June 2008

Ass eigentlech nach kengem Idiot opgefall, wat Public Viewing iwwerhaapt heescht? Public Viewing ass d’öffentlecht Opbaren vun engem Doudegen. Wéi een zum Beispill beim Poopst Jean-Paul II. sengem Sarg konnt laanscht trëpplen, war dat ee Public Viewing. Mat Fussball oder iwwerhaapt enger Leinwand huet dee Begrëff guer näischt ze dinn – ausser offensichtlech fir déi, déi keen Englesch kënnen, wat wuel eng onheemlech grouss Mass u Leit ze si schéngt. Wa mer schon verarscht ginn, well mer Handy fir e Mobiltelefon soen (“handy” ass éischtens en Adjektiv a kee Nomen, an zweetens heescht et “praktesch”, “grëffbereed”, oder och nach “bequem”), stellt iech mol fir wéi onbeschreiwlech lächerlech mer mussen op englesch Mammesproochler wierken, wann mer d’Fussballkucken als eng Läicheschau bezeechnen.

Ech wees, ech reegen mech oft iwwer sou falsch Friemwierder op. Mee dat heiten ass definitiv dat extreemste Beispill, dat mer bis ewell begéint ass.

May he rest in peace.

(via)

Just received this email from Sigur Rós:

To show our gratitude to you for your support in ordering the Deluxe Edition we want you to become a part of it. We are going to credit you and all the people who have purchased the Deluxe Edition so far by listing your name in the book. That way you will become part of this unique document.

Yay. Wow!

Many people, when they look at the night sky, become dreamers. The vast black field with small beacons sprinkled all over it – to them it is open to any and all interpretations. When I look at them, the punctures in pitch-black darkness, I see death. Those dots, those tiny dots of light are nothing more than the last glimmer of stars long burnt out. Maybe they even annihilated an entire solar system and a civilization when they went supernova, or maybe they spent their whole existence alone. The last lonely candle, flickering somewhere in a cript until it suffocates under all the dust. And all that’s left of their former grandness are fading lights that travelled thousands of years only so unknowing humans could look up to them and forget those dots are a memento mori.

photo (cc) by holosmoss

Take my heart and break it or do
to it whatever you fancy. You are
the loneliness who could need life
or just something to play with and I
don’t need this heart no more because
I tried giving it away to someone who
might have taken care of it but
who didn’t want to in the end. That’s
alright. I closed my eyes and darkness
wasn’t as bad as I thought it would
be, I still felt the petals underneath
my feet. I never give away flowers
but I would have this time but
now they are dead and pointless
and not beautiful anymore. Just as
they always end up after a while no
matter how much love you shed.

Memories withered and fallen off my soul,
my heart burned to cinders, the light
in my eyes diffused on an empty canvas –
in the distant softly echoes an infernal choir
surrounded by shattered lives.
It takes two steps back to see
my image blur away in eternal mirrors,
two steps forward to slow it down.

A crushing sound and empty spaces
around me – tears are shed, or not.
I’m heterodyned by silence.
Someone long ago called it yearning
for infinity – or pining for love:

Today it’s a weeping violine and the same
two notes played on a piano, over and over,
the symphony called End.