON NON-WRITING<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh41-TsbUDqdbG_hyphenhyphen9Ah5c0MeILPK4slaE5EFmXhtJOGUWAlntwJ0fvqHs9YTzjyIkiN0MeKDIxxdhIPmwdt9qGrEk_CQcUSS0V-G3Q5cEMCQscxQg7d0DMxMt8Es8Gzhdnc8IcYHV1qs_u/s1600-h/scribblingpalimpsest194.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389016141848224322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh41-TsbUDqdbG_hyphenhyphen9Ah5c0MeILPK4slaE5EFmXhtJOGUWAlntwJ0fvqHs9YTzjyIkiN0MeKDIxxdhIPmwdt9qGrEk_CQcUSS0V-G3Q5cEMCQscxQg7d0DMxMt8Es8Gzhdnc8IcYHV1qs_u/s400/scribblingpalimpsest194.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 291px;" /></a><br />
<div align="center"><br />
PRECISION<br />
<br />
Rustling memo scraps high above the town looming<br />
We got that unshakeable impression that our coming here was out of time<br />
Out of tune so as not to meet or come across spring cleaning in the windows a cloud<br />
Riveted over the wood<br />
By the time wind drifted memories the town’d<br />
Been void enough for encountering spaces one transparent the other<br />
Superficial to elevate high up the sky they will grow in time tall and full<br />
As words one hardly remembers<br />
They will later meet again but circumstances will be in the way<br />
Collateral’s long awaited arrival will come too early eventually to<br />
Finish off with proper dignity and substance but – perhaps –<br />
One should not rely on<br />
The indispensable thus static thus ending elements however unnerving absence<br />
Seems to be at the table clad in white waiting for the visitors to go<br />
Away leaving all the negligible and accidental spots behind<br />
It is so weird<br />
When revelation gets mixed up with roars of laughter proximity<br />
Gives hope we only need some coolness from the distance<br />
Sometimes one gets a better picture it’s only words though which do not<br />
Ever shape up<br />
And ask for forgiveness as they had acquired the knowledge and wisdom and<br />
No power still is capable of turning them into reality the table is the scene of fight<br />
Not to reveal not to allow in vain however as no coming out<br />
Will ever sink in<br />
And the hunch is nothing compared to music (indispensable) in the world that<br />
Disappears abruptly in the spotlight with no audience in the front row the guests<br />
Are having fun<br />
No-one escapes where has eloped the eyes supported by nothing only<br />
Adorn the head, which is so determined and committed and perplexed so<br />
The body entertains the visitors in unproductive gestures<br />
That mean nothing<br />
And nothing comes to nothing pitch darkness was nowhere in sight<br />
To catch the shadows of the chosen ones the order took over the venue wiping off<br />
The impartiality of sentences no associations no contexts<br />
So be it<br />
It so often happens that the order disorganizes life which is valued by so few<br />
I am thinking hard what to choose objects came into possession of their weight<br />
Suddenly and leaning towards the opposite tried hard to stay<br />
Unnamed<br />
With no strings attached they form relationships so a voice from afar (vicinity<br />
Would make it distrustful) was observing closely as power in the night<br />
Trespassed silence transformed in a couple of sounds whispering that<br />
The coming is nigh<br />
<br />
And it all ended up with no conclusions drawn in which the dancers might have<br />
Completed their act but here you are you receive a letter informing you of another<br />
Season opening - professional as it were lack of powers of observation becomes<br />
A burden for a while<br />
Rounded off elegant statements take their places not discerning not destroying<br />
Not creating in spite of clamour made up between the table and the anxiety and<br />
An uncertain glance into some dry disinterested distance<br />
</div><br />
<div align="center"><br />
<br />
<br />
OFF THE CUFF STUFF<br />
<br />
<em>An Apple</em><br />
A smile, a friendly face, life is good, a stroll down the beach.<br />
<br />
<em>Knowledge</em><br />
Sweet as sunlight in the rain and a pancake with blueberry stuffing you dash in to say that we are over. The world is grinning, sinister, dust goes off the eyelids. I see I must face the music. Bridges drawn up the sky is blown up the universal truth revealed, unnoticed. Is it better?<br />
<br />
<em>A mirror</em><br />
Lifetime guarantee only please<br />
<br />
<em>Satisfaction<br />
</em>Up yours!!!<br />
<br />
<em>Anal sex<br />
</em>Extra-uterine pregnancy<br />
<br />
<em>Every Time I See You</em><br />
Too short, too little, never often enough<br />
<br />
<em>Accuracy<br />
</em>Cumulus, cirrus, lucifer orbis out my window<br />
<br />
<em>J.S. Bach</em><br />
<br />
<em>God<br />
</em>Gosh,<br />
Always losing those keys of mine.<br />
When you are falling<br />
And the voice is breaking up<br />
Between a way and an approach<br />
When the god above smiles in green<br />
Calm and certain coolness falls down with you<br />
To make the space palpable<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
AN EXCUSE<br />
<br />
It has already been written and it will be again and again and again.<br />
Empty scrolls hold all the magic. Hundreds of worlds<br />
Uncharted, words unspoken, senses unexpressed. Fresh<br />
Hues burning. Unheard-of halftones flowing.<br />
<br />
Had I not heard perhaps the dissonance<br />
A great highly artistic indispensable to no-one<br />
Artefact of art inexpressible or inexpressive<br />
Vacuum<br />
<br />
Had I kept the distance and stood by the side<br />
In its stead I watched daydreaming as my mouth<br />
My eyes tore me apart in silence<br />
<br />
Had I banned words from<br />
Naming the world<br />
<br />
Had I not recognised myself<br />
<br />
A hum of impartiality, a pellet of irony<br />
Musica mundana<br />
But<br />
I am asleep tonite between clean sheets<br />
And don’t give a shit for sophisticated Honneger<br />
Or crystal clear Pierre Boulez<br />
Or all the Saints of every Here and Now<br />
<br />
I had a dream<br />
A teddy bear<br />
With blood shot eyes<br />
Changing skin<br />
<br />
Professional<br />
Night<br />
Watch<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A COUPLE OF WORDS ON NON-WRITING<br />
<br />
‘t ain’t my job to guess<br />
colours<br />
not my duty to peel off<br />
meanings<br />
looks like a juicy night<br />
rounded off nicely caressing<br />
my lack of vigilance i tease<br />
‘em don’t jot ‘em down<br />
In forgetfulness I find<br />
A fabulous word broken in half<br />
It will be there pending between<br />
Memory<br />
When it crashes down with a bang<br />
In a few years I will be there to see it<br />
That’s it<br />
<br />
<br />
ON WRITING<br />
<br />
In two grams<br />
In a couple of moments maybe<br />
There is the future<br />
For me to decipher<br />
A few handsome expressions<br />
This conversation is going nowhere<br />
Ubiquitous unnecessary flat flavours<br />
Of a dinner lingering near here<br />
<br />
Banter has the shape of empty<br />
Chair at the window and dull colour<br />
Of untrained hand<br />
<br />
Whoever is singing this tune<br />
With a voice as dead as veins<br />
Full of alcohol and the day is so sharp<br />
As hunger<br />
To get it<br />
And with a stroke of luck<br />
Arrest in a word<br />
And liberate<br />
<br />
<br />
DEAD SILENCE<br />
<br />
This credit card of ours has many applications.<br />
You can cut a throat.<br />
You can make a line for a sniff.<br />
You can squash a fly for fun for instance.<br />
<br />
Silence<br />
Around<br />
The world<br />
</div>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-58116325840432989712009-09-03T12:46:00.007+02:002009-09-03T15:10:07.127+02:00NEVERENDING TIMELESSNESS<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPTAqE-htKH0H_j2HFCLhWhwokUi5xTSw8FmXxXP_zCmjDH564-wDkl2Yyv5s-RJVlITCQiYtz2XN8ODDsvC-J-PyHD7woC9gz2GtgxJLRn3NvSP0D3REUgIvYXdoMs5OBLCro2ZOuGzu/s1600-h/Ascending_and_Descending.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377195021148571842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPTAqE-htKH0H_j2HFCLhWhwokUi5xTSw8FmXxXP_zCmjDH564-wDkl2Yyv5s-RJVlITCQiYtz2XN8ODDsvC-J-PyHD7woC9gz2GtgxJLRn3NvSP0D3REUgIvYXdoMs5OBLCro2ZOuGzu/s320/Ascending_and_Descending.jpg" border="0" /></strong></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em> (</em>M.C. Escher, <em>Ascending and Descending, </em>lithograph, 1960<em>)</em></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>the<br />beginning</strong><br /><br />the immortality of Jesus<br />the Jesus of immortality<br />the mortality of matter<br />the matter of mortality<br /><br />the latter of the former<br />the former of the latter<br />the end of a beginning<br />the beginning of an end<br /><br /><strong>the<br />end</strong><br /></span></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></strong></div></div>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-71716927071220488312009-01-07T01:03:00.018+01:002009-11-04T15:57:09.572+01:00AGAPE<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
</div><strong>sort of introduction</strong><br />
<br />
I was delivered on the twelfth of February nineteen sixty seven and for many years since I’d lived with an entirely erroneous conviction that it was my very birth which announced the cosmic little step of Armstrong. Since the day I experienced the illusory sweetness of the first person singular for the first time, perhaps, I’d nourished that thought of mine that i had a strong urge to live in a place where five persons at most would’ve inhabited an area of about a million square miles, full of silence and the secret sound of blood slithering in the head.<br />
Henri Michaux – a neighbour of mine - insisted that ‘the only hours that count are the still ones’. However, my personal stillness has become a burden recently, like a tombstone over a carcass that’s suddenly come to life.<br />
Personal history’s made up of events, which – having turned into memories – become a narrative.<br />
The former are insignificant, don’t feel like the latter…<br />
<br />
let us say it’s easier<br />
to write ‘bout the sublime<br />
let’s say the beginning<br />
favours a poem that<br />
accepts a short and draft dream<br />
subtle shapes slanted sceneries<br />
stones get softer females make<br />
up their lips and the sky’s all made up<br />
too<br />
<br />
i’m sweating suavely the beginning’s looking<br />
for the end i’m seeking my fly in the darkness<br />
of the staircase<br />
seek and ye shall find<br />
and it’ll even be more quiet<br />
<br />
we’ll be moved<br />
our perverse ideas<br />
exposed entirely<br />
into an open mouth<br />
<br />
zip up and fly away<br />
before we get slaughtered<br />
by silence<br />
<br />
<br />
</div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288337229910449378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZQMJgt7nJJq3jNs2zRQj3VzYNp4MNTbLj2DGf98NQUW7HI0ssIP6WfbC0haExHrOyL5iRwmCX73zkemrF2Lih3z600AbG0coqQpPo1gzwWiRauixAqAcT0e1EERK5UIFq6v3FyMPudnM/s320/Brown_TeenAge.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 285px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /> <br />
<div align="center">(Cecily Brown <em>Teenage Wildlife, </em>2003 Oil on Linen)<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<strong></strong><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>memento mori</strong><br />
<br />
</div><div align="center">‘Indeed, I haven’t got the foggiest<br />
</div><div align="center">‘What you are driving at’ – roared the wind<br />
</div><div align="center">To a fell down tree.<br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">‘Well’ – the trunk’s vernacular was getting slightly dry – ‘tis true that<br />
</div><div align="center">‘It has been over three billion five hundred million eight hundred and seventy thousand five hundred<br />
</div><div align="center">‘And sixteen years now since decomposition of connective tissue began.’ <br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><strong><br />
</strong><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>love between the sheets</strong><br />
<br />
well, such things happen (they say)<br />
one can find a diamond in the street<br />
so<br />
<br />
we look each other deep in the eye and our ears<br />
are full of humming silence – beautiful and delicate<br />
<br />
as feline fur it finds its way between us<br />
making no sound measuring the distance<br />
between word and meaning since it simply adores<br />
the aroma of warm bed sheets and a homebrew<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>love in orange</strong><br />
<br />
a mellow smile is grinning<br />
a ray of light is time<br />
passing across the window pane<br />
in cigarette smoke<br />
it falls asleep<br />
how ‘bout making love<br />
anyway our wet thoughts<br />
have been in spasms<br />
for quite some time now<br />
an action in blue<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>love for the departed</strong><br />
<br />
<strong> </strong>whenever you happen to come by<br />
I’ll surely be here as well<br />
how about taking a nap together – gods incarnate<br />
of never-ending warm evenings on a hot beach…<br />
have i told you yet that we’re in love like<br />
deep in the ocean<br />
wide and soft<br />
fishes sneak stealthily past<br />
i embrace the presence<br />
repeat the vow<br />
and burst out laughing in the storm<br />
between a smiling winter<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288336812663049010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRpv30HoGx2Xx87Y-bZM0hP2lQ6-okdJhnHxSYu56_bGGL8awqHWkgot7jF4M8f0BjCsM75FMdcFjQGHuXE7cZXXwqkU9VhrKAj5-2wvUfOAocul0N8sbpt3Cwc00VG2kiI03zuEj3S7d/s320/twofigures19530tx.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /> <br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">(Francis Bacon, <em>Two Figures, </em>1953)<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<strong></strong><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>wise love</strong><br />
<br />
<strong> </strong>It was sweltering hot at the beginning of May this year. I’d left all the windows wide open before going to bed and when the morning had just broken I heard some terrible yelling outside. I came up and looked out from the window to see what’s going on.<br />
‘The doorbell isn’t working!!! How’z it goin’?’ – asked Socrates.<br />
‘My trainers seem a bit tight. How ‘bout yours?’ – Plato asked him entering the hall.<br />
Socrates stroke his fringe and dashed into the living room.<br />
‘By no means. I feel divine.’<br />
‘Hello. I’ll put the kettle on’ – said I and went into the kitchen to turn some music on.<br />
The sun was still rising above the roofs and the whole tenement-house was full of crystal clear spring morning silence.<br />
‘You’re gonna sniff those flowers of his away!’ – said Socrates and sat, laid back, in the armchair with a book he’d taken off the shelf.<br />
‘ Bach is so modern, don’t you reckon, Socrates?’ – asked Plato, hidden behind the vase.<br />
‘Bach is music, that’s it’ – murmured Socrates and closed the book.<br />
Having brushed aside his fringe, Plato leaned against the wall, stood astride and started caressing the inside of his thigh with a rose he’d taken out of the vase.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>pathetic love</strong><br />
<br />
<strong> </strong>oh, you’re wearing those lace knickers eventually<br />
you mentioned unfaithfulness i’ve been<br />
ill-treating you with<br />
<br />
‘didn’t compose much, toured a lot’<br />
incongruent series create a coherent<br />
totality<br />
<br />
i prefer miller to borges or the other way round<br />
to cut a long story short – broken up sentences<br />
seem to be the longest suit<br />
<br />
a three/fourths tempo and unstable nights<br />
everything comes together nicely in a tear<br />
in trousers i hate confessional poetry<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>love and melancholy</strong><br />
</div><div align="center"><strong><br />
</strong><br />
</div><div align="center">The welfare state is drowning in words<br />
</div><div align="center">Taxes in Texas - Texas in tatters<br />
</div><div align="center">A notorious politician found dead, presumed innocent<br />
</div><div align="center">Listening, observing whether their cuff-pins match<br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">And how about a coffee<br />
</div><div align="center">Full of flavour<br />
</div><div align="center">A passionate kiss<br />
</div><div align="center">A taste of timelessness<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-_r6HDRK8fRzLOP7PVuLFa7Fh-E55VBeC42yhwHSnSEXyLqBlyGlkPxYWytCGQwssxgwVCOMMvH1wx3ibhd98m4kz04Oh6Hgsh1uJo9NQsNO6-bptfGHYyXcQL9xE88kA2z4uvMNPdI_b/s1600/CIMG0165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291867061496208178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-_r6HDRK8fRzLOP7PVuLFa7Fh-E55VBeC42yhwHSnSEXyLqBlyGlkPxYWytCGQwssxgwVCOMMvH1wx3ibhd98m4kz04Oh6Hgsh1uJo9NQsNO6-bptfGHYyXcQL9xE88kA2z4uvMNPdI_b/s320/CIMG0165.JPG" style="display: block; height: 240px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">(Michelangelo Pistoletto up front, the blog author and friends inside arte povera, so to speak...)<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><strong>love</strong><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">a wave you are<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">philosophy of firmament<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">an apple you are<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">the soundtrack of a documentary<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">the shape of stride<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">a critical time<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">a comforting time<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">conjectured contour of a distant continent<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">a sylvan symphony<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">a sound sleep<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">the fate of the sun<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">a soft cittern<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">a land of fjords<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">a cave a mountain<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">the nahuatl answer<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">arte povera<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">arte ricca<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">love’s delivering<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">love is dying<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="center"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX57E-cXy3yaMC8HQ02RHfQQ__ph1zmCYyBy5EYC3L2Tt3Sv-njSyNn2ysKJa0NADYualHFj_FMYMJV7079lLcCjZgO3YkKOXEfosjg6r_3qXP7oZNqZQO0Cq8-IEqKY9w-2mDpk8qwJcx/s1600-h/bazgrolikwark204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX57E-cXy3yaMC8HQ02RHfQQ__ph1zmCYyBy5EYC3L2Tt3Sv-njSyNn2ysKJa0NADYualHFj_FMYMJV7079lLcCjZgO3YkKOXEfosjg6r_3qXP7oZNqZQO0Cq8-IEqKY9w-2mDpk8qwJcx/s400/bazgrolikwark204.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-56292042421714651092008-09-27T17:59:00.015+02:002010-02-26T14:03:31.151+01:00TITUS LUCRETIUS CARUS - INCUBATIO<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Taoism might seem to express an approach towards fate that is similar in many aspects to that of Stoicism. However, it does so in a specific Chinese way of thinking, resulting from an utterly different attitude to the world.<br />
Whereas our - i.e. European - culture since time immemorial (since ancient Greeks – excluding Epicurus, perhaps - that is) sees rules, regulations and generalisations as the essence of learning, whose basic paradigm brings about absolute supremacy of abstraction over everyday experience, generalisation over individual being and rules over spontaneity, the way of Tao is anything but the aforementioned.<br />
Lao-tzu and Chuang-tzu, the mythical creators of Taoism, contrary to Stoics were not rationalists. The ultimate reality of or in Tao is an inexpressible and miraculous mystery. This attitude originates in mystic contemplation making it similar to the approach of an artist, whose main if not the only task is to try and unveil – for a fraction of a second at least – the mystery of existence to her or himself and in consequence to the other – a spectator, a reader, a visitor to a gallery or a listener. It is also free from European moralising. In stark contrast to our culture Taoism points to that aspect of human freedom which is best represented by spontaneity. Totally free and under no pressure Tao acts fully spontaneously in each and every second.<br />
As each and every being is unique all generalisations (including the one you are reading now) from moral to scientific to religious to philosophical to whatsoever are anything but true.<br />
Here again comes spontaneity, which means an existence beyond (not for or against) any rules or regulations and at the same time in unison with one’s own unique nature and the ever changing harmony of the chaos, which we have all agreed to call the world.<br />
Such an approach is rooted in and originates from disinterested contemplation (Thomas Aquinas' <em>visio</em> echoes beautifully here, I believe. Strangely enough).<br />
Seconds out then…</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><strong>Driftwood</strong><br />
<br />
It’s no real change to forget setting the sun<br />
And wake up to a warmer cup of tea<br />
A silhouette in the doorway<br />
I get laid again<br />
I lie down to rest<br />
So I’m here still surrounding<br />
And the sound is coming closer<br />
And the edge is being sharpened<br />
And a dream<br />
A pitch dark dream<br />
And I drench the dream and drift<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
It may be a cruel month<br />
Prospects are hanging in anticipation<br />
<br />
At the river we were lurking in twilight<br />
The bank swam up and I leaned my chin against it<br />
<br />
Mutterings of long gone moods<br />
Departed in disappointment<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
There’s a chair sitting in the room<br />
The table’s stretching its legs out<br />
All the other ones are absorbed<br />
In chores and sucking pleasure it is<br />
I who does not belong<br />
<br />
It all began so wanly later<br />
I welcomed other shades for scrutiny<br />
And then disharmony was caused<br />
The basic colour stayed on divided<br />
Up into seconds isolated sounds<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Sitting down in a chair ain’t no answer<br />
An apple nowhere near rough estimate<br />
So impressions have grown into the mind<br />
Appearing as reality.<br />
This way no answer has been offered.<br />
Is the night leaving? Or is it just breathing<br />
And rambling? Thoughts heaped up<br />
Have gone berserk and flashed.<br />
Perverse recurrence of questions<br />
And heavy twilight where one could<br />
Make out things that otherwise might<br />
Just as well have stayed unnamed. Lies<br />
Resurrected and spread all over. Guts<br />
Dispersed with digestion. This is how<br />
Vague reality unveiled what was too obvious<br />
To be one<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
It may well be assumed<br />
That the sun carves its own shape<br />
Apart from preposterous assumptions<br />
In deepest black which does not need a god<br />
With crops galore in store<br />
<br />
The weary greed of explanation<br />
Fiddling in someone else’s pockets<br />
And even a thirst for tea isn’t given time<br />
For completion and in the brightness of the night<br />
They kill infants incessantly conceiving new ones<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
When the eyes drowned<br />
The so much hated world in despair<br />
In hysterical laughter there occurred to be<br />
A little room for disbelief<br />
Whose other end vanished in the dark<br />
Where moments fought and trod on one another<br />
They later perched on branches meant just for them.<br />
The mouth<br />
Devoured the laughter and agreed to be stroked<br />
By disbelief that<br />
Right there was their shape<br />
<br />
***</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYBzTH8E-oISwyQemN74S4VKfdGiyeD-O_OChcuJ_IFbbdAeUUrvLtJYLZQ8Ek_uGRM70krr44VwHbGGtGEsnkDdOATOQY2Msd33x99oVnRxmzAcDxF7UlBzQtDHjTUvnB2ZZbIp6eKfC/s1600-h/clip_image002.jpg"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYBzTH8E-oISwyQemN74S4VKfdGiyeD-O_OChcuJ_IFbbdAeUUrvLtJYLZQ8Ek_uGRM70krr44VwHbGGtGEsnkDdOATOQY2Msd33x99oVnRxmzAcDxF7UlBzQtDHjTUvnB2ZZbIp6eKfC/s1600-h/clip_image002.jpg"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYBzTH8E-oISwyQemN74S4VKfdGiyeD-O_OChcuJ_IFbbdAeUUrvLtJYLZQ8Ek_uGRM70krr44VwHbGGtGEsnkDdOATOQY2Msd33x99oVnRxmzAcDxF7UlBzQtDHjTUvnB2ZZbIp6eKfC/s1600/clip_image002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257014567721321698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYBzTH8E-oISwyQemN74S4VKfdGiyeD-O_OChcuJ_IFbbdAeUUrvLtJYLZQ8Ek_uGRM70krr44VwHbGGtGEsnkDdOATOQY2Msd33x99oVnRxmzAcDxF7UlBzQtDHjTUvnB2ZZbIp6eKfC/s320/clip_image002.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Fairfield Porter, <em>Apples and Roses,</em> Oil on Canvas, 1967</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">How is it possible you ask</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Well,<br />
You wake up in the morning<br />
And the first thing you feel<br />
Is subtle rosiness of roses<br />
Annoying gall cuts thru from behind<br />
The room is tumbling somewhere into greyness<br />
In the background<br />
Massive serenity floats down<br />
From the indifferent roof onto<br />
Lustful apples and right there<br />
Unmarked<br />
Blood is carried<br />
<br />
You say it should be marked anew but<br />
I suppose<br />
A sketch is more important<br />
Incomplete<br />
Without exaggerated beauty </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I had invented an utterance that commenced</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And completed. In the pitch dark</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Rustling noises of the coming</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And going. The words focusing in</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Focusing out. Somewhere, in the middle,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The sense weighted the</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> presence. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The sentence was ready</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">To disappear leaving unconsciousness</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">A little anxious and comforting.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">No more noise.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Intuition, unaccentuated, devoid of</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Intonation</span></div>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3544641455756427523.post-49793006427008738282008-09-22T19:13:00.001+02:002009-01-07T01:29:46.725+01:00GEOGRAPHY OF LIGHT<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWUNUVl_8L1SGkfx5NUzFCPMOxifMSjYsktrsmxYdHwSweGfN-ccvLudl-1Zjvbz22t1cMvnx9Kvslx2xgTzmyt3TexbyipXnyjs-BKX207_TlG57hDjApQdh3iAj7AI6p9eZBE9SCa47/s1600-h/richtercandle1.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249161099143082802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWUNUVl_8L1SGkfx5NUzFCPMOxifMSjYsktrsmxYdHwSweGfN-ccvLudl-1Zjvbz22t1cMvnx9Kvslx2xgTzmyt3TexbyipXnyjs-BKX207_TlG57hDjApQdh3iAj7AI6p9eZBE9SCa47/s320/richtercandle1.bmp" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: left"></div>what is it? well, contrary to popular belief there is a plethora of answers, most of them confusing and none satisfying enough, methinx.<br />let's just consider several suggestions off the cuff.<br />- is it a candle 'burning bright in the shadows of the night'? well it is and of course it isn't. do u fancy open flame inside your hardware?<br />- sure, it is a snapshot of an object made of stearin (a glyceryl ester of stearic acid, derived from animal fats created as a byproduct of processing beef used as tallow in the manufacture of candles). well partly, as it is not a photograph; <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWI48CICqvyxvbUt2HXyWxZn1h4SOaBnxLEpOUVDXnmVi5FtK1iF0ywRgYonvIY9kQV6_gf1NS1_ydqb026C5OljemzM-3hdKHRLG01-ydkJo1NDGdHvNMVDsMcUJ7UHu1hq-7mmrBN964/s1600-h/richtercandle.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249161103171887266" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWI48CICqvyxvbUt2HXyWxZn1h4SOaBnxLEpOUVDXnmVi5FtK1iF0ywRgYonvIY9kQV6_gf1NS1_ydqb026C5OljemzM-3hdKHRLG01-ydkJo1NDGdHvNMVDsMcUJ7UHu1hq-7mmrBN964/s320/richtercandle.bmp" border="0" /></a><br />- yes it is a sought-after artifact - oil on canvas by gerhard richter, or rather its representation on a computer screen as i still have to wake up in the middle of the night at the break of dawn to earn a living, so no it's not a richter at all;<br />- yes it is one ray of light (an idealised beam) after another leaving signals for the eye to detect them;<br />- it surely is a result of billions of actions taken unconsciously by somebody called me so that eventually i could realise i'm LOOKING AT SOMETHING and name the agent, the action, the object and the relationships within the holy trinity;<br />- it is a lie of the mind (Lie of the Mind - a brilliant collection of plays by Sam Shepard, a must);<br />- nothing is real everything is possible - William S. Burroughs;<br />... and it has only just started ...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD21whY46wXZvNLHA9jE9jgINYcYVn96A6R2K3J64QcL8FRlLGvJHVFWsoJWWU-SF_CzEgpHBGISeQUNTz7jTUXvZvx5lZvuTZbY8kUFj9_gKH8GPUGW9l83Nze8qzuhQ_L-YFDclOkxzu/s1600-h/richtertwocandles1.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249161111749779026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD21whY46wXZvNLHA9jE9jgINYcYVn96A6R2K3J64QcL8FRlLGvJHVFWsoJWWU-SF_CzEgpHBGISeQUNTz7jTUXvZvx5lZvuTZbY8kUFj9_gKH8GPUGW9l83Nze8qzuhQ_L-YFDclOkxzu/s320/richtertwocandles1.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: left"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"></a></div>piotrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05158942474011115240noreply@blogger.com1