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Wednesday, November 9th, 2016
I woke up on the wrong side of history.
posted morning of November 9th, 2016: Respond
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Sunday, October 30th, 2016
If Never Let Me Go and Infinite Jest had a baby, it would be episode 2 of Black Mirror: Fifteen Million Merits.
posted morning of October 30th, 2016: Respond
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Friday, October 28th, 2016
Mirá / estas cenizas / que fueron en otro tiempo mi cuerpo / lo que has abrazado fuerte / en otro tiempo / sientelas caerse / estas cenizas / entre tus dedos. Escuchá / al bosque / silencioso.
Scattering
Look, now/ at these ashes / that used to be my body / you held me tight / used to / Now feel them falling / these ashes / between your fingers. Listen / to the silent / forest.
posted evening of October 28th, 2016: Respond
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Thursday, October 20th, 2016
A friend just now described a blister's shape as "a laconic Nike swoosh" -- and he was quite right, too, that's what it looked like. And I had indeed just had in mind that very image, without having been able to name it, and replied, "I had that exact thought except without the eloquence!" He: "I feel that way when I read books I like" and the scales fall from my eyes!
posted evening of October 20th, 2016: Respond
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Sunday, October second, 2016
I would have written several enthusiastic posts raving about Josh Fruhlinger's new novel (his first), The Enthusiast. It is such a treat.
posted afternoon of October second, 2016: Respond
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Saturday, September 24th, 2016
A meme going around Facebook asks us to describe our own identity using 3 fictional characters. Mine? K. (Amerika), Ka (Snow), Kate (The Enthusiast).
posted afternoon of September 24th, 2016: Respond
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Friday, September 23rd, 2016
"If an infinite number of rednecks riding in an infinite number of pickup trucks fire an infinite number of shotgun rounds at an infinite number of highway signs, they will eventually produce all the world's great literary works in Braille. "
posted afternoon of September 23rd, 2016: 1 response
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Sunday, May 22nd, 2016
The unfamiliar world instruments story continues... For my birthday last week, Ellen and Sylvia gave me a dilruba, northern Indian fiddle with a neck similar to a sitar's neck (although the sound is pretty different from a sitar's).  An unusual thing about this instrument: Its bowl body is carved from a block of wood, not separate ribs bent and glued together. It is pretty heavy, but easy to hold since it rests on the floor. The bow ("gaz") is horsehair strung on bamboo, much tighter than the hair on a violin bow and without the mechanics -- the frog is just a piece of wood attached to the bow with twine, and does not tighten/loosen. The gaz is light as a feather and balanced perfectly. Bowing technique is very key; it is easy to just produce a dissonant scratching/buzzing tone if you are not holding the gaz just right. (Holding it right so the note rings, there is still a scratch/buzz element to the sound, but it does not overwhelm.)
The dilruba ("दिलरà¥à¤¬à¤¾â€¬" in Hindi means "heart-stealer") has in common with the erhu, that there is no fingerboard; strings are stopped with just the finger rather than pressed between the finger and something solid. Although the frets are exactly like a sitar's frets, you don't press the string against the fret. I've found the clearest and truest tone comes from fingering the side of the string -- this way you can touch the fret to keep your finger accurately positioned, and can stop the string without bending it. Here is a recording of "Country Honk":
posted morning of May 22nd, 2016: 1 response
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Thursday, March 31st, 2016
My latest unfamiliar instrument arrived in the mail this evening --
posted evening of March 31st, 2016: 4 responses
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Tuesday, February 16th, 2016
In the hallway he saw a poster: he was indeed approaching the exhibit. Paul Jackson Pollock, American Painter. He could see it at the end of the corridor, bursting riotously out of the doorway, lashing him with its lunacy — it looked to him like one of Van Gogh's stars had spun out of its orbit and smashed to pieces, cracked against the wall before him like an enormous egg. With a wary step he entered Pollock's kingdom.
--Marta Aponte, 1955: Lavender Mist
via GIPHY
posted evening of February 16th, 2016: Respond
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