skoraj novo leto

moja mala namizna smrekica & za kulisami

Vceraj smo imeli se zadnja predavanja (debatni krozek, govorilne ure, razsirjanje obzorij, zapravljanje casa, skupno odkrivanje tople vode, kakorkoli ze) in sedaj se zacenja xmas break (beri: novoletne pocitnice). Zadnje dni sem si (poleg pridnega studiranja, seveda! :) ) dal opravka z pripravljanjem novoletnih kartic, ki so bodo sle na posto koj ko zberem vse naslove. Ampak ob tem sem opazil da ceprav bom poslal za manjsi gozdicek dreves po posti, meni ubistvu ne bo ostala nobena.

Ampak kaksne so pa novoletne pocitnice brez smrekce? Ampak v Icelandu in Morrisonsu ne prodajajo nobene namizne smrekce pod en funt, tako da, ne bodi len, sem se odlocil jo pripravit sam. Kaksno uro kasneje, par zrtvovanih listov in skorajda brez nepotrebne krvi kasneje se je pred menoj pojavila moja osebna, cisto moja, mala, namizna, lustna smrekica. Seveda z darili :)

Poleg tega sem se oborozil z knjigami za prvi esej:

knjige o razvoju urbanizma & holloway road tube station (v snezenju)

Madona, ce pa iz vsega tega ne zadobim zadosti citatov, referenc in drugega materiala za plonkat, pol pa tut nc ne recem. Najbolj zabavno je bilo to potem prinesti domov - do roba napolnjen nahrbtnik. Kdo bi si mislil da je lahko papir tako tezek. Dejstvo, da je na poti nazaj tudi snezilo (! z malo domisljije (in zooma) se lahko na drugi slikici najde nickoliko snezink) vsega skupaj ni ravno poenostavilo.

barbican - subjekti in objekt (ali je obratno?)

Poleg tega sem bil pa dans na enem arts bazarju, ki me je opomnil, da mi je Barbican ena najljubsih in najbolj zanimivih his v Londonu. Tak Cankarjev Dom na steroidih, pa v rdece-roza preobleki. Na drugo razstavo sem prisel pa fashionably late - 45 minut po zaprtju. 5 tock zame.


No, ce sem se pa ze razpisal, pa se tole za zakljucek:

holloway road: nag's head avtobusna postja zjutraj in coronet cinema/pub zvecer

Dolgi dnevi na faxu so predvsem fletni, ker vidis sonca zjutraj 10 minut, ko te oslepi ko kolesaris proti njemu. In potem naslednji dan, ker ko se vracas je ze noc.


Poleg vsega skupaj se mi je pa zacela dogajati ena prav zanimiva (skorajda arhaicna) zadeva - ne jemljem vec telefona povsod s seboj. V trgovino hodim kar brez mobitela. :O V kuhinji sem nedosegljiv. :OO Pod tusem takisto - ampak roko na srce(!) to sem bil tudi prej. V zadnjem tednu sem namrec prejel dva klica. Nic vec, nic manj. To verjetno pomeni padec klicev za vec sto odstotkov glede na prejsnje case. Njah, to pa to ce se clovek preseli in vrze v smeti prejsnjo stevilko...

lonljana

heyhu,

danes sem spet prezivel dan po opravkih (beri: fax, knjiznica in par trgovin). vsak je bil na svojem koncu, med njimi sem se itak prevazal z mojim najboljsim prijateljem Nigelom.

potem sem pa razmisljal ce se mi da iti nazaj ven do enega kluba gledat ce imajo kaksne ekstra karte za koncert la roux in preveril na karti koliko je do tja. pa se mi je zdelo sumljivo dalec, sej je sam mal ven iz centra, ceprav resda v drugo smer. in potem preveril kilometrino in poskusil najti kaj podobnega - in preverjeno je genau natancno toliko kot ce bi sel iz preserca do medvod.

bom to za vsak slucaj se enkrat napisal. Od Presernovega trga do MEDVOD!


no, to me je malo sokiralo. (no, precej)

in sem se spravil skombinirati par gmap kart v istem merilu, tko, za lastno orientacijo.

1: karti centrirani na trnow v lj ali pa holloway (nag's head) v london z pokazanim radijem 1km. prikazane so ljubljanske mestne vpadnice in obvoznica na istem merilu severnega londona. se pravi finsbury park je toliko dalec kot preserc. kenwood house v hampstead heathu toliko kot koseski bajer. commercial road knjiznica (kjer sem bil danes) kot razcep malence. greenwich kot Turjak...itd.

2: danasnja pot, kao cez ljubljano. iz severnega zacetka celovske cez zeleznisko do vrh golovca (commercial rd. knjiznica), potem do interspara vic v trgovino (oxford st.) in potem mimo hale tivoli nazaj do obvoznice. ... ni cudn da se mi pol ne da se do vrhnike pogledat ce lahk grem na koncert ;)





..omg

200, v3 : The White Ribbon

I’m not sure if the story I want to tell you is entirely true. Some of it I only recognize from camera phones. And after so many months a lot of it is still foggy and some answers I don’t even want to know.

It all began, I think, with the Lawyer’s cycling accident. As he was coming to meet us down at the beach, he quite thoroughly devastated his bike, and his wrist along with it. There were no trip wires, evil leprechauns or divine interventions involved, merely a hangover and some sunrays.

Later on, we went on a tour of the island’s clubs: Lust, Kinky and Scandall. Amidst the sweat of dancers, throb of lights and relentless basses I vaguely remember all of them interconnected by our host’s white ribbon (and by ribbon I mean garter).

The days passed in blissful oblivion, relishing in nature’s gifts both on and under our skin, doing our best to take in the best of summer, laziness and hedonism. No-one owed anyone anything, but we still exchanged fluids generously.

In the end we all happily returned, brandishing slight tans and distinct bitemarks, into the dreary, black-and-white, guilt-ridden everyday life that we broke away from. The Lawyer’s new cast included.

200, v2: Museum of Everything

I’ve been entertaining a couple of friends over the weekend on their trip to London, suggesting things to see and do in a couple of days and get the best experience. And I found myself in a curious position of advising them to go see the Museum of Everything instead of their planned trip to the British Museum.

I’m not sure if my advice was good or appropriate, but it was definitely sincere. I don’t think the Parthenon marbles are going anywhere anytime soon, or any of the other cultural treasures of immense value, that are safely locked up in that somber institution. But what we get in this museum is a slice of today through eyes of some peculiar people.

But what were my friends going to say on their return? “We went to see some random stuff in a makeshift gallery that we could have seen anywhere else”? But that is exactly the point. It does exactly what it says on the box, and swoops up items from backyards of eccentrics from around the globe. And what you get in return is a conceptual frolic across the meadows of Silly.

I’m not sure that outweighs the Marbles, but it sure is fun!

200, v1: Anish Kapoor

As the tension builds up, a quiet and expectant air fills the room. The Cannon is warming up and a host of onlookers hold their breath at the sound of buzzing. As gas is being pumped through pipes, valves and tanks, one can dissect what is going on.

Throughout the works, there is no author, as there is no desired form. What we are witnessing are merely transient stages in haphazard physical processes. They would be best described as briefly embodied “What if...” sentences, conceptually floating around us. Almost like the gallery has tried to trap a passing cloud within its walls.

But somehow this apparent absence of author or tool somehow manages to capture a part of nature, that is too primeval to be created rationally. The pure brutality and persuasiveness of carving a square peg to fit through a round-ish hole or the wall that has been blasted repeatedly only to create an image more powerful than Guernica or chilling than Scream. The Cannon and its exhibited cousins speak a language of their own that instinctively connects with us.

And then BOOM! Wax is sent flying through the gallery and a gratifying thud lets us know we’ve just witnessed art being made.