Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
I love the Just Blaze / Bleek / Free track (I almost said 'joint' with no reservations whatsoever but then decided that noticing that I was going to say it without reservations was still a reservation, somehow) that Jess tipped (er there it goes again with the reservations and not) me to, inadvertently, a while ago, that I am anxious to hear everything on his list (that I haven't already heard - 'Goodies' is inconsequential but pleasant, especially in the way it refracts off of every other single beat in its little Lil Jon family). Especially 'Frei / Hot Love' - is this the same 'Frei' from Kompakt Total 5 or so?
There have been, obviously, technical problems.
Joel's phone company is to blame.
Everybody seemed to be after us
even the manufacturers
wouldn't press our disc
you know it wasn't fair
fuck everybody who worked there!
The actual film site for The Ister is probably a little more illuminating than that news story.
This is exciting! Though for some reason the note that Terence Malick was a Heidegger scholar before becoming a filmmaker is more exciting than the other dudes' film. Which is, though, as I say, still exciting apart from Terence Malick's being a Heidegger scholar once.
NB: I saw twenty minutes of a Terence Malick movie once. It was nice. That's all I can say with authority.
'There's no part of that sentence I didn't like.'
'We have stopped reading, we have not the time. Our mind is solicited simultaneously from too many sides: it has to be spoken to quickly as it passes by. But there are things that cannot be said or understood in such haste, and these are the most important things for man. This accelerated movement, which makes coherent thought impossible, may alone be sufficient to weaken, and in the long run utterly to destroy, human reason.'
Crystal left for work at nine. When she called later in the day I found that I had bundled all the blankets into a person-shaped lump to lie beside.
Three things, in particular, that caused me to cry this week:
1. the end of the Futurama episode in which Frye trades hands with the Robot Devil so that he can get good at the holophonor, where after everything has fallen apart and he's once again musically retarded, he plays the ending of his opera just for Leela and the image his playing creates is of a scrawled kids-drawing Frye and Leela holdings hands
2. imagining the glee with which Tarantino must have ordered the return to large-sized titles for the name actors like Sonny Chiba in the opening credits to Kill Bill - as in, holy crap, oh my god, look who I got! (just look, for confirmation, to the way he enthuses over Hero, which by the way he well should)
3. the sublimity of the beginning to the rooftop duel between the Bride and O-Ren, when the Santa Esmerelda cover of 'Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood' is playing; here as over and over again during the movie, I feel as if every single little thing was made to meet my own personal artistic and critical ideals, to satisfy even my most personal tastes