Zajtra.
Urobíme jednu vec, aby bol svet lepší.
Stačí veľmi silná myšlienka.
Porozmýšľajte.
Toto je masová kampaň. Niečo veľké sa stane.
Tomorow.
We are going to do one single thing to make world better.
Really strong thought is enough.
Think about it.
This is a big job. Something unexpected is going to happen.
utorok 28. februára 2012
pondelok 27. februára 2012
Emily Dickinson- poem from 1894
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Thought it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields-
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf i sever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum;
Prithee, my Brother,
Into my garden come !
Existuje iná obloha,
jasnejšia a pokojnejšia,
a existuje iný slnečný svit,
ak si myslíš, že prichádza temnota;
nemysli na vyblednuté lesy, Austin,
nemysli na mĺkve polia-
je jeden malý lesík,
ktorého listy sú vždy zelené;
A svetlejšia záhrada,
kde nikdy nebýva mráz;
v jej nevädnúcich kvetoch
počujem bzukot múdrych včiel;
Prosím ťa, brat môj,
do mojej záhrady vstúp. (voľný preklad MayJuniper)
nedeľa 26. februára 2012
W. Shakespeare: The Complete Works of Shakespeare, The Halmyng Publishing House Ltd., Middlesex 1958, p. 1051
Sonet LXVI
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, -As, to behold a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
W. Shakespeare: Sonety, MF Praha 1964, s. 72
Znaven, ach, znaven vším, já volám smrt a klid,
když vidím zásluhy rodit se na žebrači,
a bědnou nicotnost zas v nádheře se skvít,
a víru nejčistší zrazenou v hořkém pláči,
a zlatý vavřín poct na hlavách nehodných,
a dívčí něhu, čest, servanou v okamžiku,
a dokonalost pak, budící už jen smích,
a vládu ve zchromlých pařátech panovníků,
a jazyk umění vrchností zmrzačený,
a blbost, doktorsky radící rozumu,
a přímost, zvanou dnes hloupostí bez vší ceny,
a Dobro, zajaté a otročící Zlu -
tím vším, ach, unaven, já zemřel bych už rád,
kdybych tím nemusel i lásce sbohem dát.
Translation: Jan Vladislav, 1964
sobota 25. februára 2012
štvrtok 23. februára 2012
streda 22. februára 2012
utorok 21. februára 2012
http://www.myspace.com/kieslowski22
som prekvapená. celkom dobré! čech. a ťažko sa hľadá, lebo Kieslowski je poľský režisér.
pondelok 20. februára 2012
nedeľa 19. februára 2012
sobota 18. februára 2012
piatok 17. februára 2012
l
štvrtok 16. februára 2012
streda 15. februára 2012
Antony and the Johnsons
Hope there´s someone
who´ll take care of me
when I die, will I go.
Oh, I´m scared of the middle place
between light and nowhere.
who´ll take care of me
when I die, will I go.
Oh, I´m scared of the middle place
between light and nowhere.
Balances
in life
one is always
balancing
like we juggle our mothers
against our fathers
or one teacher
against another
(only to balance our grade average)
3 grains of salt
to one ounce truth
our sweet black essence
or the funky honkies down the street
and lately I’ve begun wondering
if you re trying to tell me something
we used to talk all night
and do things alone together
and i’ve begun
(as a reaction to a feeling)
to balance
the pleasure of loneliness
against the pain
of loving you
by Nikki Giovanni
utorok 14. februára 2012
pondelok 13. februára 2012
Som nevesta času- I am a bride of a time
I don’t know anything with certainty, but seeing the stars makes me dream.
Vincent van Gogh
Vincent van Gogh
nedeľa 12. februára 2012
(prosím vás, ak mate chuť, zmente nejako tvár blogu v Návrhoch. ja som sa o to pokušala, a stale nie som akosi spokojná.)
a svieťte
pretože když člověk jednou je,
tak má koukat aby byl.
A když už kouká, aby byl, a je,
tak má bejt to, co je, a nemá bejt to, co není,
jak to v mnoha případech je.
(moudra pana Wericha)
sobota 11. februára 2012
piatok 10. februára 2012
štvrtok 9. februára 2012
streda 8. februára 2012
Pavel "Hirax" Baričák
Potichu a naho
ležali skrytí trávou,
plachí, čistí cez dlane.
V diaľave zúrilo ľudstvo,
Boh neodpisoval na pozvanie.
Bol v steblách vánok...
Prežili krutú zimu,
spievali úžasne farebne
farebné motýle v srdciach.
Znova spolu, tí istí, len iní,
už si vážili bolesť,
už si vážili seba.
Poslovia vrelých dlaní,
nečuli vytia slepých.
Len šepot krídiel, ticho pier,
hojivá sonáta neba.
Boh, lúka, pár živých a slnko,
ostrov ticha v hluku bytia.
Mlčala krehká labuť,
nahá, skrytá v tráve,
prameň, čistá rieka,
myjúca duše pravé.
Mĺkvo sledovala balet oblakov,
slová zdali sa jej zbytočné.
Láska.
plachí, čistí cez dlane.
V diaľave zúrilo ľudstvo,
Boh neodpisoval na pozvanie.
Bol v steblách vánok...
Prežili krutú zimu,
spievali úžasne farebne
farebné motýle v srdciach.
Znova spolu, tí istí, len iní,
už si vážili bolesť,
už si vážili seba.
Poslovia vrelých dlaní,
nečuli vytia slepých.
Len šepot krídiel, ticho pier,
hojivá sonáta neba.
Boh, lúka, pár živých a slnko,
ostrov ticha v hluku bytia.
Mlčala krehká labuť,
nahá, skrytá v tráve,
prameň, čistá rieka,
myjúca duše pravé.
Mĺkvo sledovala balet oblakov,
slová zdali sa jej zbytočné.
Láska.
OlejnikovaZa práce O basetovi, ktorý neznášal mľaskanie, Liek pre Vĺčika a Slávik získala ceny v súťaži Najkrajšia kniha roka. Vlani vyšli tri knihy, ktoré ilustrovala: V melónovom cukre (Artforum), Mahábhárata (Argo) a Spiace mesto
Čítajte viac: http://kultura.sme.sk/c/6230578/vsetci-v-artfore-sa-museli-zblaznit.html#ixzz1loqNMUZ5
Čítajte viac: http://kultura.sme.sk/c/6230578/vsetci-v-artfore-sa-museli-zblaznit.html#ixzz1loqNMUZ5
utorok 7. februára 2012
pondelok 6. februára 2012
nedeľa 5. februára 2012
sobota 4. februára 2012
In watermelon sugar
My Name
I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of
those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on
you. Just call me whatever is in your mind.
If you are thinking about something that happened a long
time ago: Somebody asked you a question and you did not know
the answer.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was raining very hard.
That is my name.
Or somebody wanted you to do something. You did it. Then
they told you what you did was wrong--"Sorry for the mistake,"--and
you had to do something else.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was a game that you played when you were a child
or something that came idly into your mind when you were old
and sitting in a chair near the window.
That is my name.
Or you walked someplace. There were flowers all around.
That is my name.
Perhaps you stared into a river. There was somebody near
you who loved you. They were about to touch you. You could
feel this before it happened. Then it happened.
That is my name.
Or you heard someone calling from a great distance. Their
voice was almost an echo.
That is my name.
Perhaps you were lying in bed, almost ready to go to sleep
and you laughed at something, a joke unto yourself, a good way
to end the day.
That is my name.
Or you were eating something good and for a second forgot
what you were eating, but still went on, knowing it was good.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was around midnight and the fire tolled like a bell
inside the stove.
That is my name.
Or you felt bad when she said that thing to you. She could
have told it to someone else: Somebody who was more familiar
with her problems.
That is my name.
Perhaps the trout swam in the pool but the river was only eight
inches wide and the moon shone on ideath and the watermelon
fields glowed out of proportion, dark and the moon seemed to
rise from every plant.
That is my name.
I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of
those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on
you. Just call me whatever is in your mind.
If you are thinking about something that happened a long
time ago: Somebody asked you a question and you did not know
the answer.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was raining very hard.
That is my name.
Or somebody wanted you to do something. You did it. Then
they told you what you did was wrong--"Sorry for the mistake,"--and
you had to do something else.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was a game that you played when you were a child
or something that came idly into your mind when you were old
and sitting in a chair near the window.
That is my name.
Or you walked someplace. There were flowers all around.
That is my name.
Perhaps you stared into a river. There was somebody near
you who loved you. They were about to touch you. You could
feel this before it happened. Then it happened.
That is my name.
Or you heard someone calling from a great distance. Their
voice was almost an echo.
That is my name.
Perhaps you were lying in bed, almost ready to go to sleep
and you laughed at something, a joke unto yourself, a good way
to end the day.
That is my name.
Or you were eating something good and for a second forgot
what you were eating, but still went on, knowing it was good.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was around midnight and the fire tolled like a bell
inside the stove.
That is my name.
Or you felt bad when she said that thing to you. She could
have told it to someone else: Somebody who was more familiar
with her problems.
That is my name.
Perhaps the trout swam in the pool but the river was only eight
inches wide and the moon shone on ideath and the watermelon
fields glowed out of proportion, dark and the moon seemed to
rise from every plant.
That is my name.
piatok 3. februára 2012
Jay Jay Pistolet Vintage red
You're a vintage red
Beef well fed
You're the Tuscan sun
You're the only one
But all I really want, you see
Is to know you through to some degree
You're the mountain air
All things fair
You are Pointe Tofino, San Marino, Monte Carlo, Grand Casino
But all I really want, you know
Is to know you through and take it slow for a while
You are everything to me
The last decree, the guarantee
And I would go back underground
If ever you were not around
You're a cashmere sweater
Handwritten letter
You are blond on blond, but a whole lot better
And all I really want from you
Is a bit of time where time is ju
štvrtok 2. februára 2012
Ucho, v ktorom skrútený ležíš, počuje biť naše srdce
básnicka zbierka Petra Krištúfka
krásna, zaujímavo urobená kniha z Knižnej dielne, nazvaná 75W a ilustrovaná Martinom Grochom tak, že pritiahne predovšetkým mladšiu generáciu (čo bol, myslím, prvotný cieľ edície veršeonline).
: „Príbory zvonia a zjedené zvieratá / pomaly dvíhajú hlavy, / otvárajú unavené oči. / Pozorujú nás, ako žijeme na doraz, / ako dômyselne / opotrebovávame svoje telá.“
čím a kde žijeme: láska, bozkávania, kosti, mäso, oči, číry vzduch, kostry, vône, smiech, dážď, noc, umieranie.
napríklad autor sedí na lavičke v zastrčenom parku, pozoruje vrany a príde k nečakanému priznaniu, že je slabý na boj sám so sebou.
Ucho, ktoré nás počúva, ktoré počuje biť naše srdce vnútri: tmavé biele. Zvláštne spojenie. Výborné.
Čítaj viac: http://kultura.sme.sk/c/6239857/ucho-v-ktorom-skruteny-lezis-pocuje-bit-nase-srdce.html#ixzz1lDSmjIQ2
A spark of inspiration
http://pinterest.com/
http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/
Zbožňujem tú ženu :) Pri niektorých receptoch, sa mi chcelo plakať. Od krásy a chuti.
http://homepage.tinet.ie/~sebulbac/burton/home.html
Šialené príbehy Tima Burtona s kresbami.
Zatiaľ krásne víly.
http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/
Zbožňujem tú ženu :) Pri niektorých receptoch, sa mi chcelo plakať. Od krásy a chuti.
http://homepage.tinet.ie/~sebulbac/burton/home.html
Šialené príbehy Tima Burtona s kresbami.
Zatiaľ krásne víly.
streda 1. februára 2012
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