Didi Bruckmayr, “Mrs Big Love”.
Future Islands, “In The Fall”.
Rashaad Newsome, Shade Compositions, 2009.
http://www.rashaadnewsome.com/
Ludwig van Beethoven’s Große Fuge, opus 133, accompanied by an animated score.
Fabien Giraud + Raphaël Siboni [feat. Human Mincer], “As We Were Looking For The Shape Underneath We Fell Upon Monochromatic Vexations”, 2010.
The Sparks, “This Town Ain’t Big Enough For The Both Of Us”, in The Culture Show, BBC, 2008.
Lying under the rug, breathing carpet smell, tasting the gunny, dust choking the lashes and irking the eyes. “Hey! This carpet’s not quite flat,” come the voices as they trip across the room in their stilettos to the window, spilling their glasses and crocking their ankles, me grinning like mad.
— Ivor Cutler, A Wet Handle, Arc Publications, 1996.
André Foisy, After The Prophecy, Land Of Decay 013, 2010 (250 copies).
http://soundcloud.com/landofdecay/track-1-the-great-disappointment
http://landofdecaycatalog.blogspot.com/
Black To Comm, “Hotel Freund”.
We now settled into a routine which has ever since served in my mind as an archetype, so that what I still mean when I speak of a “normal” day (and lament that normal days are so rare) is a day of the Bookham pattern. For if I could please myself I would always live as I lived there. I would choose always to breakfast at exactly eight and to be at my desk by nine, there to read or write till one. If a cup of good tea or coffee could be brought me about eleven, so much the better. A step or so out of doors for a pint of beer would not do quite so well; for a man does not want to drink alone and if you meet a friend in the taproom the break is likely to be extended beyond its ten minutes. At one precisely lunch should be on the table; and by two at the latest I would be on the road. Not, except at rare intervals, with a friend. Walking and talking are two very great pleasures, but it is a mistake to combine them. Our own noise blots out the sounds and silences of the outdoor world; and talking leads almost inevitably to smoking, and then farewell to nature as far as one of our senses is concerned. The only friend to walk with is one (such as I found, during the holidays, in Arthur) who so exactly shares your taste for each mood of the countryside that a glance, a halt, or at most a nudge, is enough to assure us that the pleasure is shared. The return from the walk, and the arrival of tea, should be exactly coincident, and not later than a quarter past four. Tea should be taken in solitude, as I took it as Bookham on those (happily numerous) occasions when Mrs. Kirkpatrick was out; the Knock himself disdained this meal. For eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably. Of course not all books are suitable for mealtime reading. It would be a kind of blasphemy to read poetry at table. What one wants is a gossipy, formless book which can be opened anywhere. The ones I learned so to use at Bookham were Boswell, and a translation of Herodotus, and Lang’s History of English Literature. Tristram Shandy, Elia and the Anatomy of Melancholy are all good for the same purpose. At five a man should be at work again, and at it till seven. Then, at the evening meal and after, comes the time for talk, or, failing that, for lighter reading; and unless you are making a night of it with your cronies (and at Bookham I had none) there is no reason why you should ever be in bed later than eleven. But when is a man to write his letters? You forget that I am describing the happy life I led with Kirk or the ideal life I would live now if I could. And it is essential of the happy life that a man would have almost no mail and never dread the postman’s knock.
— C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life, Mariner Books, 1966.
Daniel Lopatin’s video for oOoOO’s “Seaww”.
Every night we’d go to the deli up the street at about 3 AM (he lived in this tear between Brooklyn and Queens), put down three dollars each for a Ginger Ale and a black-and-white cookie. Then we’d walk back to the apartment and argue feminist theory or which half was better, black or white. Then we’d watch TV shows on the Internet for a long, long time, until one or both of us suffered the illusion that we were tired (…)
— Alex Niedenthal, “The Divot” (on Kevin Sampsell’s A Common Pornography), The Rumpus, 21/01/2010.
http://therumpus.net/2010/01/the-divot/
Sun Araw, “Horse Steppin’”.
Under rolling green hills, positrons were speeding through the world’s longest linear accelerator; in towers high above the palm trees lay the complete Paris files of the Russian Imperial secret police. Stanford was essentially the opposite of a colonial New England lumber mill.
— Elif Batuman, “Confessions of an Accidental Literary Scholar”, The Chronicle Of Higher Education, 07/02/2010.
http://chronicle.com/article/Confessions-of-an-Accidenta/63882/
Pina Bausch, “Nelken” (“Les Œillets”), 1983.
