Goin' Home

In quite a good mood today.

The Lever

Behold the awesomeness that is Conan and Walker, Texas Ranger combined:

Conan Walker Clips

Stairway to Heaven

Louvre

The Basketball Jones

The Basketball Jones Demo Reel from The Basketball Jones on Vimeo.

Should you be into Basketball, in-depth analysis and just the right amount (a lot) of Canadian craziness - this is for you. Check out the daily 'The Basketball Jones' podcast, the best podcast out there.

pans and colanders

Short #3

"You really got me" he said.
"Ramble on" she said.
They liked playing this game. It reminded them of a youth they never experienced and memories that, at least, seemed to be real.
"Strangebrew" they said and burst out laughing.

Short #2

Two slightly distorted guitars. Or was it just him that was distorted? He didn't have time to contemplate this, after all he had set out to rescue the world. "This might be of importance" he thought. He didn't know what to do.

Short #1

He was quite certain that he did a good job. He was good at what he did, especially considering that he was never completely sure what it was that he did. Usually he liked it that way. In the last couple of days though, something he couldn't quite pin down slowly crept up in the back of his mind.


'Short' will be a regular, but not so regular feature in the future. These are snippets of stories, usually scribbled down on a small piece of paper, or a napkin (cliché alarm). Feel free to utilise these snippets as the beginning of your blockbuster novel, your bedtime story, your comic relief in the opera you've been writing for the past ten years or simply to blow your nose.

A Street

I used to be your favorite drunk
Good for one more laugh
Then we both ran out of luck
And luck was all we had

You put on a uniform
To fight the Civil War
I tried to join but no one liked
The side I'm fighting for

So let's drink to when it's over
And let's drink to when we meet
I'll be standing on this corner
Where there used to be a street

You left me with the dishes
And a baby in the bath
And you're tight with the militias
You wear their camouflage

I guess that makes us equal
But I want to march with you
An extra in the sequel
To the old red-white-and-blue

So let's drink to when it's over
And let's drink to when we meet
I'll be standing on this corner
Where there used to be a street

I cried for you this morning
And I'll cry for you again
But I'm not in charge of sorrow
So please don't ask me when

I know the burden's heavy
As you bear it through the night
Some people say it's empty
But that doesn't mean it's light

So let's drink to when it's over
And let's drink to when we meet
I'll be standing on this corner
Where there used to be a street

It's going to be September now
For many years to come
Every heart adjusting
To that strict September drum

I see the Ghost of Culture
With numbers on his wrist
Salute some new conclusion
Which of all of us have missed

So let's drink to when it's over
And let's drink to when we meet
I'll be standing on this corner
Where there used to be a street

--Leonard Cohen

Seen and reprinted without permission from the 2nd March 2009 issue of The New Yorker

Ceci...

... ne devient pas une blog photographique.

that party last night...

swiss unilateralism

CSI Fly

Did you ever see a fly die a natural death?

I saw a fly once that was death, presumably of natural causes and not of ‘primary cause of death’ getting smashed by an annoyed human. This dead fly I saw must have been the most sophisticated fly on the face of the earth, simply judging by its choice of final resting place.

It was a really hot day in the usually not-so-hot Irish summer and I spent my time at the beach, swimming in the still really-rather-cold Atlantic Ocean.
As was making my way home, climbing up some cliffs – the normal way of reaching that beach – I spotted a fly sitting on a small plateau of rocks, just ahead of me, facing the ocean. Intrigued I inched closer. Even as I had my hand right beside it, the fly would not move, it would not even react as I gently poked it. I came to the conclusion that this fly was either a very good actor – or dead.

I stopped climbing for a minute and turned around to gaze across the ocean when I realised that this must be the ideal place to die. The afternoon sun glowing across the sparkling blue water, a light breeze soothing the skin, the view unobstructed by cars or buildings or other remains of civilisation.

And imagine the life a fly, dead by natural causes must’ve had: Being born, flying around for a while: “Wheee, there’s some meat someone left outside, yum. Oh, what’s that, the brown stuff, that’s nice too… ooh that’s fun, annoying people and all, great. Whew, now I’m tired, I’ll sit down for a moment, hey this place seems really nice…”

gain

April 23 - July 23
800kcal/day
- 30kg

I Like

I'm writing this from my new UK iPhone. And it's nice,that I can say.

delirium?

Tales Of Brave Ulysses
by Eric Clapton and Martin Sharp


You thought the leaden winter would bring you down forever,
But you rode upon a steamer to the violence of the sun.


And the colors of the sea blind your eyes with trembling mermaids,
And you touch the distant beaches with tales of brave Ulysses:
How his naked ears were tortured by the sirens sweetly singing,
For the sparkling waves are calling you to kiss their white laced lips.


And you see a girl's brown body dancing through the turquoise,
And her footprints make you follow where the sky loves the sea.
And when your fingers find her, she drowns you in her body,
Carving deep blue ripples in the tissues of your mind.


The tiny purple fishes run laughing through your fingers,
And you want to take her with you to the hard land of the winter.


Her name is Aphrodite and she rides a crimson shell,
And you know you cannot leave her for you touched the distant sands
With tales of brave Ulysses; how his naked ears were tortured
By the sirens sweetly singing.


The tiny purple fishes run lauging through your fingers,
And you want to take her with you to the hard land of the winter.

2s2b

too sick to blog

uff

completely knackered, bad cold, but hopefully enthusiastic enough for work tomorrow :)

just a quickie

hey,
need to catch the ferry at 4.
hope to meet jason later on in galway, have a couple of pints and watch england get thrashed.
in unrelated news, i think i'm pretty good when it comes to opening oysters.
see y'all later

island in the... well, grey

hi
I'm on bofin 'till tomorrow mid-day, then galway and sunday back to london.
no working internet in galway and only a darned slow connection out here, so blogging's a pain.
it's all kind of weird spending a week with the parents, weird indeed.
anyhoo, it's been nice to see my mates over here, especially the big j who I'll be meeting to watch the rugby final tomorrow evening.
it's strange, even though all seems fine my mood is a little like the weather, grey.