nec sum adeo informis

Preambul la 'Strada Magarului orb"

2011-09-03T14:47:00.004+03:00

Atlasul continentelor incetosate

2010-04-14T09:52:00.004+03:00

… - Stiu ca vrei sa pleci de aici fiule. Poate ca daca as fi izbutit sa fiu stapan pe soarta mea, nu te-as fi lasat sa pleci in aceasta aventura, in care ai intrat de mult. Dragostea pe care ti-o port ma impiedica sa te pun in primejdie pe tine, unicul meu vlastar. Dar cea mai mare fericire a vietii e sa stii si sa fii martor. Cat despre aventura, aceasta e o mare rugaciune; caci nu mi-a fost dat sa aflu alta cale de a cunoaste lucrarea Lui. In ceea ce ma priveste, am incercat sa descopar lumea prin mijlocirea viselor. Aceasta alegere ar putea arata ca n-am izbutit sa fiu destul de curajos. Nu vreau sa te determin sa savarsesti si tu aceeasi gresala. Iti dau invoirea sa pleci. Du-te si vezi tot ce n-am putut eu sa vad, atinge tot ceea ce n-am putut eu sa ating, iubeste tot ce n-am putut eu sa iubesc si, mai cu seama, indura tot ceea ce parintele tau n-a avut cutezanta sa indure. Nu te teme de lume si de nesfarsitele ei fete.

Ishan Oktay Anar – Atlasul continentelor incetosate

Cafe Melange (2) Hard Day At The Office

2009-10-10T14:10:00.004+03:00

Cafe Melange (1)

2009-07-23T10:53:00.004+03:00

Ce face in vremuri de recesiune cetateanul mioritic indragostit de Scandinavia, fascinat de Provence si care a facut timp de un an de zile planuri pentru a merge la Amsterdam? Ei bine, merge la Viena!
La Viena unde niciodata nu poti spune ca ai stat destul si unde gasesti in portii mari de toate din cele ce ti se pot oferi in locatiile mai sus amintite.
Cu o Cafe Melange in fata, la cafeneaua Votiv, aflata la jumatatea distantei dintre Rathaus si Votive Kirche faceam invetarul sumar: Breugel din greu la Kunsthistorische, Bosch la Akademie der bildenden Kunste, gastronomie continentala sau mediteraneeana sau asiatica in Naschmarkt, vinuri la Grinzing, goticul de la Stefansdom si barocul de la Karls Kirche, Mozart peste tot, sute de carciumioare si mii de cafenele, Haus der Muzik......und so weiter...
O mie de motive pentru ca acesta sa fie doar primul episod dintr-o serie, sper cat mai lunga de blogoganduri vieneze.

Dobrogea Mon Amour, (continuare)

2009-05-25T15:14:00.005+03:00

Sa fie oare fotografiile un pretext pentru vorbe sau textul o justificare pentru poze?
Oricum ar fi sa fie, iata-le , si vorbele si pozele caci venind vara, trecand si Sf. Gheorge pe vechi (pe 5 mai) stiind ca balta a inflorit, ca stuful freamata de boboci de lebada, ca la scrumbie se pesuieste nonstop de la varsare pana la kilometrul 17 in dreptul gradinii lui Misa Cernamorit, frizerul, cel mai abil vanator de mistret cu pica si caini legati de mici langa cotetul porcului pentru a se invata cu mirosul, ca la Rosu e plin de raci, ca la mare se monteaza talienele cu gandul la calcan si stavrid, ca nea Vania il pregateste pe magarusul Puiu, care ar trebui sa aiba cam 20 de ani, sa traga cotiga care transporta de la pasager bagajele “scursantilor”, asa ma apuca un dor de duca… si pana in septembrie mai e mult.

Acum aproape 20 de ani am devenit dobrogean prin adoptie si repartitie guvernamentala, pe un pasager ce inainta ca melcul printr-o balta ca de smoala luminata de focurile stufului incendiat spre regenerare si cu licarirea unui far ce lumina intermitent litera G in alfabetul morse si care se apropia agonizant de incet ( pe atunci vaporul facea de la Tulcea la Sfantu cam 6-7 ore.)

Un tarm preistoric pe care marea aruncase scoici intrun strat de jumatate de metru, un cer brazdat de rate polare, o padure strabatuta de canale in care misunau vidrele, storceagul de morun si scordoleaua aveau sa fie rasplata de a doua zi si inocularea unei boli se nu va trece niciodata, dragostea de Dobrogea, dragoste cu nabadai ce va genera nesfarsite intamplari si sper multe intrari in acest blog.

Na zdarovie

Dobrogea, Mon Amour

2009-05-24T12:37:00.005+03:00

De la Niculitel la grota Sfantului Andrei, de la Sfantu Gheorghe la 2 Mai, de la Enisala la Hagieni sau de la Tulcea la Negru Voda, cele doua judete ale Dobrogei ofera cea mai mare diversitate geografica, geologica, etnica, istorica, gastronomica culturala si religioasa de pe intregul teritoriu romanesc. 14 etnii. vestigii pre - dacice, grecesti, romane, bizantine, genoveze, turcesti, pesteri, chei, cei mai vechi munti si cel mai recent pamant, Dunarea si Marea, scordolea, suberek, iaurt de oaie, scrumbie albastra, icre negre, placinte cu proboi si batog de rechin, pelicanul cret si ivancic pescarul.

Cum ai plecat, cum arzi de nerabdare sa revii. Si sunt atatea de facut si de vazut

Trio

2009-05-17T13:52:00.007+03:00

Envelopes Of Yesterday

2009-05-13T16:27:00.007+03:00

I feel like a rusty key I don't fit any door
You stole my cloudy castles but you didn't say what for.
You said I didn't have the eyes to paint out in the street
Without a standard martyr's hat and neon sloganned
feet.
To eat, it seems, I needed you for crumbs your need was
me.
We cheered and passed the sanguine flask till the ice
man made me see
At five o'clock you could never wash your printer's stain
away;
So I count you lost and your words I've tossed
In the bleary envelopes of yesterday.

I feel like a tumbling kite there's no hand on my reel.
I dived aboard your star-bright ship to find you'd left the
wheel
To hunt some upstart passengers who had gambled with
their fare
Then trumpeted the hull with holes and laughing gone
by air.
Whilst most of us who stayed aboard slipped brandy to
the crew
John Purser locked his iron box and pointed at the queue.
Still working out the price of time no echoes will we lay;
So I've burnt the till and I've thrown the bills
In the weary envelopes of yesterday.

I need to suck the breasts of time and freeze her milk in
ink
To juggle cruets full of dreams and balance on the brink.
Don't blame me if my smoke and steam obscured your
rutted track,
I only meant to startle you not offer you my back
To ride upon and overload with your jars of unbaked clay.
You can find your guide to the pulpit ride
in the dreary envelopes of yesterday.

I'm upside down I'm an empty town my eyes are full of
ghost
Of dusty windowed certainty and spider-webbed almost.
I love, I hate this rock and roll the ladies and the lights
Ate all my flowers long ago but the roots came through
all right.
Whilst now my toast is the crossroads post, I hear just
out of sight,
That the Black Pick's found his Chaldean lamp
After years in a concentration camp.
But I fear he's still out on the ice
With his bagpipe mouth and his cup of crimson speiss.

Still, I've fulfilled a host of dreams for that I'll cry hurray
But it won't be long till I cast this song
In the jet-edged envelopes......

Pete Sinfield 1973

La Curtea Imparatului Rosu

2009-05-12T12:46:00.004+03:00

King Crimson este centrul universului meu musical.

Fie ca ma indrept spre Bach fie ca o apuc catre Miles Davis, spre Rasarit sau spre apus, Miaza Noapte, Miaza Zi, Roza Vanturilor e centrata pe ghitara lui Robert Fripp si versurile lui Pete Sinfield.

Adolescentul ce am fost, adultul ce ma aflu sau batranul care va sa fiu a aflat, gaseste si va avea la indemana un univers nesfarsit ca intindere si de nesecat, univers ce prin note si cuvinte include atat pe Shakespeare cat si pe Omar Khayyam, pe Pitagora si Merlin, pe Mozart si John Coltrane pe Orwell si pe Flaubert pe Mahler pe Crist pe Rembrandt pe Rimbaud pe Confucius pe Bosch pe Mahomed pe Dostoievski pe Ibsen pe Paganini….dar in primul rand pe Imparatul Rosu.

Pete Sinfield l-a creat pe Imparatul Rosu avandu-l in minte pe Frederich al II lea de Suabia, rege al celor doua Sicilii si imparat al Sfantului Imperiu Romano-German, figura proeminenta a evului mediu ce a petrecut mult mai mult timp in biblioteca decat in sa, minte enciclopedica ce a influentat enorm evolutiile ulterioare in Europa mai ales prin efortul de integrare a culturii islamice cu cea europeana.
S-au scris si se mai pot scrie sute de carti despre Frederich al II lea. Ce au facut Fripp si Sinfield prin Imparatul Rosu a fost transformarea muzicii cu instrument amplificate electric din divertisment in act de cultura si nasterea unui univers din care nu poti si nici nu doresti sa mai iesi vreodata.

The Court Of The Crimson King

The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournament's begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the crimson king.

The keeper of the city keys
Put shutters on the dreams.
I wait outside the pilgrim's door
With insufficient schemes.
The black queen chants
the funeral march,
The cracked brass bells will ring;
To summon back the fire witch
To the court of the crimson king.

The gardener plants an evergreen
Whilst trampling on a flower.
I chase the wind of a prism ship
To taste the sweet and sour.
The pattern juggler lifts his hand;
The orchestra begin.
As slowly turns the grinding wheel
In the court of the crimson king.

On soft gray mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gentle pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.

Love You Too

2009-02-21T19:22:00.003+02:00

WINDOW GAZER

2009-02-21T12:06:00.005+02:00

Arild Andersen - Hyperborean

Asculta mai multe audio diverse

AQUA

2009-02-10T21:36:00.004+02:00

WIEN MEIN WIEN

2009-02-10T17:13:00.007+02:00

ALAND

2009-01-31T11:06:00.005+02:00

Gamla Stan

2009-01-18T20:29:00.003+02:00

un pic de nostalgie, un pic de nerabdare...

Västerås Domkirke

2008-10-24T12:39:00.005+03:00

KARLSKIRCHE IN and OUT

2008-10-20T14:25:00.005+03:00

Little Big Men

2008-10-19T09:14:00.004+03:00

INSIDE UPPSALA DOMKIRKAN

2008-10-15T14:47:00.003+03:00

BIRDY

2008-10-12T12:01:00.006+03:00

Seagull, you fly across the horizon
Into the misty morning sun.
Nobody asks you where you are going,
Nobody knows where you're from.

Here is a man asking the question
Is this really the end of the world?
Seagull, you must have known for a long time
The shape of things to come.
Now you fly, through the sky, never asking why,
And you fly all around 'til somebody, Shoots you down.

Seagull, you fly, across the horizon,
Into the misty morning sun.
Nobody asks you where you are going,
Nobody knows where you are from,
Now you fly through the sky, never asking why,
And you fly all around 'til somebody, yeah,
Shoots you down. Mm mm, yeah.
Seagull you fly, seagull you fly away.

And you fly away today
And you fly away tomorrow
And you fly away, leave me to
my sorrow.

Seagull go and fly,
Fly to your tomorrow, leave me to my sorrow, fly.

GOTHIC

2008-10-06T22:20:00.006+03:00

Gothic Art at Uppsala Domkyrka

In Memoriam William Webb Ellis

2008-10-05T11:25:00.005+03:00

WILLIAM WEBB ELLIS
WHO WITH A FINE DISREGARD FOR THE RULES OF FOOTBALL
AS PLAYED IN HIS TIME
FIRST TOOK THE BALL IN HIS ARMS AND RAN WITH IT
THUS ORIGINATING THE DISTINCTIVE FEATURE OF
THE RUGBY GAME
A.D. 1823

Belvedere und Hunderwasserhaus

2008-09-22T20:46:00.002+03:00

UPPSALA B&W Vision

2008-09-14T18:27:00.004+03:00

Enisala si Cetatea Heracleea

2008-09-11T12:43:00.007+03:00

Renard Vulpoiul

2008-09-10T10:30:00.000+03:00

"- Adieu, dit le renard. Voici mon secret. Il est très simple : on ne voit bien qu’avec le coeur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."

Faces

2008-07-17T14:17:00.001+03:00

Gamla Uppsala

2008-07-13T15:59:00.001+03:00

The fair-haired son of Odin's race,

Who fled before fierce Tunne's face,

Has perished by the demon-beast

Who roams the forests of the East.

The hero's breast met the full brunt

Of the wild bull's shaggy front;

The hero's heart's asunder torn

By the fell Jotun's spear-like horn

Saptamana Luminata la Cernica

2008-05-06T23:29:00.002+03:00

Le-am prefacut in versuri si-n icoane.
Facui din zdrente muguri si coroane.
Veninul strans l-am preschimbat in miere,
Lasand intreaga dulcea lui putere.
Am luat ocara, si torcand usure
Am pus-o cand sa-mbie cand sa-njure.

Avant la lettre

2008-04-14T12:38:00.000+03:00

"Some photographers take reality... and impose the domination of their own thought and spirit. Others come before reality more tenderly and a photograph to them is an instrument of love and revelation."

Ansel Adams