March 23, 2005
it’s a miracle i saw you passing through
Today I got in the mail the Toulouse record which have topped my wish list and ebay searches for years, “The way the city stretches”. I would add a few biographical notes about Toulouse and their great concept-album but my readers have heard me tell this one before!
Probably the long wait was key, but right now I can’t think of any 5$ that ever bought me such joy. I like the blue prints on the carboard, and the undoubtedly lovelier sound of a needle on a slow-spinning vinyl! (my turntable is almost shot). The tincan ringing of the mp3s I used to listen to has reveal itself vintage, but it just sounds many degrees warmer.
At first I was heartbroken to not find a lyrics booklet, even though I often end up disappointed, but then I found instead a note for each song :
- one a.m.
the city built on stilts is not such a terrible idea…here, one can survey the motorways below from a safe vantage point above.
-know better
the city built on inaction must be provided with the impetus to act.
-chant marigot
the city built on the sea sways softly…its youth lament the tragic ends of their past amorous adventures.
-sadness will persist
the city built on rubble must certainly fall to the ground. its foundations are far too fragile.
-and the connections
the city built on concrete, glass, and cars is a never-ending squalor of sights and sounds. one must find a guide if one is to avoid becoming lost in its byzantine mass.
-memory is nothing
the city built on dreams must never turn to memory as a crutch. its motels and airports are filled with misguided travelers.
-never said
the city built on springs is a wonderful contraption. watch as it bounces and moves about.
—-
I guess many people could find the record dated but it still sounds intemporal to me. Like finding myself at intersections, chosing this or that path, without always thinking about which part of me finds it beneficial, and what do I lose in the trade. I seldom seem to make the wiser choices, and the melancholy of these songs just proves me right. It reminds me of the dilemma at the heart of architecture, or music, and of the way Toulouse failed to make a second good album (well there’s always Vitesse I guess!)
“As urban designers, we must consider every denizen of the city. How does each city-dweller view his/her environment, and how do these perceptions affect his/her daily enjoyment of the city? A stockbroker who goes to work at nine and returns home at five certainly appreciates the steady flow of traffic afforded by broad streets. However, we must not forget the youth of our cities. They sneak out all night, play like spies. They enjoy running down streets and hiding far from sight, and as such, they would presumably prefer narrow, nameless streets.”
Venturi, Robert, Complexity and contradiction in architecture, 1966
Posted by nathalie at 08:59 PM | Comments (1)
October 15, 2004
autumn in peking
So, I just made plans : a lovely weekend of rain and books, a cat to be pet, things to be dipped in cheese and swallowed until a state of grace is obtained! The colder it gets, the more self-indulgent I become. Wait, this is all a lie - I spent last weekend in the delicious, sweltering heat of south padre texas, and indulged quite a lot too. I saw my first opossum, whose courage now inspires my every acts, also my first crazy dragonflies, and stars that shone twice as bright as streetlights. It’s not like my city is covered under thick blankets of smog, or that I live in Paris Ville-Lumière, but the fact is that stars in the Montreal nightsky are very much washed-out and indistinct. I read that it has to do with the low cost of electricity around here, and angry astronomers will point out that stuff like outside parking lots are 5 times more brightly lited than any other place. This can explain how watching the dark Texas sky has lifted my spirits so well, also Lone Star beer, and all the SNF stars.
Let me just tell you one word about the Rimbaud biography by Graham Robb, which I devoured the same way one would a box of Domino’s breadsticks. Like Calvin returning to Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kablooie, I always go back to my favourite lurid fairytale — the childpoet who spat on everything! and set his loved ones on fire! — which operate a lazy, slightly hypnotic beatitude on myself, the unequalled comfort of tired old beloved stories. Anyway, Robb’s biography may very well be the worst I have ever read, close in squalor to Enid Starkie’s, all bathed in slimy worned out myths, and for some stupid reason, like Baldur’s Gate paperback fiction, it makes me happy.
Posted by nathalie at 04:08 PM | TrackBack
April 14, 2004
WASTE and ecto are two
WASTE and ecto are two applications which I like the name of. Try both, they are fun, but WASTE don’t work. I can’t find my picture of an ectoplasm cat. ecto makes linking and bolding easy! WASTE does nothing. but reminded me of a comic book secret club, and reminded me of the Calvin & Hobbes pages taken down for copyright issues, the one that contained all the strips and a searchable index, and had hurted no one. It makes me mad and angered, and by extent, the software WASTE and its name which inspired me this lament.
Posted by nathalie at 09:13 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
April 03, 2004
deux
THE GOOD old monk was within six paces of us, as the idea of him cross’d my mind; and was advancing towards us a little out of the line, as if uncertain whether he should break in upon us or no.—He stopp’d, however, as soon as he came up to us, with a world of frankness. and having a horn snuff-box in his hand, he presented it open to me.—You shall taste mine—said I, pulling out my box (which was a small tortoise one) and putting it unto his hand.—‘T is most excellent, said the monk. Then do me the favor, I replied, to accept of the box and all, and when you take a pinch out of it, sometimes recollect it was the peace offering of a man who once used you unkindly, but not from his heart.
a picture
