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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

Salty

Video concept: Kazu

Realized, filmed and edited by Paride Ambrogi and Jonas Renner

Font artwork: Adam Guzman

 

Kazu Makino - CS60, Loops, Vocals

Ryuichi Sakamoto - Piano, Chimes, Triangle, Loops

Mauro Refosco - Percussion

Ian Chang - Sunhouse Percussion

Sam Griffin Owens - tape loops

 

where were them, my eyes?

let my mind fall in, head to toe

all i would see now...you

eyes talk my mind

led by whatever you do...move

playful chords mane

 

i let you choose them one more

eyes talk

i bet you’re salty

led by led

whatever you choose...move (headless horse)

 

eyes talk my mind

 

led by whatever you do

 

move

 

playful chords i let you choose them one more

 

eyes talk

 

i bet you’re salty

 

led by led

 

whatever you choose….move

 

 

you はやく会おう

 

hurry up どうしても

 

馬を🐎

 

ひとりじゃいや

 

好きだ

 

はやく会おう

 

馬を🐴

Monica Youn - Drawing for Absolute Beginners

     Take any desired height, or place points for
     top of head and heels. Divide into eights. . . .
 

8. Head tilted back between the headboard slats. Eyes glass boxes
    filling up with light. Later, drained to a blue-gray, the color of
    good government.
 
7.  Thus, we see that commodification is a function of local necessity.
     a.  As Angelenos collect percolating shade in shallow pans, to
          leach the arsenic out of the light.
     b.  “And then I buried it.”
          “Where, exactly? And when?”
          “In the chest. Insertion point at the base of the throat. You
          were still asleep.”
          “But what is it, exactly? I mean, I can’t figure out its precise
          extent. I mean, I can feel it there sometimes, like stitches, or
          sometimes like a flanged or branching bone.”
 
6.  Cross-hatchings of street noise and the Minotaur with his boy’s
     body. Narrowing. Rib cage the verge of a canoe. Armpit a whiff of
     pencil lead.
 
5.  “If you want to fuck me with that bottle, Mr. Arbuckle, best take
     the foil off first.”
 
4.  osculation:
     a.  The act of kissing. A kiss.
     b.  Math. A point where two branches of a curve have a common
          tangent and extend in both directions of the tangent.
     c.  To the ankles. Or to the knees. Or just unzipped enough.
 
3.  Charmeuse chemise. A shuddering fall. Miss Adelaide Hall on
     the chaise longue singing I ain’t much caring / Just where I will
     end. Then jerked upright, skirt hiked to the knee, that bridge
     stretching out under every skip-step. Slaphappy scat-puppet of
     the fixed smile, the meanwhile, Ain’t got nobody to love now.
 
2.  The bone begging bowl. The foot that pushed it away.
 
1.  “I want to leave you exactly as I found you.”

Current Mood (Pocket Symphony)

Pocket Symphony is the fourth full-length album by French duo Air. The album was released in March 2007 and features collaborations with Jarvis Cocker and Neil Hannon. Pocket Symphony also incorporates some of the Japanese instruments Godin recently learned to play from an Okinawan master musician: the koto (also referred to as a Japanese floor harp) and the three-string, banjo-like shamisen. However, a press release claims that "conventional instruments continue to play a great role" in the duo's music. The album features art by Xavier Veilhan.

Laura Pannack

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’I learn most when I walk with a camera; about myself and the company I share. I engage. I stop mentally. I listen.’

Laura Pannack is a London-based, award-winning photographer. Renowned for her portraiture and social documentary artwork, she seeks to explore the complex relationship between subject and photographer. 

Terra

Quando eu me encontrava preso

Na cela de uma cadeia

Foi que vi pela primeira vez

As tais fotografias

Em que apareces inteira

Porém lá não estavas nua

E sim coberta de nuvens...

 

Terra! Terra!

Por mais distante

O errante navegante

Quem jamais te esqueceria?...

 

Ninguém supõe a morena

Dentro da estrela azulada

Na vertigem do cinema

Mando um abraço prá ti

Pequenina como se eu fosse

O saudoso poeta

E fosses a Paraíba...

 

Terra! Terra!

Por mais distante

O errante navegante

Quem jamais te esqueceria?...

 

Eu estou apaixonado

Por uma menina terra

Signo de elemento terra

Do mar se diz terra à vista

Terra para o pé firmeza

Terra para a mão carícia

Outros astros lhe são guia...

 

Terra! Terra!

Por mais distante

O errante navegante

Quem jamais te esqueceria?...

 

Eu sou um leão de fogo

Sem ti me consumiria

A mim mesmo eternamente

E de nada valeria

Acontecer de eu ser gente

E gente é outra alegria

Diferente das estrelas...

 

Terra! Terra!

Por mais distante

O errante navegante

Quem jamais te esqueceria?...

 

De onde nem tempo, nem espaço

Que a força mande coragem

Prá gente te dar carinho

Durante toda a viagem

Que realizas no nada

Através do qual carregas

O nome da tua carne...

 

Terra! Terra!

Por mais distante

O errante navegante

Quem jamais te esqueceria?

Terra! Terra!

Por mais distante

O errante navegante

Quem jamais te esqueceria?

Terra! Terra!

Por mais distante

O errante navegante

Quem jamais te esqueceria?...

 

Nas sacadas dos sobrados

Da velha são Salvador

Há lembranças de donzelas

Do tempo do Imperador

Tudo, tudo na Bahia

Faz a gente querer bem

A Bahia tem um jeito...

 

Terra! Terra!

Por mais distante

O errante navegante

Quem jamais te esqueceria?

Terra!

Blood

L.A. based cellist, singer and producer Kelsey Lu shares a breathtaking performance of ‘Blood’, the stunning title-track from her debut album.

Philip Metres - When I Was a Child, I Lived as a Child, I Said to My Dad

Saint Paul was a jackass, my father muttered,
keystroking his tank into position in “The Mother

 

Of All Tank Battles.”  I turned back to the screen,
maneuvering pixilated tanks.  Each arrow key

 

altered trajectory, each cursor tap a tank blast.  Fast-
forward two decades: in a cubicle outside Vegas,

 

Jonah joysticks his Predator above Afghanistan,
drone jockey hovering above a house on computer screen.

 

He knows someone’s inside.  Is it his target?  Who else
inside—cooking, crawling—will not outrun his digital will?

 

He is cross-hairs and shaking frame.  Stone implosion.
He watches the collapse replay onscreen, then

 

heads home.  Pizza.  Diaper rash.  Removes a thumb
from his toddler’s sleeping mouth.  Again, no sleep….
                                                                                          Our game’s

 

quaintly obsolete.  On mailboxes around our neighborhood,
our beagle would sign his line of piss, which said: it’s good

 

to be alive and eating meat.  He was adding to the map
that we can’t see, liquid notations on our suburban escape.

 

At Great Lakes Naval Base, my father imagined permutations
of disaster.  We were Region Five.  Coordinates run,

 

scenarios conceived, New Madrid fault lines, the possible
flood of Des Plaines, a tornado’s blinding spiral

 

rolling its dozer across the plain.  No preparing for it,
just to pick up what remained.  If a nuclear bomb hit

 

Chicago, the epicenter here, he’d draw concentric circles
radiating, a pebble disturbing the mirror of a lake.  Each circle

 

meant a slower death.  Between us and them, the Wall
was a mirror reflecting us and nothing beyond.  The whole

 

world was what the mirror hung upon.  He showed me how
to hold a blade, how to watch my reflection for every nick, how

 

to cut my face without bleeding.  I bled.  I hooked my glasses
over teenaged ears.  Outside, the blur of lawn became grass,

 

each blade stabbing upward to light.  I thought I knew
we see as through a glass, darkly….   My frames have narrowed

 

to lenses eye-sized.  My myopia grows.  To see
what’s happening, I open a laptop, lean into the screen: