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life is bewildering. my aim here, mostly, is to add to the general bewilderment
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July 6, 2009 at 6:08pm Comments
July 6, 2009 at 11:48am Comments
"So there I was, a few minutes ago, all set to write about the anniversary of the moon landings when I opened the paper only to discover everyone else in the world has written about the anniversary of the moon landings. Seriously. There were articles written by Englishmen, Scotsmen, Irishmen and women. Unending spools of text composed by Capricorns, octogenarians, sailors, bison, foetuses still in the womb, individual gas molecules, you name it. Even the odd astronaut chipped in. There hasn’t been this much talk about moonwalking since Michael Jackson died."
—
i love the last line. there hasn’t been this much talk about moonwalking since michael jackson died
July 5, 2009 at 10:09am Comments
don’t recognize it? it’s the other side, the one that faces away from us.
July 5, 2009 at 10:08am Comments
July 5, 2009 at 9:47am Comments
July 5, 2009 at 9:44am Comments
i’ve always thought that the lunar landings were a monstrous waste of resources, that they were irrevocably inked with cold war one-upmanship, and the arms race.
scientifically, far more has been acheived with unmanned space exploration. but that moment when neil armstrong, clambered down those steps, and fluffing his one great line, ‘one small step for [a] man’ it really did look like a giant leap for mankind. perhaps it’s just that conspiracy theories are more exciting than banal truth. that what seemed to be so, actually might be so.
what i’ve never understood tho’ is the determination of some people to refuse to believe it all happened. the objections are flimsy at best. i am interested in why there is this dogged refusal to believe it.
July 4, 2009 at 10:11am Comments
id
so alan johnson is now telling us that id cards are simply a practical aid in the fight against identity theft. i would have thought that more papers represented more opportunities for fraud, not less, but what do i know.
id cards are to be brought in on a voluntary basis he says. they are to be elective
more blairite third-way-ism here: no id cards, compulsory id cards, elective id cards.
so, it wasn’t about threats to national security and terrorists after all. it’s about the cost to the economy of identity theft, which according to johnson costs the uk economy £1.2 billion each year (and if ever there was a figure plucked out of the ether, this is it)
the fact they expect us to cough up thirty quid for these things adds insult to injury.
laugh? i almost voted tory.
July 3, 2009 at 11:45am Comments
July 3, 2009 at 10:47am Comments
for free elections in iran
July 3, 2009 at 9:38am Comments
July 3, 2009 at 8:25am Comments
July 1, 2009 at 8:52pm Comments
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
June 27, 2009 at 11:51am Comments
perhaps the most famous tango of all - la cumparsita - performed by anibal arias
June 27, 2009 at 10:38am Comments
to the barbican last night to see what’s left of the bandoneonistas and other musicians of buenos aires and the rio del plata’s golden age of tango, known collectively as cafe de los maestros. the combined age of this gradually dwindling group would take them back to the middle ages.
i was particularly struck by the plaintive and still powerful singing of juan carlos gardoy - now a very frail old man whose movements onto the stage were painfully slow and mechanical. yet he sings with such intense conviction that he held the full house of the barbican in his hand.
there was also the playing of anibal arias - a virtuoso of tango guitar.
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