nirinia: (Default)
In more literary news, I am fascinated by the hypertex-like novel on Spotify, called 'Hurt'. Have a look at it in Spotify, Don't Let Go. From googling it, I see they call it an interactive audio novel. Which is not a bad name, I suppose. This just reinforces my feeling that literary theory is making a terrible mistake in not taking the internet into account.

Ian McEwan is in Norway in two weeks time, and Anette and I were devastated when we missed out on tickets to his reading at Litteraturhuset. But he's doing a reading/signing event at Tronsmo as well, so we'll get to see him after all. We're getting there at noon, armed to the teeth with coffee, books and sonnets so we can be productive while we wait. The Booker Longlist has been announced, I have not read any of them, but have heard of a good deal. There appears to be a lack of the usual outrage. 13 more books on the 'read!' list.

The Paris Review is always worth a quick read; poor Wilson writes wryly about discovering cynicism today. Have a look if only to pick out the allusions in the final paragraph – I love anyone who indulges in useless allusions, it means I can, too.
nirinia: (Default)
In more literary news, I am fascinated by the hypertex-like novel on Spotify, called 'Hurt'. Have a look at it in Spotify, Don't Let Go. From googling it, I see they call it an interactive audio novel. Which is not a bad name, I suppose. This just reinforces my feeling that literary theory is making a terrible mistake in not taking the internet into account.

Ian McEwan is in Norway in two weeks time, and Anette and I were devastated when we missed out on tickets to his reading at Litteraturhuset. But he's doing a reading/signing event at Tronsmo as well, so we'll get to see him after all. We're getting there at noon, armed to the teeth with coffee, books and sonnets so we can be productive while we wait. The Booker Longlist has been announced, I have not read any of them, but have heard of a good deal. There appears to be a lack of the usual outrage. 13 more books on the 'read!' list.

The Paris Review is always worth a quick read; poor Wilson writes wryly about discovering cynicism today. Have a look if only to pick out the allusions in the final paragraph – I love anyone who indulges in useless allusions, it means I can, too.
nirinia: (Default)
This, my loves, is why I love postmodernism so very, very much. Artist + twitter + sunburn + other people's random twitpics = peniscon. Random, fantastic and an absolute delight. I asked a guy I follow on twitter what he thought of the film adaption of Coetzee's Disgrace, a few minutes later I get a DM asking for my email. Ten minutes later, I have a long mail of his thoughts to wallow in. Just, yum. When I'm back at campus, I will indulge myself and scourge the shelves for anything on postmodern theory.
nirinia: (Default)
This, my loves, is why I love postmodernism so very, very much. Artist + twitter + sunburn + other people's random twitpics = peniscon. Random, fantastic and an absolute delight. I asked a guy I follow on twitter what he thought of the film adaption of Coetzee's Disgrace, a few minutes later I get a DM asking for my email. Ten minutes later, I have a long mail of his thoughts to wallow in. Just, yum. When I'm back at campus, I will indulge myself and scourge the shelves for anything on postmodern theory.
nirinia: (Default)
I am fascinated by postmodernism (as I am by modernism, capitalism, humanism), and have been for a while. Is it perhaps the evidence of our decadence? Our artists thinking that we will, somehow, end. Our society will expand to a critical point, and then collapse in upon itself. No longer sustainable. I loathe McCarthy (The Road), and post-apocalyptic fiction. Did the ancient greeks and romans think that they would at, some point, collapse? Did their artists see it coming?

I don't think we will see an apocalypse in the sense of disaster, ruin, horrors. But could there be an idealistic apocalypse? Our society is based on deceit: our money does no longer exist in a physical sense, it is merely numbers on our screens. Numbers that drive people to sucide, and murder. Zeros and ones. And black gold. And appearances.

Perhaps capitalism and with it Christianity, dies. Or what there is left of Christianity, once humanism and secularisation have had their say. What then? Perhaps Islam has the Reformation/Renaissance/Revolution I think must come. Thesis, anti-thesis, synthesis. As I was stupid enough to state on my Religions exam, I thinkt here must be some new Reformation. And I think that while Christianity might be reformed over a number of years (and that process is on-going), Islam needs a bang. – I leave Judaism out, because while it is a force in a certain number of people, I cannot see it having a say.

Will Buddhism or Hinduism become dominant? Or will some new faith?

Is post-modernism an expression of our decadence? Are we decadent?

This is what happens when I watch "From Hollywood to Parkveien" on TV. Jan Thomas is just repulsive, and so a creature of our time. Haha, really bad TV makes me postmodern. Now I just need to write something about this.



On a more cheerful note, I got back in touch with a friend I haven't really seen for three years. We turned out to have more in common now than we did three years ago, and then we talked non-stop five days a week for three years. No, it's not supposed to piece-together well. We shopped, we talked, we gushed about shoes and clothes, and movies, and she's taking me on a tour of all the good Chinese restaurants in town. And I get to feast on her mother's divine spring rolls again. The Asian cuisine is heavenly!

I also made a discovery on the colour of clouds. The thunder kind, specifically. They're not grey, and not black. They are tinted pink, in the creases and swells; deep, blue purple on the dark belly, and in the centre, occasionally on the edges; midnight blue accents, and spots in-between the purple.

On Sunday I leave for what seems like it will be a three-week stay at the cottage. I go, heavily, armed with a PS3, various films, seasons 1 & 2 of The Wire, the shoe-boxed set of Sex and the City, a lap-top, an iPod touch, postmodern thoughts, and books. And heels. I might survive the stay.
nirinia: (Default)
I am fascinated by postmodernism (as I am by modernism, capitalism, humanism), and have been for a while. Is it perhaps the evidence of our decadence? Our artists thinking that we will, somehow, end. Our society will expand to a critical point, and then collapse in upon itself. No longer sustainable. I loathe McCarthy (The Road), and post-apocalyptic fiction. Did the ancient greeks and romans think that they would at, some point, collapse? Did their artists see it coming?

I don't think we will see an apocalypse in the sense of disaster, ruin, horrors. But could there be an idealistic apocalypse? Our society is based on deceit: our money does no longer exist in a physical sense, it is merely numbers on our screens. Numbers that drive people to sucide, and murder. Zeros and ones. And black gold. And appearances.

Perhaps capitalism and with it Christianity, dies. Or what there is left of Christianity, once humanism and secularisation have had their say. What then? Perhaps Islam has the Reformation/Renaissance/Revolution I think must come. Thesis, anti-thesis, synthesis. As I was stupid enough to state on my Religions exam, I thinkt here must be some new Reformation. And I think that while Christianity might be reformed over a number of years (and that process is on-going), Islam needs a bang. – I leave Judaism out, because while it is a force in a certain number of people, I cannot see it having a say.

Will Buddhism or Hinduism become dominant? Or will some new faith?

Is post-modernism an expression of our decadence? Are we decadent?

This is what happens when I watch "From Hollywood to Parkveien" on TV. Jan Thomas is just repulsive, and so a creature of our time. Haha, really bad TV makes me postmodern. Now I just need to write something about this.



On a more cheerful note, I got back in touch with a friend I haven't really seen for three years. We turned out to have more in common now than we did three years ago, and then we talked non-stop five days a week for three years. No, it's not supposed to piece-together well. We shopped, we talked, we gushed about shoes and clothes, and movies, and she's taking me on a tour of all the good Chinese restaurants in town. And I get to feast on her mother's divine spring rolls again. The Asian cuisine is heavenly!

I also made a discovery on the colour of clouds. The thunder kind, specifically. They're not grey, and not black. They are tinted pink, in the creases and swells; deep, blue purple on the dark belly, and in the centre, occasionally on the edges; midnight blue accents, and spots in-between the purple.

On Sunday I leave for what seems like it will be a three-week stay at the cottage. I go, heavily, armed with a PS3, various films, seasons 1 & 2 of The Wire, the shoe-boxed set of Sex and the City, a lap-top, an iPod touch, postmodern thoughts, and books. And heels. I might survive the stay.

Skin

Feb. 21st, 2008 10:05 pm
nirinia: (tatjana patitz)
I finished the "egg book" (The Melancholy of Anatomy), and have now forced it on Katrine. I am in desperate need of a second opinion. And googled Jackson, the author. While The Melancholy..., on one hand, disgusted me, it was fascinating in its complete postmodernism.

Another project of hers is Skin, a work published on the skin of volunteers. It will, she claims, never be published in the traditional sense. A single word per person, tattooed on a place of their choice. Her words, she calls them, the people that make up her book, or work. Only the words will get to read the finished work, on paper.

The idea fascinates me. A book that, if a word dies, will forever be incomplete. Jackson lives on, on the bodies of her words. And when they die, the work is no more. I read somewhere that some of the words had asked if they could pass their words on to their children. It is a very romantic idea, and it intrigues me. Jackson also seems to be toying with sending her words a vial of her ashes, in the event that she dies before them. Not highly unlikely, considering that she is older than most of them. Tattooing the word of some favourite book on my wrist seems such a lovely gesture. People tattoo bubbles on their wrists, symbols of their favourite element, parts of the periodic table, elves and invented language. Why should I not attach my passion to my wrist? Why the wrist? Because wrists fascinate me; They are fragile, slender and attached to the hands; Lovely fingers and pretty nails. A single word on my left wrist. In Times New Roman, size twelve.

Skin, as reported by the Guardian

Skin

Feb. 21st, 2008 10:05 pm
nirinia: (tatjana patitz)
I finished the "egg book" (The Melancholy of Anatomy), and have now forced it on Katrine. I am in desperate need of a second opinion. And googled Jackson, the author. While The Melancholy..., on one hand, disgusted me, it was fascinating in its complete postmodernism.

Another project of hers is Skin, a work published on the skin of volunteers. It will, she claims, never be published in the traditional sense. A single word per person, tattooed on a place of their choice. Her words, she calls them, the people that make up her book, or work. Only the words will get to read the finished work, on paper.

The idea fascinates me. A book that, if a word dies, will forever be incomplete. Jackson lives on, on the bodies of her words. And when they die, the work is no more. I read somewhere that some of the words had asked if they could pass their words on to their children. It is a very romantic idea, and it intrigues me. Jackson also seems to be toying with sending her words a vial of her ashes, in the event that she dies before them. Not highly unlikely, considering that she is older than most of them. Tattooing the word of some favourite book on my wrist seems such a lovely gesture. People tattoo bubbles on their wrists, symbols of their favourite element, parts of the periodic table, elves and invented language. Why should I not attach my passion to my wrist? Why the wrist? Because wrists fascinate me; They are fragile, slender and attached to the hands; Lovely fingers and pretty nails. A single word on my left wrist. In Times New Roman, size twelve.

Skin, as reported by the Guardian
nirinia: (Default)
I'm reading beautiful, heart-breaking post-modernism. What is the world coming to?
nirinia: (Default)
I'm reading beautiful, heart-breaking post-modernism. What is the world coming to?

October 2012

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