Friday, April 13, 2007

Friday, April 06, 2007

Thursday, February 08, 2007



takujauqujaujuqtauq



"the disappointment one feels on drawing back the curtains in the morning and discovering that the blanket of thick silent snow that is covering every other square inch of the country has a snow-less hole in it right here where one lives"

(cambridge inuktitut dictionary)

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Monday, January 08, 2007



tony: should I stay or should I go?
(click on youtube clip)





Sunday, January 07, 2007



Moonlight Sonata



Ignacy Jan Paderewski (November 6, 1860 - June 29, 1941) OBE was a Polish pianist, composer, diplomat and politician, and the third Prime Minister of Poland.
this is a piano roll recording he made in 1914 of the first and second movements of Beethoven's Sonata Op.27 No.2: (click here)

(more such goodies here)



decisive moment



Saturday, January 06, 2007



resolution


to accept the cruel curse of mediocrity, and to scorn it

both as producer and as consumer, therefore, henceforth to eschew :

pictorialism in any form

the exoticism of poverty

the 'innocence' of children

the alluring 'beauty' of nature

the cuteness of pets

the otherness of animals

the celebration of the trivial

the trivialisation of the sacred

'war-torn' photojournalism - the porn of the culturally anaesthetised

the image whose only raison d'ĂȘtre is envy (that I were there rather than here)

the image whose only raison d'ĂȘtre is relief (that I'm here rather than there)

at least, until the snow comes ...

Friday, November 24, 2006



my england


I had a packet to collect from the post office. In front of me was an old lady of eighty or so - alone, wooden stick for support, thin white hair in an old lady's perm, mac, stockings and shoes all from the generic old lady catalogue - who, passing the missed delivery slip over, was trying to engage the postman at the window in conversation, as old ladies do:

"Can't think what 'tis. Warn't expectin' naught. Cost me twelve pounds in taxi fare to come over 'ere."

Old ladies with hip conditions tend not to be able to use the bus - it's too far to walk to the bus-stop.

The patient-but-not-paid-to-chat postman pointed out to her that there was a phone number - if it was just something she had to sign for she could have arranged for it to be delivered another time.

"Oh, where's that, then?"

"On the back"

"Oh, 'tis on back, is it? Didn't think to turn 'im over."

So he disappears for a minute or two and reappears with an envelope. A white envelope. The sort of envelope that you'd put a birthday card in.

"Oh, 'tis a card, is it? Aye, 'twas my birthday yesterday."

An envelope with no stamp on it.

Which she then had to pay a surcharge on to collect.