Monday, October 31, 2005

All Hallows Eve

Fun House - In Praise of Vincent Price, Dana Gould Helvis, House of Horrors- Helvis, IUMA page Bo Diddley, Bo Meets the Monster Dark Shadows Theme Christopher Walken, The Raven Military Witch Pumpkin Gutter Martinibomb and the Coconut Monkeyrocket - Munster Beat Al Lewis and Pat Priest from "The Munsters" - Purchase Autographed Photos Monster Mash Haunted Corners of the Web Hallowicked, Wait Till Halloween Halloween Hangman

Sunday, October 30, 2005

The First Music Video Filmed Entirely Using Cellphones

The new video from the goofy power-pop band The Presidents of the United States of America was shot entirely using an array of Sony Ericsson cellphones. The song is a Weezer-ish tune called "Some Postman," and the video was directed by the Australian filmmaker Grant Marshall

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Thanx 4Tha Vizuals









Friday, October 28, 2005

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Over the past ten years, I have come to the realization that I am, indeed, the angriest woman on earth. I despise everything and everyone, and I have no qualms about spouting my mouth off about it. I have learned to embrace my rage and express it freely. Please visit my site often as I will form new opinions daily and will always have something horrible to say about--well, whatever I want to say. You are welcome to express your rage-driven opinions as well; simply e-mail your rant to me (please censor yourself) and I will post it to the site. Uninhibited, freely expressed rage is the second most beautiful thing on earth; with the first, of course, being "the finger".

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

It really looks like this too... :)

Posted by: Demiurgic at October 26, 2005 12:03 PM

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Thank You Rosa Parks

Rosa Lee McCauley Parks, dead at the age of 92. Parks, reportedly died around 7 p.m. Monday at St. John Hospital on Detroit's east side. Parks' refusal to give up her bus seat to a white man in Montgomery, Ala., in 1955 landed her in jail and sparked a bus boycott that is considered the start of the modern civil rights movement. The bus is on display at the Henry Ford Museum, Dearborn. Parks, was born Feb. 4, 1913, in Tuskegee, Ala. She lived in Detroit. * Rosa wrote her autobiography in 1992...(possibly 90 or 94...conflicting reports about that... * Read her story * Her quotes: All I was doing was trying to get home from work. - Rosa Parks Each person must live their life as a model for others. - Rosa Parks Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again. - Rosa Parks Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds will continue in others. - Rosa Parks My only concern was to get home after a hard day's work. - Rosa Parks Whatever my individual desires were to be free, I was not alone. There were many others who felt the same way. - Rosa Parks * Factoid: Parks and some of her family members, fired by their employers or continually harassed by angry whites, decided in 1957 to move to Detroit, Michigan. There they had a great deal of difficulty finding jobs, but Parks was finally employed by John Conyers, an African American member of the U.S. House of Representatives. She served as his receptionist and then staff assistant for 25 years while continuing her work with the NAACP and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) and serving as a deaconess at the Saint Matthew African Methodist Episcopal Church. * Some people say Emmett Till's murder sparked the modern Civil Rights Movement. Probably both are true. * Young Emmett's personality was infectious. "He loved to tell jokes," said his cousin, Wheeler Parker. "He would pay people to tell him jokes." In the summer of 1955, Emmett had just turned 14. He and his friends were enjoying the summer and dancing to a new music called rock and roll.

"The boys wore crepe-soled shoes, polyester pants and the girls wore skirts with the crinoline underneath. You must have the crinoline," said Cooksie Magnolia, who grew up with Emmett on the same street. "Young girls wore flared skirts so when their male partners spun them around, their skirts would have that extra flare."

"That was a good time because where we grew up, a lot of guys listened to the Moonglows, the Coasters, the Flamingos and the Spaniels," said Richard Heard, one of Emmett's classmates. "We'd try to imitate them in our little singing groups. It was a lot of fun."

One afternoon, Heard was invited to Emmett's house for bologna sandwiches and Kool-Aid. They were all looking forward to returning to school together in the fall where they would complete eighth grade and move on to high school. Heard never knew that would be the last time he would see his friend alive.

"Emmett was a funny guy all the time. He had a suitcase of jokes that he liked to tell," said Heard. "He loved to make people laugh. He was a chubby kid; most of the guys were skinny, but he didn't let that stand in his way. He made a lot of friends at McCosh Grammar School where we went to school."

* Just months after Emmett Till's murder, Look magazine published "The Shocking Story of Approved Killing in Mississippi," in which Roy Bryant and J. W. Milam confessed to the crime.

Journalist William Bradford Huie recalled the interview:

I met Milam and Bryant.We had this strange situation. We're meeting in the library of this law firm. Milam and Bryant are sitting on one side of the table, [lawyer] John Whitten and I sitting on the other side. I'm not doing the questioning. Their own lawyer is doing the questioning. And he's never heard their story. Not once. He becomes as interested in the story as I am. I said, ''Now I'm going to take notes and then during the day I'm going to do two things. I'm going to be roughing out this story, and I'm also going where you say you went, and I'm going to find evidence.'' Milam did most of the talking. Now remember, he's older. Milam was then thirty-five or thirty-six. He was a first lieutenant in the U.S. Army reserve at that time. And so Milam was a bit more articulate than Bryant was. Bryant did some talking, particularly when they talked about what they were told had happened in the store. But J. W. Milam did the killing. He fired the shot when they took Till down on the river and killed him.

Monday, October 24, 2005

April Winchell: Multimedia - Beatle Covers

All My Loving (Alvin and the Chipmunks) (396.8 K)
Blackbird (Kevin Spacey) (796.9 K)
Can't Buy Me Love (Peter Sellers) (269.7 K)
Come Together (Robin Williams) (815.2 K) A crime against humanity
Fool on the Hill (Bjork) (383.6 K)
Got To Get You Into My Life (Joe Pesci) (561.5 K) You think this is funny? You think this is funny? What am I, a clown to you?
Hard Day's Night (Mrs. Miller) (422.2 K)
Hard Day's Night (Peter Sellers) (314.9 K)
Hey Jude (Bing Crosby) (676.4 K) Pom pom pom pom
I Am The Walrus (Jim Carrey) (744.8 K) I believe him
I Want To Hold Your Hand (Cathy Berberian) (342.6 K)
I Want to Hold Your Hand (Los Xochimilcas) (358.9 K)
I Want to Hold Your Hand (The King's Singers) (241.5 K)
Let it Be (Tennesee Ernie Ford) (715.6 K)
Love Me Do (The Barkers) (451 K) Covered by barking dogs (courtesy of Frank's Vinyl Museum)
Love Me Do (The Brady Bunch) (379.1 K)
Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds (William Shatner) (531.1 K) Star dreck
Maxwell Silver Hammer (Jessica Mitford) (653.3 K)
Mission Impossible/Norwegian Wood (Alan Copeland) (521.9 K) Strange hybrid guaranteed to give you a headache. By the way, this won a Grammy. Seriously.
Nowhere Man (Klaus Beyer) (317.7 K) AKA "Nirgendsmann"
She Loves You (Los Xochimilcas) (267.4 K)
She Loves You (Peter Sellers and Spike Milligan) (551.6 K)
Something (Telly Savalas) (474 K) It's something all right
Something (Tommy Spanos Show) (689.5 K) Stellar organ cover
Yellow Submarine (Klaus Beyer) (164.6 K) AKA "Das Gelbe Unterwasserboot"
Yellow Submarine (Milton Berle) (497 K) The definitive version
Yerrow Submarine (582.5 K)

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Vodou lwa

From The VODOU Page Vodou is often misunderstood as being polytheistic, syncretic, or animistic. These misconceptions will be cleared up as we discuss the characteristics of the lwa. Vodouisants believe in one God, called Gran Met, or Great Master. This God is all powerful, all knowing, but regrettably he is considered to be sometimes distant and detached from human affairs. He is nevertheless ever present in the daily speech of Haitians, who never say, "See you tomorrow", without adding "if God wants". The lwa are lesser entities, but more readily accessible. Aside from a generalized love for the children of Africa, the lwa require a mutual relationship with the worshipper. The lwa serve those who serve them. Lwa have well defined characteristics, including sacred numbers, colors, days, ceremonial foods, speech mannerisms, and ritual objects. A lwa, therefore, can be served by wearing clothes of the lwa's colors, making offerings of preferred foods, and observing sexual continence on days sacred to the lwa. Many lwa are archetypal figures represented in many cultures. For example, Erzulie Freda is a love goddess comparable to Venus, Legba is a lwa of communication comparable to Hermes or Mercury. These correspondences, and sometimes pure coincidence, have led Haitians to see parallels between aspects of the lwa and images of Roman Catholic saints as they are represented in popular lithographs. During the days of French colonialism, when the majority of black people in Haiti were slaves who had been born in Africa, worship of the saints provided a convenient cover for the service of African gods and goddesses. Even the priere Guinea, a long prayer recited near the beginning of orthodox Vodou ceremonies, incorporates verses about the Virgin Mary and various saints. This does not mean, however, that the lwa have been syncretized with the Catholic saints. No one confuses Ogoun Feraille with St. James the Greater, it is simply the image that is used. If St. James is invoked, he is considered different from Ogoun. Although the priere Guinea incorporates verses about Catholic entities, no one confuses a Vodou ceremony held in a peristyle with a Catholic service. John Murphy, in his book Santeria, proposes that symbiosis might be a more accurate term than syncretism. Lwa are sometimes considered to reside in trees, stones, or rarely the bodies of animals. However, the lwa in the tree is not the lwa of the tree, and ceremonies conducted at the foot of the tree are directed at the lwa, not at any animistic principle of life energy pertaining to the tree. Vodou lwa manifest their will through dreams, unusual incidents, and through the mechanism of trance possession. Possession is considered normal, natural, and desirable in the context of a Vodou ceremony and under certain other circumstances. It is comparable to the New Age phenomenon of "channeling". Lwa manifesting through possession sing, dance, tell jokes, heal the sick, and give advice.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

JIM CROW: The Sequel by June Jordan

An angry Black woman on the subject of the angry White man: We didn't always need affirmative action When we broke this crazy land into farms when we planted and harvested the crops when we dug into the earth for water when we carried that water into the big house kitchens and bedrooms when we built that big house when we fed and clothed other people's children with food we cooked and served to other people's children, wearing the garments that we fitted and we sewed together, when we hacked and hauled huge trees for lumber and fuel, when we washed and polished the chandeliers, when we bleached and pressed the linens purchased by blood profits from our daily forced laborings, when we lived under the whip and in between the coffle and chains, when we watched our babies sold away from us, when we lost our men to anybody's highest bidder, when slavery defined our days and our prayers and our nighttimes of no rest--then we did not need affirmative action. Like two-legged livestock we cost the bossman three hundred and fifteen dollars or six hundred and seventy-five dollars so he provided for our keep like two-legged livestock penned into the parched periphery of very grand plantation life. We did not need affirmative action. NO! We needed freedom: We needed overthrow, revolution and a holy fire to purify the air. But for two hundred years this crazy land the law and the bullets behind the law continued to affirm the gospel of God-given White supremacy. For two hundred years the law and the bullets behind the law, and the money and the politics behind the bullets behind the law affirmed the gospel of God-given White supremacy/ God-given male-White supremacy. And neither the Emancipation Proclamation nor the Civil War nor one constitutional amendment after another nor one Civil Rights legislation after another could bring about a yielding of the followers of that gospel to the beauty of our human face. Justice don't mean nothin' to a hateful heart! And so we needed affirmative action. We needed a way into the big house besides the back door. We needed a chance at the classroom and jobs and open housing in okay neighborhoods. We needed a way around the hateful hearts of America. We needed more than freedom because a piece of paper ain't the same as opportunity or education. And some thirty years ago we agitated and we agitated until the President said, "We seek... not just equality as a right and a theory but equality as a fact and as a result." And a great rejoicing rose like a spirit dancing fresh and happy on the soon-to-be-the- integrated-and-most-uppity ballroom floor of these United States. And Black folks everywhere dressed up in African-American pride and optimism. From the littlest to the elders we shined our shoes and brushed our hair and got good and ready for "equality as a fact." But three decades later, and come to find out we never got invited to the party we never got included in "the people" we never got no kind of affirmative action worth more than a spit in the wind. And yesterday the new man in the White House/ the new President declared,"What we have done for women and minorities is a good thing, but we must respond to those who feel discriminated against...This is a psychologically difficult time for the so-called angry White man." Well I am here to tell the world that 46 percent of my children living in poverty does not feel good to me and my brothers in prison and not in college does not feel good to me psychologically or otherwise! Catch that angry White man and tell him "Get a grip!" Forty-six percent of the American labor force is constituted by White men but White men occupy 95 percent of all senior management positions! And as a wise Black man recently observed "This supposedly beleaguered minority (White males are about one-third of the population) makes up 80 percent of the Congress, four-fifths of tenured university faculty, nine-tenths of the Senate and 92 percent of the Forbes 400." Tell me who's angry! I say the problem with affirmative action seems to me like way too much affirmative talk and way too little action! And unless you happen to belong to that infinitesimal club of millionaire Black folks got one hundred and eight thousand dollars to throw into the campaign pot of their nearest and dearest full-time political racist, I think you better join with me to agitate and agitate for justice and equality we can eat and pay the rent with NOW.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Folk and Fairy Tales from Around the World

The stories in this collection represent a small sampling of the rich storytelling art that is the common heritage of humanity

Thursday, October 20, 2005

e.e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body.  It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss,  i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Musical Interludes

Walela Amazing Grace in Cherokee.mp3 America The Beautiful Frank Sinatra 1943-1952.mp3 Wind Cried Mary, WTC, Jimi Hendrix Star Spangled Banner, Jimi Hendrix

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Universal Benevolence

William Godwin: The Apostle of "Universal Benevolence"


P.B. Shelley, "ardour of universal benevolence.."


Puxian-Bodhisattva of Universal Benevolence or Samantabhadra


William Blake in "Divine Image" advocates universal benevolence


The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Chapter XXVI

Having passed over the nearest mountains we entered a delightful vale, where we perceived a multitude of persons at a feast of living bulls, whose flesh they cut away with great knives, making a table of the creature’s carcase, serenaded by the bellowing of the unfortunate animal. Nothing seemed requisite to add to the barbarity of this feast but kava, made as described in Cook’s voyages, and at the conclusion of the feast we perceived them brewing this liquor, which they drank with the utmost avidity. From that moment, inspired with an idea of universal benevolence, I determined to abolish the custom of eating live flesh and drinking of kava. But I knew that such a thing could not be immediately effected, whatever in future time might be performed.

Monday, October 17, 2005

The Furies / Erinyes

The Furies or, Erinyes, were the avenging deities, the angry goddesses of the curse pronounced upon evil-doers.

According to Hesiod they were the daughters of Earth, and sprang from the blood of the mutilated Uranus; in Aeschylus they are the daughters of Night, in Sophocles of Darkness and Earth.

Sometimes one Erinyes is mentioned, sometimes several. Euripides first spoke of them as three in number, to whom later Alexandrian writers gave the names Alecto (unceasing in anger), Tisiphone (avenger of murder), and Megaera (jealous).

Their home is the underworld, but they ascend to earth to pursue the wicked. They punish all offences against the laws of human society, such as perjury, violation of the rites of hospitality, and, above all, the murder of relations. But they are not without benevolent and beneficent attributes. When the sinner has expiated his crime they are ready to forgive.

Thus, their persecution of Orestes ceases after his acquittal by the Areopagus. It is said that on this occasion they were first called Eumenides ("the kindly"), a euphemistic variant of their real name.

Sunday, October 16, 2005


Saturday, October 15, 2005

Twin Flames, by Pamela Constantine

We met before the earthly time, Together formed in peace. The soaring lyrics of our love The flight of swan and geese: Spirit was our watering-place, Eternity our sky; And Life himself no others knew Who loved as You and I But man began the journey Descent from heaven to earth. Where in the cradle of concept Man would come to birth. We chose to nurse and steer him. Until his soul could fly, And soon Life knew no other two As sad as You and I. But the tempo now is changing: There's quickening in the blood As Man begins to reach the light And struggle from the mud. So soon time will not hold him From destiny on high. Then all as one shall travel home To the World of You and I.

Friday, October 14, 2005

Saint Germain: The Great Principle of Creation, Love, via Geraldine Innocente, 1950s

The great immutable decrees which forever keep order in the infinite realm of manifested life are all based upon the one great principle of creation, love. That is the heart, the source of all & the very hub upon which existence in form takes place. Love is harmony & without it in the beginning of a form that form could not come into existence at all. Love is the cohesive power of the universe & without it a universe could not be.

In your scientific world love expresses itself as the attractive force between the electrons. It is the directive intelligence which wills them into form, the power which keeps them whirling around a central core & the breath within the core that draws them to it. The same thing is true of each vortex of force everywhere in creation. A central core & the electrons whirling around it form an atom. This core of love is to the atom what the magnetic pole is to the Earth & what the spine is to the human body. Without a central core or heart-center there is only the unformed universal light, the electrons filling infinity & whirling around the Great Central Sun.

The electron is pure spirit or light of God. It remains forever uncontaminated & perfect. It is eternally self-sustained, indestructible, self-luminous & intelligent. It is immortal, ever-pure, intelligent light-energy & the only real true substance out of which everything in the universe is made, the eternally perfect life-essence of God. Interstellar space is filled with this pure light-essence. It is not dark & in chaos as has been the ignorant limited concept of puny human intellects. This great sea of universal light that exists everywhere throughout infinity is constantly being drawn into form & given a quality of one kind or another according to the way the electrons are held around a central point or core by love.

The number of electrons which combine with each other in a specific atom is the result of & determined by conscious thought. The rate at which they whirl around the central core is the result of & determined by feeling. The intensity of the drawing & whirling motion within the central core is the breath of God & therefore the most concentrated activity of divine love. Speaking in scientific terms it would be called centripetal force. There are the determining factors which make the quality of an atom.

Thus you will see the atom is an entity, a living breathing thing created or brought into existence by the breath, the love of God, thru the will of self-conscious intelligence. In this way the Word is made flesh. The machinery that self-conscious intelligence uses to accomplish this manifestation of its being is thought & feeling. Destructive thought & discordant feeling so rearrange the ratio & rate of speed of the electrons within the atom that the duration of the breath of God within the pole is changed. The duration of the breath is decreed by the will of the consciousness using that particular kind of atom. If that conscious directing will is withdrawn the electrons lose their polarity & fly apart seeking their way back intelligently mind you to the Great Central Sun, repolarizing themselves. There they receive love only, the breath of God is never-ending & order--the first law--is eternally maintained.

Some scientists have claimed & taught that planets collide in space. No such thing is possible. To do so would be to throw the entire plan of creation into chaos. It really is fortunate indeed that the mighty laws of God are not limited to the opinions of some of the children of earth. It does not matter what any scientist thinks, God-creation is ever moving forward & expressing more & more perfection.

Constructive thought & harmonious feeling within a human mind & body are the activities of love & order. These permit the perfect ratio & speed of the electrons within the atom to remain permanent & thus they stay polarized at their particular point in the universe as long as the duration of the breath of God within their core is held steady by the will of the directing self-conscious intelligence using the body in which they exist. In this way the quality of perfection & maintenance of life in a human body is always under the consscious control of the will of the individual occupying it. The will of the individual is supreme over his temple & even in cases of accident no one leaves his body temple until he wills to do so. Very often pain in the body, fear, uncertainty & many other things influence the personality to change its decisions concerning what it has willed in the past, but everything that happens to the body is & will always be under the control of the individual's freewill.

To understand the above explanation concerning the electron & the conscious control the individual has thru his thought & feeling to govern the atomic structure of his own body is to understand the one principle governing form thruout infinity. When man will make the effort to prove this to himself or within his own atomic fleshbody he will then proceed to master himself. When he has done that all else in the universe is his willing co-worker to accomplish whatsoever he wills thru love. Whoever makes himself willingly obedient unto the law of love has perfection in his mind & world permanently maintained. Unto him & him alone does all authority & mastery belong. He only has the right to rule because he has first learned to obey. When he has obtained obedience from the atomic structure within his own mind & body all atomic structure outside of his own mind & body will obey him also.

Thus each individual thru thought & feeling has the power to rise to the highest or sink to the lowest. Each one alone determines his own pathway of experience. By conscious control of his attention as to what he allows his mind to accept he can walk & talk with God face to face or, looking away from God, become lower than the animals sinking his human consciousness into oblivion. In the latter case the God-flame within him then withdraws from its human habitation. After aeons of time it tries a human journey once again into the world of physical matter until final victory is accomplished consciously & of its own freewill.

One of the services of the seventh ray is to help to sublimate & transmute impure substance drawn into the forcefields around electrons in the emotional, mental, etheric & physical bodies. Thus the individual redeems consciously all the energy he has drawn thru the ages & used for experimentation. As in a carpenter's workshop there are many shavings, much sawdust & other residue which result from his endeavors to produce a form of beauty so there is in the aura much residue which results from experimentation with the tools of creation.

The good carpenter not only produces a beautiful piece of furniture but cleans up his workshop as well. The good honest chela in the process of ascending into his God-estate has the use of the violet fire to clean up the residue of his experimentations with life while consciously developing his own divine nature. This is balance, spiritual integriy & mercy to the rest of the universe. Too long have the nature kingdom & the ascended host continued to transmute this residue for man! Now he has the way & means of making this personal transmutation of the energies for which he is accountable. At the same time he thus qualifies to become an ascended being himself!

Thursday, October 13, 2005

San Francisco Valentine Weekend Revolution Gallery

It was an "I do" heard around the world. Same-sex marriages with the papers to prove them - endorsed by the mayor - performed beneath the grand rotunda of San Francisco City Hall. It was a Valentine's Day weekend unlike any before and, from the historic first ceremony, The Chronicle was there.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Muzical Interlude

Charles Kellogg, Humoresque More 78RPM Whistlers

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

How to say I Love You in 100 Languages

English - I love you Afrikaans - Ek het jou lief Albanian - Te dua Arabic - Ana behibak (to male) Arabic - Ana behibek (to female) Armenian - Yes kez sirumen Bambara - M'bi fe Bengali - Ami tomake bhalobashi (pronounced: Amee toe-ma-kee bhalo-bashee) Belarusian - Ya tabe kahayu Bisaya - Nahigugma ako kanimo Bulgarian - Obicham te Cambodian - Soro lahn nhee ah Cantonese Chinese - Ngo oiy ney a Catalan - T'estimo Cherokee - Tsi ge yu i Cheyenne - Ne mohotatse Chichewa - Ndimakukonda Corsican - Ti tengu caru (to male) Creol - Mi aime jou Croatian - Volim te Czech - Miluji te Danish - Jeg Elsker Dig Dutch - Ik hou van jou Elvish - Amin mela lle (from The Lord of The Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien) Esperanto - Mi amas vin Estonian - Ma armastan sind Ethiopian - Afgreki' Faroese - Eg elski teg Farsi - Doset daram Filipino - Mahal kita Finnish - Mina rakastan sinua French - Je t'aime, Je t'adore Frisian - Ik hâld fan dy Gaelic - Ta gra agam ort Georgian - Mikvarhar German - Ich liebe dich Greek - S'agapo Gujarati - Hoo thunay prem karoo choo Hiligaynon - Palangga ko ikaw Hawaiian - Aloha Au Ia`oe Hebrew - Ani ohev otah (to female) Hebrew - Ani ohev et otha (to male) Hiligaynon - Guina higugma ko ikaw Hindi - Hum Tumhe Pyar Karte hae Hmong - Kuv hlub koj Hopi - Nu' umi unangwa'ta Hungarian - Szeretlek Icelandic - Eg elska tig Ilonggo - Palangga ko ikaw Indonesian - Saya cinta padamu Inuit - Negligevapse Irish - Taim i' ngra leat Italian - Ti amo Japanese - Aishiteru Kannada - Naanu ninna preetisuttene Kapampangan - Kaluguran daka Kiswahili - Nakupenda Konkani - Tu magel moga cho Korean - Sarang Heyo Latin - Te amo Latvian - Es tevi miilu Lebanese - Bahibak Lithuanian - Tave myliu Luxembourgeois - Ech hun dech gäer Macedonian - Te Sakam Malay - Saya cintakan mu / Aku cinta padamu Malayalam - Njan Ninne Premikunnu Mandarin Chinese - Wo ai ni Marathi - Me tula prem karto Mohawk - Kanbhik Moroccan - Ana moajaba bik Nahuatl - Ni mits neki Navaho - Ayor anosh'ni Norwegian - Jeg Elsker Deg Pandacan - Syota na kita!! Pangasinan - Inaru Taka Papiamento - Mi ta stimabo Persian - Doo-set daaram Pig Latin - Iay ovlay ouyay Polish - Kocham Ciebie Portuguese - Eu te amo Romanian - Te iubesc Russian - Ya tebya liubliu Scot Gaelic - Tha gra\dh agam ort Serbian - Volim te Setswana - Ke a go rata Sign Language - ,\,,/ (represents position of fingers when signing'I Love You') Sindhi - Maa tokhe pyar kendo ahyan Sioux - Techihhila Slovak - Lu`bim ta Slovenian - Ljubim te Spanish - Te quiero / Te amo Swahili - Ninapenda wewe Swedish - Jag alskar dig Swiss-German - Ich lieb Di Surinam - Mi lobi joe Tagalog - Mahal kita Taiwanese - Wa ga ei li Tahitian - Ua Here Vau Ia Oe Tamil - Nan unnai kathalikaraen Telugu - Nenu ninnu premistunnanu Thai - Chan rak khun (to male) Thai - Phom rak khun (to female) Turkish - Seni Seviyorum Ukrainian - Ya tebe kahayu Urdu - mai aap say pyaar karta hoo Vietnamese - Anh ye^u em (to female) Vietnamese - Em ye^u anh (to male) Welsh - 'Rwy'n dy garu di Yiddish - Ikh hob dikh Yoruba - Mo ni fe

Monday, October 10, 2005

For Amy's Grandma

Do not stand at my grave and weep, by Mary E. Frye * Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

On Being Human, by C.S. Lewis

Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence Behold the Forms of nature. They discern Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities Which mortals lack or indirectly learn. Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying, Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear, High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal Huge Principles appear. The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of Arboreal life, how from earth's salty lap The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness Enacted by leaves' fall and rising sap; But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance Of sun from shadow where the trees begin, The blessed cool at every pore caressing us -An angel has no skin. They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it Drink the whole summer down into the breast. The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest. The tremor on the rippled pool of memory That from each smell in widening circles goes, The pleasure and the pang --can angels measure it? An angel has no nose. The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes On death, and why, they utterly know; but not The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries. The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf's billowy curves, Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges. —An angel has no nerves. Far richer they! I know the senses' witchery Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see; Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be. Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior, This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares With living men some secrets in a privacy Forever ours, not theirs.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Umberto Eco

The Paradox
Hello, and welcome to Porta Ludovica! And a special congratulations to any visitors from Milan who have managed to break free from “Milanese Space,” but I regret to inform you that this Porta Ludovica exists only in cyberspace, and will not help you in triangulating your way back to Piazza Napoli. Sorry! Umberto Eco is an Italian writer of fiction, essays, academic texts, and children’s books, and certainly one of the finest authors of the twentieth century. A professor of semiotics at the University of Bologna, Eco’s brilliant fiction is known for its playful use of language and symbols, its astonishing array of allusions and references, and clever use of puzzles and narrative inventions. His perceptive essays on modern culture are filled with a delightful sense of humor and irony, and his ideas on semiotics, interpretation, and aesthetics have established his reputation as one of academia’s foremost thinkers.
The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana Annotation Project - An ever-growing resource on the countless allusions and quotations in Umberto Eco's latest novel. The Annotation Project is a wiki, a web page that anyone can modify.

Interview with Geoff Brock – Eco's new translator on the upcoming publication of The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana, Eco's fifth novel.

Key to The Name of the Rose Adele Haft’s guide to Eco’s novel has been reprinted! Here is the Porta Ludovica review.

Mystery of the Abbey A murder mystery game loosely based on Name of the Rose.

Eco on the Diane Rehm Show Eco talks on WAMU of Washington, D.C. with host Diane Rehm about Queen Loana. Streaming audio available, and you can also purchase the program on tape or CD.

The Gorge A chapter of Eco’s new novel is now online at the New Yorker.

New Eco Novel! The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana now in stores. Details here!

Name of the Rose Film Finally released on DVD.

The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana Eco's fifth novel. On Literature A collection of essays about literature. History of Beauty An illustrated exploration of historical concepts of beauty.
Paradox of Porta Ludovica (A Study of Ambiguous Triangulation) (Introduction) A short explanation on who I am and why this site is named for a place that may or may not be in Milan.

My name is Umberto Umberto (Biography) A small biographical sketch of Umberto Eco.

I construct Aristotelian Machines, that allow anyone to see with Words (Works – Fiction & Nonfiction) A look at his literary output, from his novels to his academic texts. Most have a small summary and some commentary.

Unheard-of Curiosities (Eco’s Writings & Essays) A collection of essays and short writings by Umberto Eco avalaible online for perusal.

Reviewers will unhesitatingly recommend it as required reading in the schools (Reviews) Reviews of works by and about Eco, culled from newspapers, magazines, and online sources.

In the construction of Immortal Fame you need first of all a cosmic shamelessness (Interviews & Articles) The Professor in interview and articles; also culled from newspapers, magazines, and online sources.

A novel, which is a machine for generating interpretations (Criticism) Articles and books of academic criticism written about Eco and his works.

Mystical. Dramatic. Baroque. Algolagnical. Scatological. Sadomasochistic. (Quotations) A collection of interesting quotations and remarks made by Eco in his fiction and nonfiction.

I shrink into one remote corner of my mind, to draw from it a story (Books on Tape) A listing and review of some audio versions of Eco’s novels.

The Great Art of Light and Shadow (Cinema, Theater & Music) Eco’s works and influences in non-printed media, from the film The Name of the Rose to Robert Wilson’s The Days Before.

Sext: In which Adso admires the door of the church (Images) Photographs of Eco and of subjects relating to his works, plus a few interesting things I created myself with Photoshop after a zillion cups of coffee.

Sir, no person of sense believes in these historiettes! (Papers about Eco) Links to a few papers or essays related to Eco found around the Web.

The Curious Learning of the Wits of the Day (Eco Online Communities: Reading Groups, Mailing Lists & Newsgroups) Links to Eco-ralted online communities, including Specula, the new Umberto Eco Mailing List.

Advancing into the forest of resemblances (Links) Links to other sites relating to Eco or his works.

I would advise against getting involved with a man like this: we’ll end up with a mountain of his books in the warehouse (Bookstore) A very comprehensive catalog of Eco works and Eco-related titles, directly available for ordering online through Books.

“You cannot believe what you are saying.” (FAQ: Frequently Asked Questions) Do you have a question about Umberto Eco, this Web site, or the fellow who runs it? Try the Porta Ludovica FAQ file first.

That one is a heron, he said to himself, that a crane, a quail. (Contact) Send email to the Great Quail – comments, suggestions, corrections, criticisms, submissions . . . all are welcome.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Howl by Allen Ginsberg Turns 50


by Allen Ginsberg

For Carl Solomon

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 thestarry 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 fiats 'doating 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, I 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 kaballa 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 E.B.I. 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 hiccupped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blonde & 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 hungover 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 steamheat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue 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 1930'S German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steam-whistles,

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 Buddhas or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive' or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisy-chain 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 metrasol 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 AM 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 ellipse the catalog the meter & 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.

Mamu Dog Face In The Banana Patch

happy feet


it's wild to get small

Thursday, October 06, 2005

The Plasmatics and Wendy O. WIlliams

On the night of April 6th 1998, Wendy O. Williams, lead singer of anarchic-punk band The Plasmatics, died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to her head. She was aged 48. Her body was found in a wooded area near her home in Storrs, Connecticut, by her former manager and confidant Rod Swenson. Wendy was well known for her shocking stage antics that dubbed her as "the queen of shock rock". Motorhead fans will especially remember her collaboration with Lemmy (see photo). While her band recorded a cover of Motorhead's "No Class", Motorhead did a cover of The Plasmatics' "Masterplan". But their most memorable work together was when Wendy and Lemmy teamed for a duet to record their version of the Tammy Wynette classic "Stand By Your Man". Wendy O Williams and Lemmy Reverse Forward An Essay

Wednesday, October 05, 2005


The Economic Tendency of Freethought

"In freedom we would not institute a wholesale robber to protect us from petty larceny."


"...for the line can theoretically be drawn anywhere in the formation of identities and consciousness. And herein lies your freedom."


"In your system of reality you are learning what mental energy is, and how to use it. You do this by constantly transforming your thoughts and emotions into physical form. You are supposed to get a clear picture of your inner development by perceiving the exterior environment. What seems to be a perception, an objective concrete event, independent and apart from you the perceiver, is instead the physical materialization of the perceiver's own inner emotions, energy and mental environment."

* Clairvoyance, by C.W. Leadbeater

"An ancient manuscript stands in this respect in a somewhat different position from a modern book. If it is not the original work of the author himself, it has at any rate been copied word by word by some person of a certain education and understanding, who knew the subject of the book, and had his own opinions about it. It must be remembered that copying (done usually with a stylus) is almost as slow and emphatic as engraving; so that the writer inevitably empresses his thought strongly on his handiwork. Any manuscript, therefore, even a new one, has always some sort of thought-aura about it which conveys its general meaning, or rather one man's idea of its meaning and his estimate of its value. Every time it is read by anyone an addition is made to that thought-aura, and if it be carefully studied the addition is naturally large and valuable."

This is equally true of a printed volume. A book which has passed through many hands has an aura which is usually better balanced than that of a new one, because it is rounded off and completed by the divergent views brought to it by its many readers; consequently the psychometrization of such a book generally yields a fairly full comprehension of its contents, though with a considerable fringe of opinions not expressed in the book, but held by its various readers.

On the other hand, a book used in a public library is not infrequently as unpleasant psychically as it usually is physically, for it becomes loaded with all kinds of mixed magnetism, many of them of a most unsavory character. The sensitive person will do well to avoid such books, or if necessity compels him to use them he will be wise to touch them as little as may be, and rather to let them lie upon a table than to hold them in his hand. * "By the time a man can read a woman like a book, he is too old to collect a library" * *******

Tuesday, October 04, 2005


* I’ve heard there was a secret chord That david played and it pleased the lord But you don’t really care for music, do you? It goes like this The fourth, the fifth The minor fall, the major lift The baffled king composing hallelujah Hallelujah Your faith was strong, but you needed proof You saw her bathing on the roof Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you She tied you To a kitchen chair She broke your throne, she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the hallelujah Hallelujah Baby I’ve been here before, I know this room I’ve walked this floor I used to live alone before I knew you I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch Love is not a victory march It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah Hallelujah There was a time you let me know What’s really going on below But now you never show it to me, do you? I remember when I moved in you And the holy dove was moving too And every breath we drew was hallelujah Hallelujah Maybe there’s a God above, all I ever learned from love Was how to shoot at someone who out drew you And it’s not a cry you can hear at night It’s not somebody who’s seen the light It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah * Hallelujah, Words & Music by Leonard Cohen, Sung by John Cale * Leonard Cohen (on Various Positions) Jeff Buckley (on Grace) John Cale (on Fragments of a Rainy Season) Rufus Wainwright (on Shrek) Jasmine Whenham (her recording is a demo version, but check out her website)

Monday, October 03, 2005

Love & Anarchy - an air-ono

Jaimie Leonarder Performer, diversional therapist, broadcaster, streetworker, nightclub impresario, archivist and champion of outsider culture – this description only touches on the dazzling diversity of Jaimie Leonarder’s life so far. Jaimie (aka Jay Katz) has been involved in underground artistic ventures for well over 25 years. A couple of years ago, he was the subject of an SBS independent film called Love & Anarchy: The Wild Wild World of Jaimie Leonarder. Jaimie started his career in nursing, and has worked in welfare, as a youth worker, a diversional therapist and managing the Hurstville C.Y.S.S. centre. He has often worked to empower young people by teaching them filmmaking. Jaimie’s years working on the frontline of street welfare and as a therapist caring for people with extreme mental and physical disabilities is combined with a passion for show business, performance and art. Typical of this mix is Jaimie’s notorious industrial noise band, the Mu-Mesons, made up of ex-psychiatric patients and eccentrics who push music to its limits. Jaimie has come to see that what he formed as a community of outsiders also acts as a form of therapy - perhaps not least of all for Jaimie himself. Jaimie is a devotee of independent cinema, running a screening venue for independent short filmmakers in his own home, called the Mu-Meson Archives, with his wife and creative partner Aspasia. Jaimie and Aspasia run a weekly film night at the Annandale Hotel, Sounds of Sinema, showing repertory cinema on 16mm film. Their current mission is to find as much lost and forgotten Australian cinema as possible. In fact they recently discovered a 16mm film print of Wake in Fright. Avid collectors of lost film footage they have became Robin Hood figures to the ABC, finding more original lost footage of early ABC TV shows than any other private organization. Jaimie has been hosting and presenting the National Student Film & Video Festival at Sydney University for the past three years. He has also given lectures at Adelaide’s Mercury Cinema and in Melbourne on lost film genres, such as Christian cinema, educational films and instructional shorts. * Leonarder is one of the most charming and caring people I've ever met (refer Jim Knox's write-up on this film in the Daily Reports, who summed him and his work up beautifully). With Jaimie and Aspasia having just presented some more screenings in Melbourne just last week, perhaps now is their time and some long-overdue recognition outside of Sydney's fringes theirs to enjoy, after so many years of tirelessly championing culture and society's marginalia – most encouraging for all struggling like-minded folk! * Love and Anarchy celebrates the inseparable life-and-work of humanitarian cultural maverick, Jamie Leonarder; briefly charting the life of a habitual outsider through his multiple expressions in film, music, and performance. A zealous champion of marginal folk-arts in all their obscured forms, Leonarder lends his energies to the construction of a creative community - with a welcome mat prominently outstretched to societies' "forgotten people". He and his partner Aspasia aren't alone in their avidity for startling analogue media; but it's rare and refreshing to witness the affectionate affinity they have for their dispossessed peers. I hesitate to describe this as an inspirational film, but Leonarder's portrait surely suggests a challenging paradigm for contemporary cultural workers - in which reiteration of the appropriate platitudes, over a café latte, are a hopelessly insufficient measure of social conscience. What are perhaps Leonarder's most legendary creative activities are at the helm of the Mu Mesons - a mottled crew of outsiders he's met over years of social welfare work. Leonarder's affectionate baton doesn't attempt to contain the inspired theatricality of his collaborators; instead, he seems content to provide them a context and be working in their raucous midst. Arresting performance footage is embellished by documentation of the Mumeson Archives micro-cinema, and 'Sounds of Seduction' nightclub, which Leonarder and Aspasia run as dual forums for fringe culture. Testimonials from the likes of Thurston Moore, Graeme Revell, Jack Sargeant and Jon Rose valorise these endeavours, while applying more conventional criteria by which to determine their importance. With its abundance of dynamic charm, Young's work is a crucial document; illuminating several secret histories of Australian culture at the appropriate intensity.

Sunday, October 02, 2005 Calendar

KPFA Radio: Factory Farms Feature this Sunday Anniversary Celebration & Campaigning for Farmed Animals: The Whole Story Social Strike! A Townhall Meeting A Benefit to Rebuild Green in New Orleans Conversation with Johan Galtung Bill Martin @ Revolution Books Feminist Speak Out “Energy Security - A Foreign Policy Trump Card?” Candlelight Vigil 4 Julio Ayala Heroes of the Earth The Price of Oil: Remembering Ken Saro-Wiwa EYEWITNESS NEW ORLEANS WITH MALIK RAHIM & OTHERS Free Forum: After the Gaza "Disengagement" John Harrington speaks on "Challenge to Power: Money, Investing and Democracy" Independent Press Spotlight: ColorLines & LiP Magazine Listening for a Change Next Cammerin Boyd Hearing at Police Commission Women of the Holy Kingdom Perpetual Motion/Movimiento Perpetuo San Francisco for Democracy Meetup Welcome Cindy Sheehan Home! Anarchist Library Class: The Spanish Revolution and Civil War "Chomsky on Anarchism"- Barry Pateman Speaks Avoiding CAFTAstrophe: What is CAFTA, why is it so controversial, and who will b This Delicate Monster The Price of Oil: Remembering Ken Saro-Wiwa Berkeley Women in Black weekly vigil KFC Cruelty Protest Unlock the Box: Abolish Prison Control Units Vegetarian Cooking Class: Comfort Foods Galore Where do you fit in? Peace Fest Protest for Peace SOLIS on Market Grand Opening San Quentin Families Project benefit

Saturday, October 01, 2005

I'm Walking

Amazing film from Soulcage, don't miss it! Description: This hilarious film stars an organically raised chicken in a foot race with several less healthy specimens. This is one of the funniest films from Germany's Soulcage Department studio. It's a must see film, so don't miss it!

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