Nothingness encapsulated. You won't feel a thing.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

I read the news today oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph

He blew his mind out in a car
He didn't notice that the lights had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared
They'd seen his face before
Nobody was really sure if he was from the House of Lords.
Here's to you, Nicola and Bart
Rest forever here in our hearts
The last and final moment is yours
That agony is your triumph

Friday, February 18, 2005

Seu Jorge, as Pelé dos Santos, translated, adapted, and performed eleven David Bowie songs for us in Portuguese. He sang on the decks of our ship, the Belafonte, while we where running at full steam on the open sea; he sang from the stage of an opera house in Naples; he sang on our studio sets at Cinecitta; and he played one song sitting on the roof of a lighthouse we had built next to a medieval castle. I tried to understand the Portuguese. Thinking on the lyrics in English, I asked, "Jorge, which word means 'cigarrette'?" because none of them sounded anything like it. He nodded and said something very poetic about friendship and hope and the future — but no 'cigarrette'. I took a minute and thought about this, and then I said "OK, but every once in a while add in a 'Rebel Rebel', will you?" I never read any complete translations, but in the end I am convinced that Jorge's words — and unquestionably his beautiful performances— captured the spirit of David Bowie's. Exactly what we were looking for.
Think of all the animals you've ever heard about
like rhinoc'ruses and tigers cats and mink
There are lots of funny animals in all this world
But have you ever seen a panther that is pink?


A panther that is positively pink,

Well here he is, the pink panther,
The rinky-dink panther,
Isn't he a panther ever so pink?
He really is a groovy cat,
and what a gentleman, a scholar, what an acrobat!

He's in the pink - the pink panther
The rinky-dink panther,
and it's as plain as your nose,
that he's the one and only, truly original,
Panther-pink (panther) from head to toes!

Saturday, February 12, 2005

Aunque no llegaba a los extremos de esas personas que son incapaces de describir ninguna acción aislándola de una actividad general —esa clase de gente que para decirte que han entrado en una casa tienen también que explicarte que se limpiaron los zapatos, golpearon con el picaporte, empujaron la puerta y entraron, y la puerta se cerró detrás de ellos—, Mayol había pasado a pertenecer —tal vez influenciado por mis palabras de la noche anterior cuando le dije que la vida de alguien no existía si no era narrada y fijada en un papel— a esa clase de individuos que creen que cada escena de su vida es un gran acontecimiento del que hay que narrar una gran parte de los pensamientos, palabras y acciones que contiene.

Friday, February 11, 2005

Smautf has calculated hat in 1978 there would be two thousand one hundred eighty-seven new members of the sect of The Three Free Men, and, assuming none of the older disciples dies, a total of three thousand two hundred and seventy-seven keepers of the faith. Then things would go much faster; by 2017, the nineteenth generation would run a more than a thousand million people. In 2020, the entire planet, and well beyond, would have been converted.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

From this, we made a deduction which is quite certainly the ultimate truth of jigsaw puzzles: despite appearances, puzzling is not a solitary game: every move the puzzler makes, the puzzle-maker has made before; every piece the puzzler picks up, and picks up again, and studies and strokes, every combination he tries, and tries a second time, every blunder and every insight, each hope and each discouragement have all been designed, calculated, and decided by the other.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

En la plenitud del sueño, se despertó. Eran las cinco de la madrugada, abandonó el hotel. Dejándose llevar por su excepcional capacidad para hundirse, sintió que él era la Atlantida misma y que, en el breve tiempo de una noche, temblaba entre terremotos e inundaciones y, dejando atrás la sardana extraña, iniciaba su último descenso y, en una inmersión muy vertical, se hundía en su propio vértigo y llegaba el país donde las cosas no tienen nombre y donde no hay dioses, no hay hombres, no hay mundo, sólo el abismo del fondo.

—Al fin— murmuró Mayol.

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