I'm Sam Bell

Dwa tygodnie samotnosci, zupelnie jak Sam Bell na Ksiezycu. Mieszkanie przypomina baze, zamiast pokoi sa bloki sypialne, dzienny, kuchenny i sanitarny. Kazda rozmowa przez Skype jest jak transmisja z innej planety, kazde wyjscie z domu to misja. Wieczorem gasze swiatlo, i tak przez okna i sufit wpada go tyle, ze mozna funkcjonowac. Dzisiaj chyba pelnia, ksiezycowa atmosfera.

Ja tez nie

Potrzeba bylo tygodnia sniezyc, by to do nich dotarlo.

I'm a PC

ale rozważam zmianę po tym jak przeczytałem to:

Why I Take Good Care of My Macintosh

By Gary Snyder

Because it broods under its hood like a perched falcon,

Because it jumps like a skittish horse and sometimes throws me,

Because it is poky when cold,

Because plastic is a sad, strong material that is charming to rodents,

Because it is flighty,

Because my mind flies into it through my fingers,

Because it leaps forward and backward, is an endless sniffer and searcher,

Because its keys click like hail on a boulder,

And it winks when it goes out,

And puts word-heaps in hoards for me, dozens of pockets of gold under boulders in streambeds, identical seedpods strong on a vine, or it stores bins of bolts;

And I lose them and find them,

Because whole worlds of writing can be boldly laid out and then highlighted and vanish in a flash at “delete,” so it teaches of impermanence and pain;

And because my computer and me are both brief in this world, both foolish, and we have earthly fates,

Because I have let it move in with me right inside the tent,

And it goes with me out every morning;

We fill up our baskets, get back home,

Feel rich, relax, I throw it a scrap and it hums.

Po przesluchaniu kilku plyt rocznik '09

Meczy mnie powierzchownosc i pesymizm wspolczesnej muzyki, jej kompletny brak przekonan, calkowita koncentracja na mrugajacym swiatelku disco, jakby nic innego juz nie mialo sensu. Poetyka taniego burdelu.