Someday, somewhere — anywhere, unfailingly, you’ll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.
Archive for September, 2011
Posted in art, Books, Drawing, Ink, Poetry, Quotes, Writing, tagged Drawing, Ficciones, Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths, Orbis Tertius, plane, san francisco, Tlön, Uqbar, working woman on September 27, 2011| Leave a Comment »
In Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius by Borges, we find the description of a hrönir.
In the most ancient regions of Tlön, the duplication of lost objects is not infrequent.
Two persons look for a pencil;the first finds it and says nothing; the second finds a second pencil, no less real, but closer to its expectations.
These secondary objects are called hrönir and are, though awkward in form, somewhat longer.
The methodical fabrication of hrönir (says the Eleventh Volume) has performed prodigious services for archaeologists.
It has made possible the interrogation and even the modification of the past, which is now no less plastic and docile than the future.
Curiously, the hrönir of second and third degree –the hrönir derived from another hrön — exaggerated the aberrations of the initial one;
those of fifth degree are almost uniform; those of ninth degree become confused with those of the second;
in those of the eleventh there is a purity of line not found in the original. The process is cyclical: the hrön of twelfth degree begins to fall off in quality.
Stranger and more pure than any hrön is, at times, the ur: the object produced through suggestion, educed by hope.
Things become duplicated in Tlön; they also tend to become effaced and lose their details when they are forgotten.
A classic example is the doorway which survived so long as it was visited by a beggar and disappeared at his death.
At times some birds, a horse, have saved the ruins of an amphitheater.
Ficciones, Jorge Luis Borges
As I was grading students’ work today….butterflies came to greet me. These are my favorite flowers, the teacher’s apples.
Posted in Drawing, Ink, sketchbook, Spontaneous Constructs, Thought in the Alley, Thoughts in the alley, tagged art, Drawing, inexistent, ink, letters, mailbox, unanswered, unopened on September 20, 2011| 2 Comments »
You can write anytime you like,
But you can never reach.
Posted in Architecture, architecture, art,poetry,writing, Cures for the Nothing, Photography, photography, Poetry, Writing, writing, tagged 2011, bankers hill, blackout, caffe' letterario, city, espresso, Hillcrest, iniziative letterarie, José Luis González, La Noche que Volvimos a Ser Gente, people, Photography, Poetry, san diego, september 8, The Night We Became People Again, urban moments, Walking on September 11, 2011| Leave a Comment »
It has been ten long days since my last post, ten days of travels, of letters written and not sent, of (re) search.
In the middle of it all, I experienced the ‘biggest blackout in the history of San Diego county’. Thursday, September 8th, 2011, power went off for millions of people in Southern California, Baja California and Arizona. No ATM’s , shuttered stores, nowhere to buy food or water in a world where, when the machines stop, the city stops. The blackout lasted for almost nine hours, from 3.30 Pm till just before Midnight, and it was all it took to plunge my two neighborhoods in an atmosphere that was at times apocalyptic, at others, surreal, magical, “european”. Beyond the novelty, even excitement, felt by some there were people trapped in high-rise elevators, in trolley cars over canyons, in mid-rise buildings without water. It was a time where everything stopped and a battery radio and candles (my only emergency preparedness) help whiled away the hours. It was a movie. And a dream.
Before I share what I have been working on in the past few days, here is my dispatch from the Blackout and some urban moments caught on camera.
PS: From http://www.nakedtranslations.com/en/2004/entre-chien-et-loup nakedtranslations.com:
Entre chien et loup is a multi-layered expression. It is used to describe a specific time of day, just before night, when the light is so dim you can’t distinguish a dog from a wolf. However, it’s not all about levels of light. It also expresses that limit between the familiar, the comfortable versus the unknown and the dangerous (or between the domestic and the wild). It is an uncertain threshold between hope and fear.
The night we saw the stars.
Full moon, venus, motherlight.
Flaws and flames
It is so quiet
we can hear ourselves
If the end of the world comes
I want you to know
We are fine.
Read ”La Noche que Volvimos a Ser Gente”or “The Night We Became People Again” by José Luis González, a short story on the big blackout in New York City.
If you are left with a battery powered CD player when the world ends- and speak italian- you could do worse than listen to Caffe’ Letterario.