This is my favorite bronze statue of the main character in my favorite video game.
Video Game
Tuesday, December 28, 2010 | |
Trauriger Sonntag
Thursday, December 2, 2010 | |
"Gloomy Sunday" is a song composed by Hungarian pianist and composer Rezső Seress in 1933 to a Hungarian poem written byLászló Jávor (original Hungarian title of both song and poem "Szomorú vasárnap" (Hungarian pronunciation: [ˈsomoruː ˈvɒʃaːrnɒp]), in which the singer reflects on the horrors of modern culture.[1]
Though recorded and performed by many singers, "Gloomy Sunday" is closely associated with Billie Holiday, who scored a hit version of the song in 1941. Owing to unsubstantiated urban legends about its inspiring hundreds of suicides, "Gloomy Sunday" was dubbed the "Hungarian suicide song" in the United States. Seress did commit suicide in 1968, but most other rumors of the song being banned from radio, or sparking suicides, are unsubstantiated, and were partly propagated as a deliberate marketing campaign.[2] Possibly due to the context of the Second World War, though, Billie Holiday's version was banned by the BBC until the turn of the century.[3]
-from Wikipedia
Also, there was a German movie (2003) about 'Gloomy Sunday' called: Ein Lied von Liebe und Tod which means, a song of love and death. I recommend it. Here is a clip:
Earth
Sunday, October 10, 2010 | |
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/79/Geological_time_spiral.png
HOWL
Wednesday, September 22, 2010 | |
For Carl Solomon
I
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blur floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,
Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.
II
What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
III
Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland
where you’re madder than I am
I’m with you in Rockland
where you must feel very strange
I’m with you in Rockland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I’m with you in Rockland
where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries
I’m with you in Rockland
where you laugh at this invisible humor
I’m with you in Rockland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
I’m with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio
I’m with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses
with you in Rockland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica
I’m with you in Rockland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx
I’m with you in Rockland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss
I’m with you in Rockland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse
I’m with you in Rockland
where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void
I’m with you in Rockland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha
I’m with you in Rockland
where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb
I’m with you in Rockland
where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I’m with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep
I’m with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we’re free
I’m with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night
San Francisco, 1955—1956
This is turning into a movie
More on Howl here
Elizabeth Warren hired in DC
| |
"On September 17, 2010, Warren was named a special adviser by President Obama to oversee the development of the new consumer protection agency. Her position will include the responsibility of recommending a director for this new entity, although it is unclear whether Warren will be in the running for the director position."
-Wikipedia.
Twins
| |
Visual Music
Music: Girl/Boy (18£ Snare Rush Remix)
The basic visual pattern was made with a scripted flocking algorithm, which was rendered and manipulated afterwards.
Gostip
| |
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5ives
Friday, July 9, 2010 | |
5 seconds project - Countdown
Directed by
Raoul Paulet
Music by
Vittorio Giampietro
Evan Contini
Relax
Thursday, July 1, 2010 | |
We have several HD Stockshots from South Africa. Ideal footage for your 2010 FIFA World Championship Football productions! See selection of our clips at: global-dvc.org/pond5.asp Cape Town, KwaZuluNatal, KrugerPark, Dance, TownShips etc.
My friends (very polite but very poor) from a township called Khula (sheds without water and electricity) just outside villacity St.Lucia KwaZuluNatal South Africa. This group performs for tourist on restaurant terraces in St.Lucia and here at the arrivaldeck from a hippo boattour on St.Lucia River at sunset. They sing and swing really great just like the other famous Zulugroup Ladysmith Black Mombazo. This music style is called Isicathamiya. Made famous by Paul Simon. They rehearse a lot and we hope to make them famous also. Help them please if you can. Please also search for "Khula Happy Singers" on YouTube for our one year old clip as promo for a great and very affordable B&B in St.Lucia. Absolutely one of the best spots to spent a few weeks in Zululand, close to the best diving spots SodwanaBay, Elephant coast, birds (Trompetbills), monkeys, many wild Hippo's, Crocks and HluHluwe Imfolozi Safari Wildpark.
Never Trust Robots
Monday, June 14, 2010 | | Labels: Andrew Thompson, music, robot
Thanks to @Kerber from Hacking The Gibson on KNDS Radio, a community supported, commercial-free station in Fargo, ND for introducing us to Andrew Thompson's music.
Andrew Thompson - We're In Business (Music Video)
Lyrics:
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I"M GOING TO KILL YOU!
Andrew: OH MY GOD!
Andrew: What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew: I know you do
Robot: Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I"M GOING TO KILL YOU!
Andrew: OH MY GOD!
Never trust a robot(s)
Never trust a robot(s)
You might think that they are your friend
They'll only kill you in the end
Never trust a robot(s)
Never trust a robot(s)
Don't leave them with your kids
Don't invite them to play bridge
Never trust a robot(s)
You might think that they are your friend
They'll only kill you in the end
Never trust a robot(s)
Never trust a robot(s)
Don't leave them with your kids
Don't invite them to play bridge
Chorus:
Andrew:If you're a human being, we're in business
Andrew:If you are not a machine, we're in business
Robot: If you are not me?
Andrew:We're in business. We're in business
Andrew:If you're a human being, we're in business
Andrew:If you are not a machine, we're in business
Robot: If you are not me?
Andrew:We're in business. We're in business
Don't take them along for trips
They might posion your bag of chips
Never trust a robot(s)
Never trust a robot(s)
Don't take them with you to work
They just might go berserk
They might posion your bag of chips
Never trust a robot(s)
Never trust a robot(s)
Don't take them with you to work
They just might go berserk
Robot:Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot:Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot:Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot:Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What is it Robot?
Robot:YOUR ASS IS MINE!
Andrew:OH MY GOD!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot:Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot:Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What's up Robot?
Robot: I love you!
Andrew:I know you do
Robot:Hey Andrew!
Andrew:What is it Robot?
Robot:YOUR ASS IS MINE!
Andrew:OH MY GOD!
Chorus:
Andrew:If you're a human being, we're in business
Andrew:If you are not a machine, we're in business
Robot: If you are not me?
Andrew:We're in business. We're in business
Andrew:If you're a human being, we're in business
Andrew:If you are not a machine, we're in business
Robot: If you are not me?
Andrew:We're in business. We're in business
Robot: Come on outside! I brought you a lollipop. Oh, what? This? It only looks a laser gun that kills people! Hahahaaaaa!
Musicians Minds
Tuesday, May 25, 2010 | |
“David Byrne: Interview” (12:36) Lynne NearyHost Lynne Neary’s talk with the head Talking Heads, ends up with her answering his questions. From 1984, the “Stop Making Sense” movie and Speaking in Tongues album had just been released.
“A musicians’ guide to warming up” (3:40) Musicians In Their Own WordsSurveying the sonic spectrum of musicians warming up for a performance. We hear old-time singer Abigail Washburn, concert pianist Lang Lang, Brazilian singer Flora Purim, mezzo-soprano Cecilia Bartoli, Tuvan rocker Albert Kuvezin, singer songwriters Gillian Welch and Dar Williams, bel canto tenor Lawrence Brownlee, and cellist Yo-Yo Ma. Montage by David Schulman
“Cecilia Bartoli: Interview” (4:05) Musicians In Their Own WordsOne of the world’s great operatic singers explores what it means to approach the human voice as an instrument — like a trumpet or violin, produced by David Schulman.
“Negativland: Interview” (14:35) John RiegerThe cutup artists, Negativland, chew up and spit out the media, turning their NPR interview into audio art; accompanied with excerpts from their 1987 Escape from Noise.
“Mickey Hart: Interview” (10:16) Barrett GoldingThe former Grateful Dead drummer and respected ethnomusicologist takes us on an audio tour of his extensive worldwide percussion collection. He talks about the rhythm “timeline” from his 1987 book and CD Planet Drum: A Celebration of Percussion and Rhythm.
Some Movies Worth Watching
Monday, May 17, 2010 | |
12 Monkeys
3:10 to Yuma
A Beautiful Mind
A Bookshelf on Top of the Sky
A Clockwork Orange
A Prairie Home Companion
A River Runs Through It
A Scanner Darkly
A Simple Curve
Ace Ventura: Pet Detective
Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls
Amelie
American Beauty
American History X
American Masters: Andy Warhol
An American Tail: Fievel Goes West
An Inconvenient Truth
Antares
Art in the 21st Century: Seasons 1 and 2
Babel
Back to the Future
Back to the Future Part II
Back to the Future Part III
Be Here to Love Me
Be Kind Rewind
Being John Malkovich
Being There
Bela Fleck: Throw Down Your Heart
Big
Big Fish
Big Love: Season 1
Billy Madison
Bio-Dome
Biography: Ben & Jerry
Black Hawk Down
Blood Diamond
Blow
Bomb It
Born Into Brothels
Broken Flowers
Bruno
Burn After Reading
Cast Away
Catch Me If You Can
Charlotte's Web
Che
Cheech & Chong's Up in Smoke
Children of Men
Chocolat
Citizen Kane
Coffee and Cigarettes
Coming to America
Coneheads
Conspiracy Theory
Contact
Cool Runnings
Copyright Criminals
Coraline
Cosmos: The Complete Collection
"Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon"
Danielson: A Family Movie
Days and Clouds
Days and Clouds
Delicatessen
Deliver Us from Evil
Deliverance
Desperate Man Blues
Donnie Darko
Donnie Darko: Director's Cut
Dr. Strangelove
Dumb and Dumber: Unrated
E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial
Eastbound and Down: Season 1
Eldorado
Elephant
Elizabeth
Elling
Encyclopedia Asthmatica: Vol. 1
Enemy at the Gates
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Everest: IMAX
Everything Is Illuminated
Face/Off
Factory Girl
Fahrenheit 9/11
Fargo
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
Fight Club
Finding Forrester
First Knight
Flight of the Conchords: Season 1
Flow: For Love of Water
"Food, Inc."
Four Brothers
Friday the 13th
Futurama the Movie: Bender's Big Score
Futurama: Into the Wild Green Yonder
Futurama: Vol. 1
Futurama: Vol. 2
Futurama: Vol. 3
Futurama: Vol. 4
Garden State
Genghis Blues
Ghost World
Ghostbusters
Ghostbusters 2
Ghosts of Cit_© Soleil
Gladiator
Gladiator: Extended Edition
Glass: Portrait in Twelve Parts
Gonzo
"Good Morning, Vietnam"
"Good Night, and Good Luck"
Good Will Hunting
Grass
Half Nelson
Happy Gilmore
Happy-Go-Lucky
Harry and the Hendersons
Hated - G.G. Allin & the Murder Junkies
"Hawaii, Oslo"
"He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not"
Hedwig and the Angry Inch
Helvetica
High Fidelity
Hook
Hotel Rwanda
Howl's Moving Castle
I Am Because We Are
I Heart Huckabees
I Know I'm Not Alone
"I, Robot"
I'm Not There
In a Dream
Independent Lens: Between the Folds
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
Inside Deep Throat
Into the Wild
Iraq for Sale: The War Profiteers
It's All Gone Pete Tong
Jackson Pollock: Love and Death
Jesus Camp
Jumanji
Juno
Kids
Kinamand
Kinsey
Labyrinth
Lemony Snicket: Unfortunate Events
Liar Liar
Little Miss Sunshine
"Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels"
Lomax: The Songhunter
Lost in Translation
Man on Wire
Manda Bala
Manufactured Landscapes
Manufacturing Consent: Noam Chomsky
March of the Penguins
Maria Full of Grace
Mark Twain
Matchstick Men
Matilda: Special Edition
Me and You and Everyone We Know
Memento
Metalocalypse: Season 1
Moog
Mr. Holland's Opus
Mrs. Doubtfire
Napoleon Dynamite
National Lampoon's Animal House
Nick Drake: Under Review
No Country for Old Men
Noam Chomsky: Rebel Without a Pause
"O Brother, Where Art Thou?"
Office Space
Ohm+: The Early Gurus of Electronic Music
O'Horten
Once
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Osama
Outfoxed: Murdoch's War on Journalism
"Paris, Je T'aime"
Patch Adams
Pay It Forward
Persepolis
Pete Seeger: The Power of Song
Phenomenon
Philadelphia
Pi
Pirates of Silicon Valley
Pollock
Powder
Princess Mononoke
Raiders of the Lost Ark
Rain Man
Raising Arizona
Ralph Nader: An Unreasonable Man
Remember the Titans
Requiem for a Dream
Rescue Dawn
Revenge of the Nerds
Rudy
Run Lola Run
Runaway Jury
Saving Private Ryan
Scratch
Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus
Seven Years in Tibet
Short Circuit
Shortbus
Sicko
Simon Birch
Slap Shot
Snatch
Spellbound
Spirited Away
Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Star Wars: Episode III
Starting Out in the Evening
Stranger than Paradise
Sunshine Cleaning
Super Size Me
Sweet Land
"Synecdoche, New York"
Syriana
Ten Canoes
Thank You for Smoking
The Believer
The Boondock Saints
The Bothersome Man
The Breakfast Club
The Conscientious Objector
The Corporation
The Count of Monte Cristo
The Cruise
The Darjeeling Limited
The Devil and Daniel Johnston
The Devil Came on Horseback
The Edge
The Endurance
The Fifth Element
The Five Senses
The Fountain
The Game
The Golden Compass
The Good Shepherd
The Green Mile
The Illusionist
The Jacket
The Karate Kid
The Kingdom
The Ladykillers
The Land Before Time
The Last Samurai
The Legend of 1900
The Legend of Zorro
The Life and Times of Allen Ginsberg
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
The Machinist
The Mask
The Mask of Zorro
The Matrix
The Men Who Stare at Goats
The NeverEnding Story
The Reader
The Royal Tenenbaums
The Science of Sleep
The Seventh Seal
The Seventh Seal
The Shawshank Redemption: Special Edition
The Singing Revolution
The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Terminal
The Thin Red Line
The Waterboy
The Weather Underground
The Wind That Shakes the Barley
The Work of Director Chris Cunningham
The Work of Director Michel Gondry
Thelma & Louise: Special Edition
There Will Be Blood
This American Life: Season 1
This American Life: Season 2
This Is Spinal Tap
Three Amigos
Thumbsucker
To Kill a Mockingbird
Toys
Trainspotting: Collector's Edition
Tremors
Tropic Thunder
Trouble the Water
Twister
V for Vendetta
Viva Cuba
Walk the Line
Wallace & Gromit: Three Amazing Adventures
WALL-E
Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price
Water
Weird Science
Wendy and Lucy
Where the Wild Things Are
Where the Wild Things Are
Who Killed the Electric Car?
Who the #$&% Is Jackson Pollock?
Wild China
Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory
Wordplay
Wristcutters: A Love Story
3D Mandelbrot Sets...
Sunday, May 16, 2010 | | Labels: 3d modeling, chaos, fractals
This is my first post to the Citizen Analog blog. I wanted to post something that was utterly engaging to me, and hopefully to the readers. Behold, chaos and order in practice:
(Source) Mandelbulb: The Unravelling of the Real 3D Mandelbrot Fractal
Leave it to leavity
Friday, May 14, 2010 | |
[Mix engineer] Anyone who records and mixes professionally has done this at least once in their career—you tweak a snare or vocal track to perfection only to discover later that the EQ was bypassed the whole time. Or you were tweaking a different track. And if you’ve been mixing and playing around with … whether you’re a professional or just a hobbyist, if you’ve been doing this for a few years and you haven’t done that, then you’re lying. Yet you were certain you heard a change! Human auditory memory and perception are extremely fragile, and expectation bias and placebo effect are much stronger than people care to admit.
link
The Sale
Wednesday, May 12, 2010 | |
Michael Una's rather convincing sell of a optical theremin, quite impressive actually.
A demo video of my new Beep-it, which has a fancy-lookin' laser-cut case, and a 2nd oscillator for LFO action.
These fine devices can be found at a Boutique called Transistor, 5045 N. Clark in Chicago.
FSF
Monday, April 12, 2010 | |
Fifth Floor 51 Franklin St, Boston, MA 02110 (617) 542-5942The Free Software Foundation (FSF) is a nonprofit with a worldwide mission to promote computer user freedom and to defend the rights of all free software users.
Support freedom
Toi Toi Toi
Saturday, April 10, 2010 | |
toi toi toi on an evening that followed a day of both triumph and decay, for what, reaching out seems to backfire, it almost seems like there is some sort of backlash as to what is going on. Repercussions of actions that need to forward thought and the need to get feedback. I understand that I am being asked to break the law, I am not willing to do such things for you. This is unexpected but I must save face, there is always something in the way, it comes down to somebody giving you incorrect information and you need to rely on it because people are expecting action, if I am willing to push for something to happen then lets make it happen, I like to call in support as that is my role. The large round asshole showed up and people listened, yet I have difficulty getting through, We all know there is a respect issue and that is fine I am not bothered by that but at the same time the show must go on. Fat men talking about food, the way of the way of the way of the way of the way of the way of the way of I just realized that I was intending on keeping a morning journal and that didn't last that long but that month was a very fruitful one I perhaps should return. I am going to begin, yet I am my own censor so I must not tell to much, battles were won today, there will not be work on my account you can understand that much, yet the need to produce seems to come from nowhere, bread that is amazing. I will be here shortly and the money owed will stick around longer but my life is short and opportunity is all around and must be capitalized upon because opportunities are scarce and spelling is difficult. It would be in my interest to pursue something of a caliber that would enable me to create, I would like to create some things and share them with fellow people yet the opportunity to do such things seems to be scarce. I need to follow up on creativity I am expressed on things and perhaps I am expecting that people with short should have long I am looking for models and I am finding them everywhere. Money,time,ideas, pick 3, what is the rational behind the region of Regina. Look to make connections and follow up on them a Sobczak was requested at two different venues a trip to Japan on the horizon along with some sort of travel to middle of the world and a trip to another place and fun times a world of wonder in a world where need is wanted but unable to connect with me. Exploration and thus a reason to show and reading reasons and getting feedback to stay in your hole, yet continually forging ahead. I need to take time and yet I am quite busy yet I have some time and I am wasting it with the job yet I need to be able to support the future that I have I need to figure out how to take care of myself, that said I think that I do a good job but my eyes are not that good I need to get them checked and then I can move and save face in Tennessee I would like to reach out I am not going to stand there and listen to such things I will ask what was it like, tell me about, what is the story where you can you elaborate will you let me hear you talk about that time care to share a story let us together chip our teeth toi toi toi.
Give Up Your Secrets
Friday, March 19, 2010 | |
According to recent reports the Turritopsi nutricula,
...is capable of cycling from a mature adult stage to an immature polyp stage and back again, there may be no natural limit to its life span.
Turritopsi nutricula, on the other hand, can regenerate its entire body over and over again.
What? Read here.
Balancing Rocks
Thursday, March 18, 2010 | |
Wiki:
The Balancing Rocks are a geological formation found in the township of Epworth, southeast of Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. It is a formation of rocks perfectly balanced without other supports. They are created when ancient granite intrusions are exposed to weathering, as softer rocks surrounding them erode away.
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