The Tower of Babylon

Kula Babilonska

Nove šuze! - New shoes!
[info]bakho
 :love:

Got them today. And they weren't that expensive either!


Kupio sam ih danas! I nisu bile toliko skupe! 
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Stipendije u birokratiziranom postkomunističkom pseudokapitalizmu
[info]bakho
[bureaucracy rant]

Jučer sam saznao da je do 5. ovog mjeseca otvoren natječaj 'za najbolje studente' zagrebačkog sveučilišta. Uvjet za prijavu je bio da nisi brucoš i da imaš prosjek veći od 4.0. I tako sam ja, student u konstantnoj kroničnoj besparici, odlučio probati se prijaviti.

Ono zbog čega me na samom početku počeo oblijevati hladan znoj je sama količina papirologije koju sam pretpostavljao da ću morati sakupiti - u jednom danu. I zaista, instinkt jednog mladog Hrvata koje se par puta sukobio sa monumentalnim, mastodontskim hrvatskim birokratskim aparatom zaista nije pogriješio.

Prva postaja - računovodstvo vrtića u kojem majka radi. Dvadeset minuta sjedenje u uredu (unatoč tome što sam bio najavljen par sati prije), dok su me sve mamine kolegice obilazile i uzdisale uz 'gledaj kako je velik' ili 'koliko sad godina imaš uopće' ili 'a znači, to je neka stipendija' itd. Nakon te prvoklasne jutarnje torture, odlazim sa komadom papira na kojem piše iznos mamine tromjesečne plaće sa žigom računovodstva. Tri stanice autobusom, 6-7 tramvajskih stanica i 4 kata liftom kasnije, u računovodstvu sam doma zdravlja u kojem otac radi. Tamo su mi odmah dali papir koji sam trebao pokupiti - znači, imam potvrde o tromjesečnim prihodima cijelog kućanstva.

15 tramvajskih stanice dalje, i vožnja autobusom od par minuta (uz desetominutno čekanje za bus za kampus), u studentskoj referadi sam. Tamo srećem kolegicu koja prolazi kroz istu kalvariju kao i ja, i ona me informira o tome da mi je potrebna još jedna glupava potvrda o socijalnom statusu - nešto što se zove 'izjava o broju članova domaćinstva' ili nešto tako. No dobro. Za početak, nemam taj formular, što znači da moram u Narodne novine po taj formular. Narodne novine su deset stanica tramvajem od kampusa (i ta famozna vožnja busom do same tramvajske stanice). Naravno, i kada nabavim taj formular, moram nekako stupiti u kontakt s mamom i tatom da mi daju svoje JMBGove (ili MBGove, pošto su jedinstveni matični brojevi građani izgubili onaj JEDINSTVENI u zadnjoj reformi našeg dinosaurskog sustava...zašto i kako? Da li su prestali biti jedinstveni? Nemam pojma). To predstavlja problem pošto a) nemam novaca na mobitelu niti za poruku, kamoli za poziv b) baterija na mobitelu je upravo na izdisaju. Na sreću, imam account na VIPovoj stranici s kojeg mogu besplatno slati poruke s kompjutera, pa šaljem poruku mami da sazna tatin (J)MBG i pošalje u jednoj poruci i svoj i njegov (da bi uštedio na bateriji).

Dok čekam poruku, ispunjavam prijavnicu za stipendiju (ime, prezime, adresa stanovanja, adresa stanovanja još jednom, adresa stanovanja treći put, ovaj put uz broj telefona u kući, informacije o studiju...blablablabla) i u referadi tražim da mi isprintaju ispis ocjena uz pripadajuće ECTS bodove. Sad, zanimljivost vezana uz taj ispis ocjena. Na njemu piše: [Ime Prezime] je upisan na Hrvatske studije sveučilišta u Zagrebu te i te godine u taj i taj semestar. Sve je uredno dao, ima super ocjene i sve bodove (i onda navodi ocjene...ovo je naravno parafraza pošto ne mogu citirati birokratski žargon jer bi mi mozak pregorio). I onda, uz to...ja moram predati JOŠ JEDNU POTVRDU O UPISANOM FAKSU:.....!!!!! Koju potvrđujem i ovjeravam na istom mjestu kao i taj ispis ocjena - u studenskoj referadi.

I tako. Sad imam kod sebe: prosjek tromjesečne plaće mame, prosjek tromjesečne plaće tate, ispis ocjena, potvrdu o studiranju, kratki životopis, formular o prijavi za stipendiju i izjavu o broju članova kućanstva. Sve zajedno sam u tramvajima, autobusima, računovodstvima i referadama proveo 6 sati ovo jutro da bi napokon došao do pisarnice rektumrata...pardon, rektorata i predao tu prokletu kovertu s tim prokletim papirima.

I najblaže rečeno, ako ne dobijem stipendiju, there will be blood. 

Sad, ako ovu cijelu priču sagledate iz perspektive da je naše sveučilište u zadnjih par godina uvelo najmoderniji (sic) informatički sustav praćenja ocjena i studenata, postavlja se pitanje...zašto ja moram nositi desetke jebenih formulara i potvrda iz jedne sastavnice sveučilišta u rektorat, kad bi oni to trebali moći napraviti sustavom koji je plaćen iz novca mojih jebenih školarina i iz državnog poreza koji plaćaju moji roditelji već 50 godina?

[/end bureaucracy rant]

***

Scholarships in bureaucratized postcommunist pseudocapitalism  

[bureaucracy rant]

I found out yesterday that you can apply for an 'University of Zagreb Best Student Scholarship' until the day after tomorrow. The entry criteria for applying was that you weren't a freshman and that your GPA was higher than 4.0 (our grades go from 1-5). And so I, a student in constant lack of money, decided to apply.

The thing that made me shiver from the start of it was the amount of paperwork I would probably have to do to apply - in one day. And indeed, the instinct of a young Croatian who already had his share of battles with the monumental, mastodon Croatian bureaucracy didn't fail me.

First stop - the accountant office of the daycare center where my mom works. Twenty minutes of sitting in the office (despite mom calling a couple of hours earlier and telling the accountant to prepare what I need), while all of my mom's colleagues kept popping in to see me and gasp over me with their 'see how he's all grown up now' and 'how old are you now' or 'so, you're getting a scholarship' etc. After the top notch early morning torture, I leave with a piece of paper which has my mom's average earnings in the last three months written on it and the accountant's stamp. Three bus stops, 6-7 tram stops and 4 floors by elevator later, I'm in the accountant's office of the health center where my dad works. There, I'm immediately given the paper I was supposed to pick up - so that means I have the last three months earning certificates of both of my parents.

15 tram stops, and a short bus ride later (with a ten minute wait at the bus stop for the campus), I'm in the office of the college administrator. There I run into a colleague of mine who's going through the same pains as I am, and she tells me I completely omitted the fact that I need yet another form of 'social status' - something they call 'a statement about the number of people living in a household' or something like that. Well, shit. For starters, I don't have the form, which means I have to go to buy it. The closest National Papers (that's a form shop type of thing where you buy bureaucratic crap like that) is a ten tram stop ride from campus. Of course, when I do get that form, I need to call my mom and dad so they can give me their JMBGs (or MBGs, short for 'unique main number of a citizen' but the JMBGs lost their 'J' which stands for unique sometime during the last reform of our dinosaur system...how and why? Did the numbers stop being unique? I don't have a clue). This represents a problem since a) I don't have any credit left on my cell phone, not even for a lousy SMS and b) my battery is low and is about to die. Luckily, I have an online account at the homepage of my cell company provider from which I can send a couple of free SMS every day, so I use the library comp at college to send a SMS to mom to find out what's her and dad's MBG and send it in an SMS to my cell (and not to call since my battery will die).

While waiting for the message from mom, I fill out the application form for the scholarship (name, surname, home address, home address once more, home address for the third time, this time with my home phone number, information about my college...blahblahblahblah) and in the administrator office I request a printout of the classes I've finished and the grades I got. An interesting snippet about that printout. On it, it's written: [Name Surname] is enrolled at the Center for Croatian Studies of the University of Zagreb in [year] and in that semester. He did all his uni obligations regularly, has a great GPA and all the ECTS points (and then it lists the grades...this, of course, is paraphrased since I can't quote the bureaucratic babble because my brain would fry). And then, with that printout....I have to include yet ANOTHER FORM WHICH CONFIRMS I'M A STUDENT....!!!!!! Which is certified at the same place as the grades printout - at the college administrator office.

And so. After all that hassle, I have: the certificate for my mom's income in the last three months, the certificate for my dad's income in the last three months, the grades printout, the cert that I'm a student, a short CV, the filled out application form for the scholarship and a filled out form testifying about the number of people living in our household. All in all I spent around 6h in trams, buses, accountant and administrator's offices this morning to finally reach the scholarship application office at the rectum's...err, rector's office and handed that damned envelop with all those damned forms.

And to put it lightly, if I don't get the scholarship, there will be blood.

When you look at this story from a standpoint which accounts for the fact that our uni started a state of the art (sic) online grade monitoring system for all the students years ago, one has to ask the question....why do I have to run around with a dozen fucking forms and certificates from one part of the uni to the rector's office, when they should be able to do that with one click of the mouse; which should be entailed by the system which was paid from the money I fucking paid in tuition costs and my parents paid in taxes to the state in the last 50 years or so?

[/end bureaucracy rant]
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An ad - Reklama
[info]bakho
 A HIV awareness ad that just cracked me up! Good job Frenchies!


Reklama za podizanje svijesti o HIVu na koju sam umro od smijeha. Dobar posao Frenchies! :D

Empty - Prazno
[info]bakho
Dani su mi prekratki. Već tjednima. Strka i zbrka, stalno neke obaveze, dogovori, ljudi koji računaju na tebe i očekuju. Stalno nešto čekaju. I iz dana u dan, kako se budiš, i ideš na autopilotu, obavaljaš sve te stvari, liježeš navečer opet u krevet i za par sati opet tako. Pretpostavljam da tužni ljudi, i ljudi kojima je život predosadan (prejednostavan) mogu misliti o stvarima o kojima ja mislim. Čak ni kada sam zauzet, ne mogu prestati vidjeti prazninu. Prazninu našeg vremena, ili života?

Prazno nebo
Antun Branko Šimić

Nebo je već dugo praznina
bez Boga i serafina,
beskrajna pustinja siva
kroz koju kadšto aeoroplan, grdna tica, pliva,

Ne lete više duše gore kao laste.
Čovjek u zemlju legne i sav se raspe.
K Bogu izgubismo pute.
Pjesnici stoje pred ništavilom, i ćute.

***
 
My days are too short. For weeks now. All the hassle, all the obligations, appointments, people counting on you and expecting. They're always expecting something. The days go by, as you wake up, on autopilot, do the things you have to do, lay in bed in the evening and in a couple of hours you do your thing again. I suspect that sad people, or people whose lives are too dull (too simple) can think about the things I think about. Even when I'm busy, I can't avert my eyes from the emptiness. The emptiness of our time, or our lives?

Empty Sky
Antun Branko Šimić

For a long time now the sky is empty
devoid of God or seraphs,
an endless desert of gray
rarely an airplane, the ugly bird, through it swims,

No souls fly there like they used to.
Men now lie in the dirt and crumble.
The ways to God are lost.
The poets stare at the abyss, in silence.
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Norveška šuma - Norwegian Wood
[info]bakho
Pročitao sam Norvešku šumu.

Ne mogu reći da sam čitao mnogo pisaca koji su još živi a za koje bi morao reći da su klasici. Što ćeš, ja sam žrtva mišljenja svih ostalih pa se samo mogu složiti sa desetljećima tradicije, a ne reći da je nešto klasik za vrijeme kad je tek nastalo. S tim se slažem s Nagasavom, jednim od odvratnih seronja iz Norveške šume koji kaže da on ne čita pisce od čije smrti nije prošlo bar trideset godina. Kaže on, ako su se uspjeli oduprijeti vremenu bar toliko, onda mora da su dobri. Ne bi se složio sa mnogo Nagasavinih stavova, ali eto: to je jedan od njih.

Priča počinje slijetanjem na hamburški aerodrom i sjećanjima. Ono što su za Prousta madeleine kolačići, to je za Murakamija Norveška šuma Beatlesa. Neću mnogo govoriti o samoj radnji, jer ne bi htio dati previše spoilera (iako, onima koji zaista planiraju pročitati knjigu, možda ipak predlažem da ne pročitaju cijeli post). Nekako, ta pjesma je započela i završila cijelu knjigu - ali ne na onaj neki kenjkav način kakav se često vezuje uz pjesme u koje ljudi ulažu puno osjećaja (to je naša omiljena pjesma, sjaj u oku i sva ta sranja) već više kao pozadina cijelog romana. Par dana prije smo sjedili kod mene u dnevnom boravku, i cura je pustila pjesmu s Youtubea pa sam ju čuo prije nego sam čitao. I kroz cijelo čitanje su me pratili ti neki magloviti akordi pjesme, koji su sve činili tako nestvarno i meko.

Roman je jedna velika priča o gubitku. Nije epska, niti nevjerojatno, niti što ja znam kakva. Ljudi u njoj nisu iznimni (u redu, možda su malo nevjerojatni baš zbog svoje neprilagođenosti), nego jednostavno pate. Čudno, to sam spomenuo u jednom postu prije, kako se danas teško prenose snažne emocije bez onog nekakvog teatralnog prizvuka. Jako često je svaka emocija gubitka koju čitamo ili slušamo negdje prekrivena tom patinom bespotrebne drame. Taj gubitak, tu sveprisutnu smrt koja je prisutna u životu čovjeka Vatanabe (glavni lik) opisuje kao prisustvo koje živi s nama od početka, do naravno, kraja. To su teške misli za osobu od 20 godina, no čim je to opisao kako je, sjetio sam se pjesme koju Murakami vjerojatno nikada nije vidio niti neće vidjeti, a pokušava reći istu poruku kao i smrt koja je rasla između Naoko i Vatanabea, i u njima. Tu pjesmu sam spomenuo, i preveo, već jednom; ali evo je opet da bude na istom mjestu kao i Naoko i Vatanabe:

Smrt i ja
Napisao: Antun Branko Šimić


Smrt nije izvan mene. Ona je u meni
od najprvog početka: sa mnom raste
u svakom času

Jednog dana
ja zastanem
a ona raste dalje
u meni dok me cijelog ne proraste
i stigne na rub mene. Moj svršetak
njen je pravi početak:
kad kraljuje dalje sama

 
U knjizi, ta smrt cijelo vrijeme raste sa likovima. Početak kraljevanja je u prvim odlomcima, kada Vatanabe opisuje Kizukijevu smrt i kako su je Naoko i on dalje nosili sa sobom kroz život. Ja, s druge strane, nisam cijelo vrijeme čitanja imao taj neki osjećaj fatalnosti nad glavom; nisam ni na trenutak strepio nad likovima i čekao kada će koji umrijeti. Ali sam kroz svaku stranicu, i svaki redak Vatanabeova života osjećao njegov gubitak.

Najjače slike nadmetanja između smrti i života, za mene, su bile scene seksa. Prvo me je nervirala stalna seksualna napetost koja se provlači kroz retke knjige, no kasnije sam ju shvatio na potpuno drugi način. U kontekstu gubitka, gubitka Kizukija, pa zatim gubitka Naoko; smrti Hatsumi; Midorinog oca; svi likovi koji su umrli su predstavljali jednu stranu, ili bolje reći smrt koja raste među nama, koja je uvijek tu i čeka da nas preraste. Seks je bio ta druga strana, mjesto gdje smrt raste - seks, za mene u toj priči, predstavlja život s kojim se sva ta smrt i sav taj gubitak miješa.

Naoko...nekako, na kraju sam ju prestao shvaćati kao osobu, a počeo shvaćati kao personifikaciju gubitka. Ona jest bila hodajuća i govoreća tuga nakon Kizukijeve smrti. I Vatanabe ju je morao pustiti da smrt ne bi zagušila i njegov život. Mislim da je to i Naoko znala.

 
 



I read the Norwegian Wood.

I can't say that I read many authors who are still alive and for whom I could say that they're classics. What can I say, I'm a victim of the opinions of others so I can only agree with decades of tradition, unable to say that something is a classic in a time when it was made. In that, I agree with Nagasawa, one of the pricks from Norwegian Wood who says that he doesn't read books written by authors who hadn't died at least 30 years ago. He says, if they succeeded to resist the ravages of time for at least that much, then they have to be good. I wouldn't agree with many of Nagasawa's opinions, but: this is one of those I would.

The story begins with a landing in Hamburg's airport, with memories. That what are madeleine cookies for Proust is Beatles' Norwegian Wood for Murakami. I won't say much about the story itself, so I would make too many spoilers (although, those who plan to read the book, I suggest you don't read the whole post). Somehow, that song begins and finishes the whole book - but not in that sappy way which is often associated with songs that mean much to people (oh, that's our favorite song, the eyes glisten and all that crap) but more like a background of the whole novel. A few days ago we were sitting in my living room, and my GF played the song from Youtube for me so I heard it before reading the book. And while I was reading it, those foggy sounds of the song followed me, making everything so surreal and soft.

The novel is one big story of loss. It's not epic, unbelievable or something like that. People in it aren't exceptional (maybe a bit considering their maladjustment), but simply suffer. Strangely, I mentioned this in one of my earlier posts, how hard it is to convey strong emotions nowadays without theatrics. That  loss, that all-present death in the lives of people Watanabe (the main character) describes like a presence which lives with us from the beginning to the end. Those are very difficult thoughts for a person of 20 years, no when he described it as it is, I remembered a poem which Murakami probably never saw or ever will. This poem tries to convey the same message as the death growing between Naoko and Watanabe, and in them. I mentioned this poem earlier, and translated it already; but here it is so it would be in the same place as Naoko and Watanabe:

Death and I
Written by: Antun Branko Šimić


Death is not outside me. It is in me
from the foremost beginning: it grows with me
in every moment

One day
I stop
And it still grows
in me until it grows through me
and reaches my fringes. My ending
is its beginning:
when it rules alone

In the book, death grows with the characters. The beginning of its rule is in the first paragraphs, when Watanabe narrates Kizuki's death and how Naoko and him carried it with them for the rest of their lives. I, on the other hand, haven't had the feeling of fatality during my reading; I didn't feel scared for the character or awaited their deaths with fright. But with each page, and with each line of Watanabe's life I felt his loss.

The strongest images of that battle between life and death, for me, were the sex scenes. At first, the sexual tension in the book unnerved me to no end, but later on I saw it in a completely different light. In the context of loss, loss of Kizuki, and then the loss of Naoko; the death of Hatsumi; Midori's dad; all the characters who died represented one side of it, or better said, they represented the death growing among us which is always here and patiently waits to grow through us. Sex is the other side, the place where the death grows - sex, for me in that story, represented the life with which the death is exists.

Naoko...somehow, in the end, I stopped seeing her as a person, and started seeing her as the personification of loss. She was the walking and talking sadness for Kizuki's death. And Watanabe had to let her go so death wouldn't suffocate his life too. I think Naoko knew that too.

 

You've applied the pressure/To have me crystalised
[info]bakho


 I picked up a new band from my brother's playlists on last.fm and it created quite a conundrum for me. I've listened to one of their songs a gazillion times in the last couple of days and it boils down to two interpretations:


Poll #1507980 The song is a metaphor for
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 1

Two lovers singing to each other (not much of a metaphore

View Answers

Yes
0 (0.0%)

No
0 (0.0%)

A duo between crystal meth (drug) and an addict

View Answers

Yes
1 (100.0%)

No
0 (0.0%)


To explain the second option:

The first stanza goes: You've applied the pressure/To have me crystalised/And you've got the faith/That I could bring paradise. This is the meth singing to an addict (the meth brings him paradise, it is crystallized, the addict has faith in it).

The second stanza: I'll forgive and forget/Before I'm paralyzed/Do I have to keep up the pace/To keep you satisfied (the addict singing back, the keeping up the pace and keeping it satisfied is directed at the meth, or better said, to his addiction which he has to keep sated).

Third stanza: Things have gotten closer to the sun/And I've done things in small doses/So don't think I'm pushing you away/When you're the one I've kept closest (the first two verses is the description of crystal meth burning in a pipe, the third and fourth describe the love/hate relationship of an addict to his drug).

These are the strongest references, but the other stanzas can be interpreted as such too.

I think I don't have to explain the first option, as it's quite obvious :P
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Poems about poets - Pjesme o pjesnicima
[info]bakho
Jedna od mojih omiljenih pjesama govori o pjesnicima. Dok ih ona slavi, ova druga govori o onoj tamnoj strani svih jadnika koji gore za svoje ideale. No nekako, i smisao je ideala da iza njih stoji groblje izgorjelih.





Les plaintes d'un Icare
Charles Baudelaire

Les amants des prostituées
Sont heureux, dispos et repus;
Quant à moi, mes bras sont rompus
Pour avoir étreint des nuées.

C'est grâce aux astres nonpareils,
Qui tout au fond du ciel flamboient,
Que mes yeux consumés ne voient
Que des souvenirs de soleils.

En vain j'ai voulu de l'espace
Trouver la fin et le milieu;
Sous je ne sais quel oeil de feu
Je sens mon aile qui se casse;

Et brûlé par l'amour du beau,
Je n'aurai pas l'honneur sublime
De donner mon nom à l'abîme
Qui me servira de tombeau.

PS
Nisam uspio naći prijevod, tako ako vam ne ide na francuskom bacite pogled na engleski dolje! Nisam imao duše izmesariti Baudelaira!

***

One of my favorite poems speaks of poems. While it celebrates them, this one speaks about the dark side of all the poor souls burning for their ideals. But somehow, the whole purpose of ideals is the cemetery of the burnt standing in their shadow.

The Complaints of an Icarus
Charles Baudelaire

The lovers of prostitutes
Are happy, healthy and sated;
As for me, my arms are broken
From having embraced the clouds.

It's thanks to the matchless stars
That blaze in the furthest skies
That my burnt-out eyes
Now see only memories of suns.

In vain I tried to find
The limits and centre of space;
Under some unknown fiery eye
I feel my wing breaking;

And, consumed by the love of the beautiful,
I shall not have the sublime honour
Of giving my name to the abyss
That will be my tomb.
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A mishmash - Od svega po malo
[info]bakho
Predsjednički izbori su blago rečeno zastrašujući. S jedne strane Milan Bandić Banditos, gradonačelnik Zagreba rodom iz bliske nam BiH, tipični korumpirani mafiozo sa kamenjarskim mentalitetom; s druge strane Ivo Josipović, fini rafinirani gospodin pravnik, profesor na zagrebačkom sveučilištu; bljedunjavi štreber bez karaktera ili ikakve snage ličnosti iza svojih riječi. Hvala Bogu da vjerujem da je reprezentativna demokracija hrpa govana, pa mogu mirne duše poništiti listić.

Nova godina. Najretardiraniji blagdan u povijesti modernog čovječanstva. Slavimo istek još jedne godine - samo životinja glupa poput čovjeka može slaviti to što mu je prošla godina života. I onda organizacija tih besmislenih tuluma i zabava i svega...prezirem Novu godinu. Da, ja sam tek dosadni cinik; ali mrzim Novu godinu. Zaista ju mrzim. Netko tko voli Novu godinu, neka mi molim vas objasni što ima pozitivno i dobro u njoj vrijedno slavljenja!

Imam puno posla, a nekako ne mogu ništa krenuti raditi. Par ispita odmah nakon praznika, dva seminara za napisati, jedan esej...a tako sam lijen. Nadam se da će me nešto lupiti u guzicu kroz par dana.

Za kraj, riječi Bertranda Russella; jer eto, o njima već razmišljam par dana. Možda dobijete i post o tome?
 
"Nemojte se bojati biti ekscentrični u mnijenju, jer svako mnijenje koje je danas prihvaćeno nekada je bilo ekscentrično."

***

The presidential elections are, to put it lightly, frightening. On one side we have Milan Bandić Banditos, the mayor of Zagreb, by birth from the near Bosnia and Herzegovina, your typical corrupted mafioso with a hillbilly mentality; on the other you have Ivo Josipović, an exquisitly refined mister attorney, a professor at the law school of the university of Zagreb; a bleak nerd without character or any strength of personality behind his words. Thank God for my opinion that representative democracy is loads of crap so I can cancel my ballot* with carefree ease.

New Year. The most nonsensical holiday in the history of modern man. We celebrate the fact that yet another year is gone - only an animal stupid as a human can celebrate the realization that yet another year of his life has gone by. And then the organization of the senseless parties...I detest New Year. Yes, I'm just another dull cynic, but I hate New Year. I really do. Somebody who likes New Year, please explain to me what's there positive and good in it worth of celebrating?

I have a lot to do, and somehow I can't make myself start anything. A couple of exams right after the holidays break, two seminars to write, one essay...and I'm so lazy. I hope something kicks me in the ass in the next couple of days.

And for the conclusion, a couple of words by Bertrand Russell; because I'm thinking about them for the last couple of days. You might even get a post about it?

"Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted was once eccentric."
 

*edited so I would not sound like a fundie 

 
 
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Avatar
[info]bakho
So.

I've seen Avatar the other day. Don't get me wrong, I was meant to see it. I'm what most people would qualify as a geek. Sci fi geek in particular. Now, the biggest budgeted sci fi movie ever made is ought to catch my attention. I've read stuff (and been bombarded with info by my movie buff geek friends) about Avatar's new camera technology. That's the thing that interested me the most about it at first. The last 3D movie I saw (that dinosaur documentary thing) didn't really impress me, since it was a glorified documentary with a few 3D effects worked into it. So I wanted to see if 3D's worth the cash when taken on a whole new level. I liked it, it saturated every second of the movie and fit in so well you stopped noticing it after a while because for those two and a half hours, you forgot that normal movies didn't put the actor in the same room with you. I call that a success of the technology. But that's not what made the biggest impression on me regarding Avatar.

I've read a couple of articles about the storyline and the 'world-building' of the alien planet in the movie. At first, it seemed oh so very old. 'Real scientists worked to make the ecosystem, creatures and the aliens believable and functional outside of Hollywood screen standards' - not really that impressive. Ever read Dune? Grand scale planetary ecosystem design isn't new; and I can hardly believe it can be done better than by FH.

Then I found out that the aliens were in fact three meters high blue skinned humans with a tail. Hmm. That's what irks me about sci fi movies, at least most sci fi movies. When they dabble into aliens they basically make slightly altered humans - inside and out. Without a Hainish Cycle explanation of the shared genetic background of all the races encountered in the universe, the laws of probability make it kinda unlikely that the hundreds of alien species evolved in the universe look, feel and think exactly like humans, except the ridges, earrings, strange hanging things on their heads, psionic abilities etc. I understand that, especially in case of a movie, people have a hard time empathizing with something in which they can't recognize two orbs above a ridge with two holes and a lip-smacker underneath i.e. the human face or something akin to it; and I understand that most sci fi authors try to explore elements of humanity through other races and civilizations. But in the end, every well developed science fiction race becomes a facet of humanity - Ferengi the exaggerated capitalists, Klingon the bloodthirsty but honorable warriors, Vulcans the logical scientists; and on a more symbolic level those races aren't explorations into 'what if' scenarios of our possible neighbors in the universe, but explorations into the human psyche and our society.

What about true aliens, which aren't an allegory for a facet of human existence? With years going by, and as I'm reading through hundreds of sci fi novels and watching the movies they dare to label 'sci fi', I'm realizing more and more that humans cannot offer or invent something that in the end isn't human. We can't really invent something that's completely alien, because the writers (despite their genius, in some cases) are still humans. Does this mean they (we) have to stop trying? On the contrary. Some have gotten really close.

Back to the Avatar blue skinned Na'vi. Now, you see how disillusioned I was when I found out that this flick isn't a step in the direction of exploration of true 'alienhood', but in the direction of human allegory through alien species in sci fi works.

The storyline, without many spoilers, is about human corporations trying to mine a lush world of the Na'vi to the death, for profits. Considering the current zeitgeist, it's a very interesting and strong message (at least I've experienced it as that). So, in the allegory department, it criticized our civilization and most of all, capitalism, in a way which warms my heart. The storyline was action packed (but utterly predictable) and strong in delivering emotions (I've come to see the Na'vi as embodiments of emotion, which fits very well in the 'capitalism vs. Mother Earth' metaphor, since they represent Nature, they are instinctive and emotive to the core and the characters deliver it strongly - when the Na'vi cry, you feel the tears; when they're angry, you fear the screams). Usually, 'utterly predictable' is a big minus for most movies. But, in this case, the fact that I could predict what would happen in the conflict between the natives and the evil, money grubbing humans didn't bore me - it made me grip the seat and feel with the Na'vi as every tree and leaf fell. As the story unfolded, the story I predicted in the first 10 minutes in the theater, I started wishing for the death of every single human being on the Na'vi planet, Pandora.

When the movie was over, and I took off the 3D glasses, the only thing I wished for is to go run through a jungle and live the life of a Na'vi. In that moment, I could live without central heating, electricity, candy, even the Net. I think that means the movie, in my case, was an utter success and that I am indeed an accursed discontent youth living in a world I don't want to live in.

The already established work I would most compare it is LeGuin's The Word for World Is Forest. LeGuin's little hairy forest people became three meter high, beautiful blue skinned athletes (the hollywoodization had to happen, since our society does not really like body hair) but the message is there. There are dreamers in the forest, who dream the same dreams we do, in our concrete ivory spires veiled in black clouds. Because it's not the towers of concrete and wires that make us what we are.

I believe, I hope, that my fellow geeks will recognize Avatar as what it is - a future classic of the genre, which doesn't necessarily offer something new or original; but it offers the integration of the best of the best of what we've known, read, lived with and cherished in all those years without a true Lord of the Rings of the sci fi movies.

***

 


***

Dakle.

Gledao sam Avatara neki dan. Nemojte me krivo shvatiti. Morao sam ga vidjeti. Ja sam ono što bi većina ljudi nazvala geekom. Sci fi geek, da budem malo precizniji. Tako da je najskuplji sci fi film ikada snimljen morao uhvatiti moju pažnju. Čitao sam o (i bio bombardiran od strane mojih filmsko fanatičnih geek prijatelja) o Avatarovoj novoj tehnologiji kamere. To je ono što me najviše zanimalo u početku. Zadnji 3D film koji sam pogledao (onaj dokumentarac s dinosaurima) me nije puno impresionirao, pošto je bio glorificirani dokumentarac sa par ukomponirana 3D efekta. Pa me zanimalo da li će 3D biti vrijedan novaca kada ga podignu na novu razinu. Svidjelo mi se, bilo je prisutno svaku sekundu filma i teklo jako prirodno tako da sam nakon nekog vremena uopće prestao primjećivati jer nakon ta dva i pol sata nekako zaboraviš da normalni filmovi ne stavljaju glumca u istu prostoriju sa tobom. Mislim da to je uspjeh tehnologije. Ali to nije ono što me najviše impresioniralo kod Avatara.

Pročitao sam par članaka o radnji i 'izgradnji svijeta' za vanzemaljski planet u filmu. Na početku, sve se činilo tako staro. 'Pravi znanstvenici su napravili pravi ekosistem, bića i vanzemaljce tako da budu uvjerljivi i funkcionalni i izvan Hollywoodskih ekrana' - ne baš tako impresivno kako zvuči. Jeste li ikada pročitali Dinu? Komplicirano dizajniranje planetarnog ekosistema nije toliko novo; i teško mi je za vjerovati da itko to može bolje od FHa.

Tada sam saznao da su vanzemaljci u biti tri metarski plavokošci sa repom. Hmm. To je ono što me nervira kod sci fi filmova, bar kod većine sci fi filmova. Kada pokušavaju napraviti nešto s vanzemaljcima uglavnom naprave malo promijenjene ljude - unutra i izvana. Bez objašnjenja zajedničke genetske podloge svih rasa koje susrećemo u svemiru na razini Hainskog Ciklusa, zakoni vjerojatnosti pomalo umanjuju šansu da stotine evolucijom nastalih vrsta u svemiru jednako izgledaju, osjećaju i misle kao ljudi, osim grebena, naušnica, čudnih visećih stvari na glavama, parapsiholoških sposobnosti itd. Razumijem da, posebno u slučaju filma, ljudi imaju problema empatizirati sa nečim na čemu ne mogu prepoznati dvije kuglice iznad grebena s dvije rupice i usnama ispod iliti ljudskog lica ili nečeg sličnog; i razumijem da većina sci fi autora pokušavaju istražiti elemente čovjeka kroz druge vrste i civilizacije. Ali na kraju, svaka dobro razvijena znanstveno fantastična rasa postaje tek faceta čovječanstva - Ferengiji prenaglašeni kapitalisti, Klingonci krvoločni ali časni ratnici, Vulkanci logični znanstvenici; i na razini dublje simbolike te rase nisu istraživanje 'što bi bilo kad bi bilo' scenarija naših mogućih susjeda u svemiru, nego istraživanja u ljudsku psihu i društvo.

Što je sa pravim vanzemaljcima, koji nisu samo alegorija ljudskog postojanja? Kako godine prolaze, i kako čitam stotine sci fi romana i gledam filmove koje se usuđuju nazvati znanstvenom fantastikom, shvaćam da ljudi ne mogu ponuditi ili izmisliti nešto što na kraju krajeva nije ljudsko. Ne možemo zaista izmisliti nešto u potpunosti strano, zato što pisci (unatoč njihovu geniju, barem u slučaju nekih) su još uvijek ljudi. Da li to znači da mi (oni) moraju prestati pokušavati? Upravo suprotno. Neki su došli jako blizu.

Da se vratimo Avataru i Na'viima plave kože. Sad vidite kako sam razočaran bio kada sam vidio da ovaj film nije korak u smislu otkrivanja pravog 'vanzemaljstva', nego u smjeru ljudske alegorije kroz vanzemaljske vrste i sci fi djelima. Priča je, bez mnogo spoilera, o ljudskim korporacijama koje pokušavaju izrudariti divlji svijet Na'viia do smrti, za profit. Uzimajući u obzir trenutni zeitgeist, to je jako zanimljiva i jaka poruka (barem sam je ja tako iskusio). Tako da u vidu alegorija, film kritizira našu civilizaciju i više od svega, kapitalizam, na način koji me grije oko srca. Priča je puna akcije (ali krajnje predvidljiva) i jaka u prenošenju emocija (počeo sam gledati na Na'vije kao na utjelovljenja emocija, što izvrsno paše u 'kapitalizam protiv Majke Zemlje' metaforu, pošto oni predstavljaju Prirodu, oni su instinktivni i emotivni do srži i likovi to snažno prenose - kada Na'vi plače, osjećaš suze; kada je ljut, bojiš se njegovih urlika). Inače, 'krajnje predvidljiv' je veliki minus za većinu filmova. Ali, u ovom slučaju, činjenica da sam mogao predvidjeti što će se dogoditi u sukobu između domorodaca i zlih, novcima opsjednutih ljudi me nije dosađivala - tjerala me da se očajnički uhvatim sjedala i osjećam pad svakog drveta i lista sa Na'vima. Kako se priča razvijala, priča koju sam predvidio u prvih deset minuta u kinu, počeo sam željeti smrt svakog čovjeka na planetu Na'vija, Pandori.

Kada je film završio, i kada sam skinuo 3D naočale, jedina stvar koju sam želio je ići trčati kroz džunglu i živjeti život Na'via. U tom trenutku, mogao sam živjeti bez centralnog grijanja, struje, slatkiša pa čak i Interneta. Mislim da to znači da je film, u mom slučaju, bio krajnji uspjeh i da sam zaiste prokleti mladi nezadovoljnik koji živi u svijetu u kojem ne želi živjeti.

Djelo s kojim bi usporedio film je LeGuinin The Word for World Is Forest. LeGuinini maleni dlakavi šumski ljudi su postali tri metra visoki, predivni atletičari plave kože (holivudizacija se morala dogoditi, pošto naša civilizacija mrzi dlake) ali je poruka tamo. Postoje sanjari u šumi, koji snivaju iste snove kao i mi, u našim betonskim tornjevima zavijenim u crne oblake. Jer nisu tornjevi betona i žica ono što nas čini onim što jesmo.

Vjerujem, nadam se, da će i ostali geekovi prepoznati Avatar kao ono što on u stvari jest - budući klasik žanra, koji nužno ne nudi nešto novo i originalno; ali nudi integraciju najboljeg od najboljeg od onog što smo znali, čitali, i s čim smo živjeli i cijenili sve ove godine bez pravog Gospodara prstenova sci fi filmova.
Tags:

Tijela - Bodies
[info]bakho
An intro to the poem from the mouth of the brilliant Tyler Durden:

"You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."

We, indeed, are the all-singin, all-dancing crap of the world. So what? It's what living's all about. Enjoy your Matoš:

Bodies

bodies bodies
everyplace everywhere
spilled scattered
an easy move of the Hands
Bodies silent in prayer
Bodies screaming with joy
Bodies wailing in despair
Bodies dreaming
Bodies kissing bodies
Bodies upon bodies in sweat
making new bodies
Bodies rotting with disease
twinkling out like lamps
dying
Bodies in the night springing flying falling
My body carried with the winds
My body craving the stars
Which the clouds swallowed
Indeed it is: an eternal watch of the calm Eyes
bodies bodies bodies

Original poem by Antun Gustav Matoš. Translation by me.

***

Uvod u pjesmu iz usta briljantnog Tylera Durdena:

"You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."

I zaista jesmo, all singing, all dancing crap of the world. I što onda? Baš je to ono zašto živimo. Uživajte u Matošu:

Tijela

tijela tijela
svagdje svuda
razasuta razvitlana
lakim kretom jednih Ruku
Tijela ćute u molitvi
Tijela kriče u radosti
Tijela vrište u očaju
Tijela u snu
Tijela ljube tijela
Tijela povrh tijela u grčima
u stvaranju novih tijela
Tijela trunu u bolesti
gasnu kao žute lampe
mru
Tijela kroz noć hite lete padaju
Moje tijelo vjetri nose
Moje tijelo vapi zvijezde
Oblaci su zvijezde progutali
I jest: vječno jedne Oči mirno gledaju
tijela tijela tijela
Tags:

Here we go again - Eto nas opet
[info]bakho
The university of Pula is blockaded. The College of Humanities (the largest college at the Uni of Zagreb) is blockaded too. The dean of the College of Humanities in Rijeka started IDing students at the entrance to the college - so we have the first sign of repression in this batch of the blockades. The protests are rekindled but I have a feeling it'll go much grimmer this semester than it did the last. Good luck to us all!

One world - one struggle!

PS
It seems around 70 colleges around Europe are blockaded too. Weeeeeee

***

Sveučilište u Puli je blokirano. Filozofski fakultet u Zagrebu je blokiran isto. Dekan Filozofskog fakulteta u Rijeci je počeo legitimirati studente na ulazu u faks - tako da imamo prve znakove represije u ovoj rundi blokada. Prosvjedi ponovno počinju ali imam osjećaj da će ovaj semestar biti puno gore nego prošli semestar. Sretno nam bilo!

Jedan svijet - jedna borba!

PS
Čini se da je oko 70 fakulteta diljem Europe blokirano isto. Weeeeeee

Namárië deserves a second post - Namárië zaslužuje drugi post
[info]bakho
Već sam pisao o Namárië. Ali nikad nisam čuo da je netko pjevao o njoj.



I already wrote about Namárië. But I never heard somebody singing about it.

Vikarijski - Vicariously
[info]bakho

Mračna soba. Čovjek sa maskom na licu i pištoljem u ruci. Nečiji sin, brat, otac, susjed, prijatelj, muž, sugrađanin, suradnik, zaposlenik. Jedan reflektor uperen na drugog čovjeka u prostoriji.

Kleči pred onim sa maskom. Pištolj mu je prislonjen na čelo. Izraz straha mu je okamenio lice. Pucanj. Metak uz prasak i paljenje kože probija kožu i lubanju. Mrska kost i prolazi u mekani zagrljaj mozga. Taj maleni željezni oblutak, ništavan, bora put kroz mekoću. Kroz spletovlje aksona i dendrita, kroz njihove mreže i zavoje, križanja i stranputice. Njihove grane i ogranke pali sila metka, pucaju poput tankih niti i ostaju visiti bespomoćno. Mreže njihovih putova, milijunima puta povezani i prespojeni kroz desetljeća života, sada nestaju u sekundi vrućine i sile. Neuroni i glije prskaju poput balona od sapunice, njihove unutrašnjost raznesena zajedno sa svilenim nitima uma. Kroz taj palež, taj kratak put dug par centimetara, nestaje jedna duša. Njegova sjećanja i misli, snovi i nadanja, žalosti i sreća, strasti i strahovi, tajne i laži, istine i časti, morali i filozofije, zaključci i razmišljanja. Milijuni veza nasilno prekinutih da bi nestala jedna osoba.

Ova slika, ta sekunda smrti je snimana. Dok se rupa uništena mozga puni krvlju, čovjek pada na tlo u zadnjem grču života dok ga napušta sve što on jest. Slika brzinom kompjuterske misli dolazi u tehnološki omogućenu abominaciju kolektivnog nesvjesnog i kola među svima nama. Youtube ju donosi u kratkih par sekundi divlje smrti. Photobucket niz slika, koje pokazuju svaki pokret i svaki od kratkih momenata nestajanja jednog čovjeka. Twitter i Facebook šalju dalje, u moru linkova i veza. Snopovlje veza i ogranak Interneta i naših medija upinju i kolaju ovim prizorom dok svi nismo iskusili isto - smrt.

I tako iz dana u dan. Opet. I opet. I opet.

Poginula tijela smrskanih putnika u nesreći vlaka. Dvije djevojčice koje su zajedno skočile sa zvonika u smrt, njihova tijela na pločniku. Mrtva žena pod željezom uništenog automobila. Tijela. To bijelo, naduto meso koje više nije čovjek nas zove da ga progutamo očima, da uzdahnemo nad njim. Na svakoj strani, u svakom pogledu. Na naslovnicama novina. Portala. Vijesti. Spiker govori o mrtvima sa korporativnim smiješkom i uglađenom kravatom pod grkljanom. Mi ga trebamo. Kolektiv ljudi živi i diše nad svakom dušom koja izdahne i uđe u aksone i dendrite medija, da se širi dalje poput virusa koja nas zove k sebi. Da ga gledamo, prikriveno.

Vikarijski.



A dark room. A man with a mask on his face, holding a gun. Someone's son, brother, father, neighbor, friend, husband, fellow-citizen, coworker, employee. Only one reflector lamp directed at the other man in the room.

He kneels before the one with the gun. The gun is on his forehead. The expression of fear turned his face to stone. A shot fired. With a bang and skin scorching the bullet pierces skin and skull. It shreds the bone and enters the soft embrace of the brain. This little iron pebble, nothingness, digs its way through the softness. Through the plexus of axons and dendrites, through their nets and curves, crossings and sidelines. Their branches and offshots are scorched by the bullet's force, they break like thin threads and remain hanging helplessly. The networks of their ways, a million times connected and interconnected through decades of life, now vanish in a second of heath and force. Neurons and glias burst like soap bubbles, their insides blown up with the silken threads of the mind. Through that wreckage, that short way of only a few centimeters, a soul disappears. His memories and thoughts, dreams and hopes, sadness and happiness, passions and fears, secrets and lies, truths and honors, morals and philosophies, conclusions and contemplations. Million of connections violently broken to erase a person.

This image, that second of death was taped. While the destroyed brain’s hole is filled by blood, the man falls to the ground in the last spasm of life as everything that he is is leaving. The image travels with speed of computer thought to the technologically sustained abomination of the collective unconscious and spreads in between us. Youtube brings it in a short flick of death. Photobucket as a series of pictures, which show every move and every short moment of a human being's disappearance. Twitter and Facebook send it farther away, in the sea of links and connections. The plexus of connections that is the Internet and our media strive and disseminate this image until all of us experienced it - death.

That happens today and tomorrow. And again. And again. And again.

The crushed dead bodies of the passengers in a train wreck. Two little girls who jumped from a bell tower into their death, their bodies on the sidewalk. A dead woman under the destroyed metal of an automobile. Bodies. That white, bloated flesh that is not human anymore is calling us to swallow it with our eyes, for us to sigh for them. Everywhere, in every view. In newspaper headlines. Portals. News. The speaker speaks of the dead with a corporate smile and a smart tie under his chin. We need it. The people's collective which lives and breaths over every soul that breaths out and enters the axons and dendrites of our media, to spread around like viruses which call to us. To watch it, hiddenly.

Vicariously.


Music by bakho
[info]bakho
Some French music for you to enjoy. Amadou et Mariam are a Mali duo (and a couple) of blind singers who make really special music combining Mali rhythms with all kinds of awesome. The song is called Sénégal fast food. I love Amadou et Mariam - they sing in French, have a cute accent and have the distinct African rhythm to their songs - and best of all, they prove anything is possible if we put our mind to it! Enjoy!

PS
If you notice when he says Manhattan in the song, a cookie for you! I laughed my ass off when I read in the lyrics that what he said was in fact Manhattan!

***

Nešto francuske muzike da uživate. Amadou et Mariam su duo (i par) slijepih pjevača s Malija koji stvaraju zaista posebnu glazbu kombinirajući ritmove Malija sa svakakvim cool stvarima. Pjesma se zove Sénégal fast food. Obožavam Amadoua et Mariam - pjevaju na francuskom, imaju sladak naglasak i jasan afrički ritam u pjesmama - i najvažnije od svega, dokazuju da je sve moguće ako se potrudimo. Uživajte!

PS
Ako primijetite kada kaže Manhattan u pjesmi, kolačić za vas! Umro sam od smijeha kad sam pročitao u lyricsima da to što kaže je u biti Manhattan!


 


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Last.fm
[info]bakho
Mrzim Facebook. Da, to se pretvorilo od običnog intelektualnog snobizma u pravu iracionalnu, jaku, žarku, strastvenu - mržnju. Twitter mi se ne sviđa. Nekako je beskoristan. Tu i tamo volim pročitati Nerove tweetove ali to je to. Social networking za sad - potpuni failure po meni. Da, razumijem da ovo nije nužno najbolje objašnjenje i nuđenje argumentacije zašto ali:

jednostavno ne volim Facebook.

Ali volim last.fm. Sad, nema baš mnogo sličnosti između ova dva servisa, iako u drugu ruku ima. Last.fm je tvoje malo mjesto na Internetu za slušanje muzike. Bilježi (scrobbla) sve što slušaš, to razvrstava prema izvođaču, albumu, žanru i vremenu slušanja. Nudi ti statistiku koliko što slušaš i da ju uspoređuješ s drugim korisnicima last.fma. S druge strane, daje ti informacije o izvođačima i pjesmama koje bi inače tražio na drugim mjestima (a ovako samo otvoriš last.fm scrobbler i ne moraš pretraživati Google i Wikipediju).

Još jedna važna stvar kod last.fma - daje ti preporuke. Prema tome što slušaš, uspoređuje slične izvođače i predlaže ti ih. Stvara 'susjedstvo' korisnika koji slušaju sličnu glazbu, te tako na vrlo jednostavan način možeš pronaći nešto što bi ti se moglo svidjeti a nikada nisi čuo za tu glazbu.

Uglavnom - last.fm - čista petica!

***

I hate Facebook. Yes, it kinda changed from your common intellectual snobbism into real irational strong fiery passionate - hate. Twitter I don't like. It's somewhat useless. Now and then I like to read Ner's tweets but that's it. Social networking for now - total failure. Yes, I understand that this probable isn't the best explanation or argumentation as to why but:

I just hate Facebook.

But I like last.fm. Now, there's not that much similarities between those two, but on the other hand, there is. Last.fm is your little place on the Internet for listening to music. It records (scrobbles) everything you listen to, compiles it by artist, album, genre or time of listening. It gives you statistics how much you listen to something and you can compare it with other users of last. fm. On the other hand, it gives you info about the artists and songs which you'd usually try to find in other places (and this way you simply open the last.fm scrobbler and what you need, no need to scour Google or Wikipedia for it).

One more important thing about last.fm - it gives you recommendations. According to what you listen to, it compares it with similar artists and suggests them to you. It creates a neighborhood of users who listen to similar music, and that way you can easily find music you might like but you've never heard of.

All in all - a straight A for last.fm!

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When you're happy - Kad si sretan
[info]bakho
Sutra mi je rođendan. Bolje rečeno, kad završim s pisanjem ovog posta, već će mi biti rođendan. Venus mi je već dala poklon. Kao i uvijek, poklonila mi je baš ono što sam si želio najviše. Ona ima taj dar, da uvijek sluša potiho kad nešto govoriš, i kao da zapisuje kad su ti se oči zažarile za nečim ili kada si rekao da ti se sviđa - to stavlja na svoj popis poklona, u toj plavoj maloj glavi, i onda to dobiješ kao poklon onda kad se najmanje nadaš.

Dobio sam zbirku pjesama Vidrića i Šimića. Baš sam ih prije tjedan dva gledao u knjižari, dok je ona lutala među rječnicima. Ali je zapamtila što sam gledao, iako sam ja mislio da uopće nije obratila pozornost na mene.

I dobio sam najbolje slušalice na svijetu! Htio sam velike slušalice jer me one malene smetaju, bole me uši od njih.

I tako, čitajući Šimića kojeg mi je ona poklonila, naletio sam na pjesmu koja govori o nama - pa bi ju htio pokloniti Njoj. Pjesma je životna, ne govori o cvijeću i sreći i idili. Govori o ljubavi. Život je život - sivilo koje je teško, i prepuno boli i teških trenutaka. Naravno i sretnih. Ali ono što ljubav čini ljubavlju - kad se skupe sve te boli koje te tjeraju na očaj i na osjećaj beznađa i samoće; možeš ih podijeliti sa nekim. Ja ih dijelim s tobom. Nadam se da sam i ja za tebe tu da ih ti dijeliš sa mnom.


Jedanput

Ženo
što iz bijede našeg svagdanjeg života
očajale i krotke oči dižeš k meni

Sav ovaj život...oh, sav ovaj život
ženo

jedanput ja odsvirat ću na harfi

i kad poslije harfe
progovore ćutke naše duše

znaš li što će govoriti?

Kako bjesmo srećni. Kako bjesmo srećni
 
Napisao Antun Branko Šimić.
Ton petit cretain, mišek. Amin mela lle.

***

Tomorrow is my birthday. Better said, when I finish writing this post, it'll be my birthday. Venus already gave me her present. As always, she gave me exactly what I wanted the most. She has this gift, to always silently listen what you say, and as if she writes down when your eyes glaze after something or when you say that you like something - she puts it on her list of presents, in that blond little head and then you get something from that list as a present when you've completely forgotten about it.

I got two collections of poems from her, one written by Vidrić and the other by Šimić. Just two weeks ago I was checking them up in a bookstore, while she wandered among the dictionaries. But she remembered what I was checking out, even though I thought she didn't even notice me.

And I got the best headphones in the world! I wanted big earphones because those tiny hones bother me, my ears hurt from them.

And so, while I was reading Šimić's collection (the one she gave me), I bump into a poem which talks about us - so I'd like to give it to Her. The poem is very down to earth, it doesn't concern flowers and happiness and the idyll. It concerns love. Life is life - grayness that is hard, and full of pain and hardships. Of course, happy moments too. But the thing which makes love what it is - when you gather all the pains which make you become desperate and feel hopeless and alone; you can share it with someone. I share them with you. I hope I'm there for you so you can share them with me.
 
Some day

Woman
from among such commonplace miseries
your desperately gentle eyes see me

All this life...oh, all this life
woman

some day I'll play us upon the harp

and after the harp
when our souls speak up

do you know what'll they say?

How happy we were. How happy we were
 

Written by Antun Branko Šimić. The translation was courtesy of Pthalo and Kate (and in some regard, me). Thanks!
Ton petit cretain, mišek. Amin mela lle.


 
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Witty uni books - Smiješne knjige s faksa
[info]bakho
Danas sam posudio knjigu koja se zove Psihologija obrazovanja, za jedan seminar koji pišem. Izvrsna knjiga. Ima hrpu onih malih kućica sa zanimljivostima na rubu stranice; mnoge od njih su šale. Jedna od njih je (parafrazirano jer mi se ne traži sad ta stranica):

Marko je dobio dva iz ispita ali je profesor kraj ocjene napisao 'dobro i originalno'. Kada ga je išao pitati kako je dobio tako slabu ocjenu, a sam profesor mu je napisao da je ispit dobar i originalan, profesor je odgovorio: "Dio koji je dobar nije originalan, a dio koji je originalan nije dobar."

:D

***

I borrowed a book called Psychology of education, for a seminar I'm writing. It's a great book. It has a bunch of those little sidebars at every page, with interesting stuff; among those, you can find jokes. One of them is (paraphrased because I don't feel like searching for the page):

Marko's exam was graded with a D, but the professor wrote 'good and original' right next to the grade. When Marko went to ask why did he get such a low grade, while the professor wrote that the exam was good and original, the professor replied: "The part that's good isn't original, while the original part isn't good."

:D


Adieu
[info]bakho
 
Someday, I might write a post about a lonely, ruined house that once stood in downtown Zagreb; where once Vidrić dwelt. Until then, adieu to the Zagreb he remembered in his own immortal words:





Adieu

Lightly against my back
A mandolin rocked
And my coat folded open.
Purple darkness
Covered my eyelids
From sun, wind and wine.

But it moved my hand
That composer of songs,
Vanquishing the light tear
Wept by my eye.
- So I walk down, my lady,
Down the stairs of your city.
 

The translation is mine, for you who cannot enjoy it in the original.

***
 
Jednom ću možda napisati post o jednoj usamljenoj, trošnoj kući koja se nekada nalazila u centru Zagreba; gdje je nekada Vidrić živio. Do onda, adieu Zagrebu kojeg je on pamtio u njegovim besmrtnim riječima:

Adieu

O moja je leđa lagano
Kucnula mandolina
I moj se je kaput raskrio.
Purpurna pomrčina
Moje je vjeđe prekrila
Od sunca, vjetra i vina.

A moja se ruka ganula
Koja pjesmice sklada,
Svijetlu je suzu utrla
Što mi sa zjena pada.
- Tako silazim, gospojo,
Stubama tvojega grada.
 

 

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It gives you ulcers - politics! - Daje ti čireve - politika!
[info]bakho
As I've mentioned in one of my previous posts, our PM resigned. The whole nation was in shock and we're still not sure what exactly happened. He's just what you'd imagine of an ex-Yugoslavian country politician - charismatic, corrupted, a strong personality, dominant and very capable (note, not in leading a country to a prosperous future, but sucking it dry through semi-legal transactions while maintaining the guise of 'advance and development' for the EU officials). And he resigned.

Without an explanation. Well, at least without a credible explanation.

When you're an autocratic leader of a country like Croatia, you don't resign. You're at the top of the food chain. Your family is at the top of the food chain. It's literally like that, like some strange Darwinian experiment with humans. So, we're still waiting for an explanation, and I'm sure it'll be a good one once it spills out from the shady circles surrounding Ivo Sanader.

You might be wondering why I'm writing yet another post about a person which induces vomit resulting disgust in me?

Well, it seems like Ivo Sanader found a job. He's employed as some sort of a manager by Louise Blouin, a Canadian millionaire media magnate and philanthropist. Now that's all well and good, but why would a cookie cutter capitalist of the West plague her own company with this sly Homo Balcanicus Masculinum par excellence, who could cheat and force his way out of her millions (as he already did back home?)? Well, I wouldn't go into that.

The article (alas, it's only in Croatian) that provoked this post insinuates that she 'hopes to use his connections in European business, politics and art circles for the benefit of (Blouin's) business'. Now that sounds reasonable, but I've learned that this portal is not highly credible so I would refrain from final judgment on the matter.

So, why am I writing this?

I started watching the TV series Lie to Me with Venus. Tim Roth sold me on it, but the series is quite interesting. It depicts dr. Cal Lightman, who studies human expressions and patterns in behavior for detecting lies, and his colleagues who help various agencies or people (FBI, local police etc.) in solving all kinds of 'problems'. The series revolves around microexpressions - very short involuntary expressions which happen when people try to conceal emotions. What does that have to do with Ivo Sanader?

Let's return to this article I mentioned in the beginning. Specifically, the picture of the ex-PM, the infamous dr. Ivo Sanader. What does this microexpression say? I'd go for: "I'm a fucking thief and I robbed my country out of health benefits and funds for orphaned children." Yea, yea...I know. It's not a basic emotion - though I think with good old Ivo, it could be his second skin.

***

Kao što sam spomenuo u jednom od mojih prošlih postova, naš premijer je dao ostavku. Cijela nacija je bila u šoku i još uvijek nismo sigurni što se točno dogodilo. On je točno ono što bi zamislili kao političara iz države bivše Jugoslavije - karizmatičan, korumpiran, jaka ličnost, dominantan i jako sposoban (uzmite u obzir, ne u vođenju države prema dobroj budućnosti, već u pljačkanju preko polu legalnih kanala dok održava masku 'napretka i razvoja' prema dužnosnicima EU). I on je dao ostavku.

Bez objašnjenja. U biti, bez pravog objašnjenja.

Kada si autokratski vođa države kao što je Hrvatska, ti ne daješ ostavku. Ti si na vrhu hranidbenog lanca. Tvoja obitelj je na vrhu hranidbenog lanca. To je doslovno tako, kao neki neobični darvinovski eksperiment sa ljudima. Tako da mi još uglavnom čekamo objašnjenje i siguran sam da će biti dobro jednom kad procuri iz mračnih krugova koji okružuju Ivu Sanadera.

Možda se pitate zašto pišem još jedan post o osobi koja pobuđuje gađenje koje rezultira povraćanjem u meni?

Čini se da je Ivo Sanader našao posao. Zaposlila ga je kao neku vrstu menadžera Louise Blouin, kandska milijunašica, medijski magnat i filantrop. Sad, sve je to divno i krasno ali zašto bi tipični zapadni kapitalist prokleo vlastitu kompaniju sa prepredenim Homo Balcanicusom Masculinum par excellence, koji može prevariti i preuzeti milijune od nje (kao što već je doma?)? Ja u biti ne bih ulazio u to.

Članak (nažalost samo na hrvatskom) koji je isprovocirao ovaj post insinuira da se ona 'nada iskoristiti njegove veze u europskim poslovnim, političkim i umjetničkim krugovima u korist njena (Blouinine) biznisa'. To zvuči prilično razumno ali sam naučio da ovaj portal i nije uvijek najpouzdaniji, tako da ću se suzdržati zaključka o tome.

I, zašto ja zaista pišem ovo?

Počeo sam gledati TV seriju Laži mi sa Venus. Tim Roth mi ju je odmah prodao ali i serija je prilično zanimljiva. Prikazuje dr. Cal Lightmana, koji proučava ljudske izraze lica i uzorke ponašanja za detektiranje laži, i njegove kolege koji pomažu raznim agencijama ili osobama (FBI, lokalna policija itd.) u rješavanju raznih problema. Serija se temelji na mikroizrazima - jako kratkim nevoljnim izrazima koji se događaju kada ljudi pokušavaju prikriti emocije. Kakve uopće to veze ima sa Ivom Sanaderom?

Vratimo se članku koji sam spomenuo na početku. Preciznije, slici bivšeg premjera, neslavnog dr. Ive Sanadera. Što taj mikroizraz govori? Ja bih rekao: "Ja sam jebeni lopov koji je opljačkao vlastitu zemlju ostavivši je bez zdravstvenog osiguranja i sredstava za napuštenu djecu." Da, da...znam. Nije osnovna emocija - no mislim da možda ipak sa dobrim starim Ivom, mogla bi biti njegova druga koža.



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You live, you learn - Živiš, učiš
[info]bakho
I'm rereading Tolkien, and the old chap taught me a new word: flabbergasted.

From The Lord of the Rings, p. 30:

He stepped down and vanished. There was a blinding flash of light, and the guests all blinked. When they opened their eyes Bilbo was nowhere to be seen. One hundred and forty-four flabbergasted hobbits sat back speechless.

Flabbergasted (as by Answers.com): To cause to be overcome with astonishment; astound.

Well, now he almost taught me more than four years of high school English. A couple more words, and you'll be there Tolkien!

***

Ponovno čitam Tolkiena, i dobri stari momak me naučio novu riječ: flabbergasted (zaprepašten).

Iz Gospodara prstenova - Prstenova družina, str. 42:
 
On siđe sa stolice i nestane, Iznenada je nešto sijevnulo i svi su gosti zažmirili. Kad su otvorili oči, Bilba više nije bilo. Stotinu četrdeset četiri zaprepaštena hobita sjedila su bez riječi zavaljena na stolice.

Flabbergasted (zaprepašten) (prema Answers.com): Biti obuzet čuđenjem, zapanjen.

Pa, sad me skoro naučio više nego četiri godine srednjoškolskog engleskog. Još par riječi i uspjet ćeš u tome Tolkien!


 

 

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