Friday, December 21, 2007

Signing off. Thankyou for everything. Goodnight and goodluck.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

If "Heart Chakra" had words...

As I am pulling back the strings within a section of the song
A dawn bends
Twilight holds a single E note (I was wishing B flat)
The moderation becomes a simulation
of a river
All orange and miopic as the mitzvah finds its way within the part
Of the enchanting third progression
Hands hitting skin, wind passing through channels
A cymbal, a manjira, a web spun like a chakra.
Its all quiet now. So quiet.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

I wish I had a back full of lead
I wish I was dead
:)

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize that only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.

- Anton Ego (Peter O'Toole), Ratatouille, 2007, Brad Bird (script)

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Mr. D has obviously changed our lives. Nothing will be the same again.

Monday, December 03, 2007

Analyse

A self-fulfilling prophecy of endless possibility
You roll in reams across the street
In algebra, in algebra

The fences that you cannot climb
The sentences that do not rhyme
In all that you can ever change
The one you're looking for

It gets you down
It gets you down

There's no spark
No light in the dark

It gets you down
It gets you down
You traveled far
What have you found
That there's no time
There's no time
To analyse
To think things through
To make sense

Like cows in the city, they never looked so pretty
By power carts and blackouts
Sleeping like babies

It gets you down
It gets you down
You're just playing a part
You're just playing a part

You're playing a part
Playing a part
And there's no time
There's no time
To analyse
Analyse
Analyse

----

One of the prettiest songs ever by Mr. Thom. x

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Lost