4'33"

 

from "The Year of Magical Thinking" - Joan Didion

Life changes fast.

Life changes in the instant.

You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.

The question of self-pity.

There She Blows!

ONLY FEAR OF DEATH IS COMING BACK REINCARNATED

 

9/11

"Well, what happened there is, of course – now all of you must adjust your brains – the biggest work of art there has ever been. The fact that spirits achieve with one act something which we in music could never dream of, that people practice ten years madly, fanatically for a concert. And then die. And that is the greatest work of art that exists for the whole Cosmos. Just imagine what happened there. There are people who are so concentrated on this single performance, and then five thousand people are driven to Resurrection. In one moment. I couldn’t do that. Compared to that, we are nothing, as composers, that is…" - Karl Stockhausen (2002)

Half-Life OST - Kelly Bailey

 

Master of Arts

 https://drive.google.com/file/d/1rQ7IBJuC51vE-mskXDd_6HUaf-h83c5z/view?usp=sharing

GOOD MORNING

Azelaia Banks - Freestyle Şiir

 

Emily Dickinson

My life closed twice before its close -

It remains yet to see

If Immortality unveil

A third event to me

So huge, so hopeless to conceive

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell.

                                                            1896

Heroes Orchestra LIVE CONCERT - 20th anniversary of Heroes III

 

Sonnet 98

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,

Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,

That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.

Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell

Of different flowers in odour and in hue,

Could make me any summer’s story tell,

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:

Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

They were but sweet, but figures of delight

Drawn after you, – you pattern of all those.

    Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,

    As with your shadow I with these did play.

The Waste Land - TS Eliot

 I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.

And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,

My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,

And I was frightened. He said, Marie,

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.

In the mountains, there you feel free.

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

...

St. Patrick's Day

Ölümünü kutluyoruz.

 

The Grave of Keats - Oscar Wilde

Rid of the world's injustice, and his pain,

He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue.

Taken from life when life and love were new

The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,

    Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.

    No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,

    But gentle violets weeping with the dew

Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.

O proudest heart that broke for misery !

    O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene !

    O poet-painter of our English Land !

Thy name was writ in water - it shall stand :

    And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,

As Isabella did her Basil-tree.

ROME

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - Thomas Stearns Eliot

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

 

The Sick Rose - William Blake

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy

In Society - Allen Ginsberg

I walked into the cocktail party
room and found three or four queers
talking together in queertalk.
I tried to be friendly but heard

myself talking to one in hiptalk.

"I;m glad to see you," he said, and

looked away. "Hmn," I mused. The room

was small and had a double-decker

bed in it, and cooking apparatus:

icebox, cabinet, toasters, stove;

the hosts seemed to live with room

enough only for cooking and sleeping.

My remark on this score was understood

but not appreciated. I was

offered refreshments, which I accepted.

I ate a sandwich of pure meat; an

enormous sandwich of human flesh,

I noticed, while I was chewing on it,

it also included a dirty asshole.

More company came, including a

fluffy female who looked like

a princess. She glared at me and

said immediately: "I don't like you,"

turned her head away, and refused

to be introduced. I said, "What!"

in outrage. "Why you shit-faced fool!"

This got everybody's attention.

"Why you narcissistic bitch! How

can you decide when you don't even

know me," I continued in a violent

and messianic voice, inspired at

last, dominating the whole room

Endymion - Book 1

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to the earth,

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,

Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways

Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,

Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils

With the green world they live in; and clear rills

That for themselves a cooling covert make

'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,

Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms

We have imagined for the mighty dead;

All lovely tales that we have heard or read;

An endless fountain of immortal drink,

Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

...

John Keats

The Divine Image - William Blake

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love

All pray in their distress;

And to these virtues of delight

Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love

Is God, our father dear,

And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love

Is Man, his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart,

Pity a human face,

And Love, the human form divine,

And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man, of every clime,

That prays in his distress,

Prays to the human form divine,

Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

And all must love the human form,

In heathen, Turk, or Jew;

Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell

There God is dwelling too.

L'enfer

Jean-Paul Sartre - Huis Clos (1944)

Garcin abandonne Estelle et fait quelques pas dans la pièce. Il s'approche du bronze. 

Le bronze .. . (Il le caresse.) Eh bien, voici le moment. Le bronze est là, je le contemple et je comprends que je suis en enfer. Je vous dis que tout était prévu. Ils avaient prévu que je me tiendrais devant cette cheminée, pressant ma main sur ce bronze, avec tous ces regards sur moi . Tous ces regards qui me mangent .. . (Il se retourne brusquement.) Ha ! vous n'êtes que deux ? Je vous croyais beaucoup plus nombreuses. (Il rit.) Alors, c'est ça l'enfer. Je n'aurais jamais cru ... Vous vous rappelez : le soufre, le bûcher, le gril... Ah ! quelle plaisanterie . Pas besoin de gril : l'enfer, c'est les Autres.

T.S. Eliot - The Cocktail Party (1950)

Edward:    There was a door

And I could not open it. I could not touch the handle.
Why could I not walk out of my prison?
What is hell? Hell is oneself.
Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from
And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.