The lunatic on the moon

Bob Jon Bowl
- the breast Ibies

All

The gods I worship

On the Internet, the Information Highway and how they will affect the future of movies.

1.

JEAN-LUC GODARD: “I am a total ignoramus on that front, mon ami. I don’t know what it is, I already have a hard time dealing with the “Play” button on my VCR. I can no longer even iron my clothes: too many buttons to the iron. Although, hopefully, I still have a fair number of years to live, I hope the police won’t force me to use a computer. Don’t forget highways were invented by Adolf Hitler and a few others of the same ilk. I don’t think a highway helps knowing and appreciating a landscape. Same thing, for me, applies to the “information highway”.

“In today’s configuration of cinema, I think my films, and those of Jean-Marie Straub, Jean Vigo, John Casavetes, may be less seen than they used to be, since it’s technology – CD-ROMs, the Internet – that will determine “the classics,’ the ‘necessary’ films, unless Cinemathèques and Film archives manage to protect them, but they’re so weak, and cinema is not, like painting, a ‘fine’ art. No Cinemathèque can be as successful as the Louvre Museum, simply because cinema, as it was born, and born only a hundred years ago, is still a mechanical art…” More

2. SOJOURNER TRUTH

“Ain’t I a Woman”
Delivered 1851
Women’s Rights Convention, Akron, Ohio

Well, children, where there is so much racket there must be something out of kilter. I think that ‘twixt the negroes of the South and the women at the North, all talking about rights, the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what’s all this here talking about?

That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain’t I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man – when I could get it – and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain’t I a woman?

Then they talk about this thing in the head; what’s this they call it? (A member of audience whispers, “intellect.”) That’s it, honey. What’s that got to do with women’s rights or negroes’ rights? If my cup won’t hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn’t you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?

Then that little man in black there, he says women can’t have as much rights as men, ’cause Christ wasn’t a woman! Where did your Christ come from? Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it, the men better let them.

vid.

Comfortably Numb

- this is not how I am

aAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaAaaAaAaAaAaAaaAaAaAaAaAaaAa
A’VE BECOME
comfortably numb

aaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lego is a man White and Brown

a deep bright orange
an outer space helmet
a car of broken bricks
a house set a piece
Lego is an old friend

Hanna is a lego a friend
a glass of orange
a rice of dishes
A star struck nerd
A boy in my boy in my old class

Hanna is a great cup

Hanna is a great cow

Hanna is a great guy

Hanna is neither you nor I

A boy by my house
A house by the hill
A hill below the sea
A sea of gulls and horses

Hanna is a cat in her house
A brown fur coat on a black swan

Hanna is

a red sweater,
brightly hung
on a tree branch
in a winter forest

Hanna is….Hanna isn’t.
Ha. Hanna is a…
Hanna, –

—- Hanna has got to come to an end

But only if
Hanna were a journey
on a road
like tarmac in earth

Or Perhaps, and maybe
If Hanna were a relationship,
One which edges on to never tip over
Causing all involved and mid-circle
to suffer a pain of disinterest
disregard
disdain
dis-love-lost-cannot-be-dis-retrieved
dis continual

Yet, Hanna could, and most likely is,
the eye on the bull
the red spot wheel
on a train cart.

That train which never stops
Ever
never whistles
Ever

If only Hanna were a word i cannot find to write
For I cannot write
anymore-

Many more days i have wondered if typing, was never to be.
no buttons, white on black
no letter pressed words, eyes blind translucent
If there were be only just pens in ink
felt to the touch;
would Hanna then come to an end

Would this be it
A commonplace
Just space
Pink noise,
A blue wander?!

Hanna is an idea
in this
My blog post

So, so you think you can tell…

Friday Poetry night was a SLAM

Pink Floyd Rocks

Radio Head Are this times Genius

And; People- Everyone, Everywhere should once in their life time come to Venice at the End of the Black Plague.
Saturday night was Very Memorable.

Reminder to self; I live in Italy!!!!!!!!!!

“Can I take a photo of your nipple?”- for a project

I never really think of my breasts
not in the detail of skin texture, colour, nipple placement
or shape….

is it just me

…. the only time i think about my breasts is when i threaten to not
wear a bra. and even then, i never think about them in any detail

what is it

was in hospital yesterday
i was dying
poor carol and elena. they freaked out
so much that carol continued to inform me of
how many people she knows that have died in hospitals….

i didnt die…
one day i will, just not yet

POETRY NIGHT

Night: THIS FRIDAY

Space: GABO-BRYCE-PAULO’S HOUSE……

Theme: Psychedelia

-melting faces, chiming church towers, veins creeping with ants crawling out
of their eyes to his hairs. A bridge on his nose, a roller coaster time machine
Beautiful devils on a blade stick
And ofcourse; the girl of her long breast. and sharp toes

Imaged ripped from Here

Ps; you dont have to be there if you really dont wanna.

-Phoebe

….this is will be the Gabo send off party. Translation; more of Pablo Neruda will be read this time- and Ezra Pound

Copy Paste Day!!!!!-

……. its hard

Oh, who did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one ?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded in hatred
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

And what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son ?
And what’ll you do now my darling young one ?
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the deepths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my songs well before I start singin’
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

The Free Wheeling