Secret

I like “A Saucerful of Secrets” a lot. It starts with anxiety, downbeating of confusion. Then comes up mess and anger. First it is sporadic and then becomes covering and lavish and hysterical, all imaginable sounds are mixing up, suddenly gets rhythmic but still is metallic and uncontrollable. It is a complete mess struggling. Among the dizzying beats of the drum blossoms the Organ. Divine harmony sweeps over. In the silence it escalates. Floods gently. Calms down in musical serenity, and all this sets the stage for Gilmour’s vocal explosion.

untitled

Last Scorsese is a disappointment, unlike the previous one.

My finger

I touch everything. I have touched your CDs. I have touched your DVDs. I have touched your LCD screen. I have touched your dishes. I have touched the walls. I have touched the chair. I have touched all the books in your room. I have touched the grapefruit in the fridge. I have touched the bath tub. I have touched the floor. I have touched the mirror. I have touched all your pillows, your clothes in the closet. I even have touched original “Vincent’s room” hanging on your room’s wall, back in the museum. I am going to touch you right now.

Forever young

Although “The Elementary Particles” is too obsessed with tragedy and death through the story line, one can easily find the heart breaking fact embedded in the naughty French-style context. It is the announcement of a decadence of a movement. The cult of “youth” has become paradoxical. Senile misery is hidden on TV screens. It is always the ever young Dyonusian smile of life. “Liberated” generation of sixties and seventies is not young anymore and hardly believes in fidelity of mother nature.

Atomised

In Green Apple, I asked about some writer named “Hullembeck” or something, H U L L E M B E C K. The guy mentioned it is “Houellebecq” H O U E L L E B E C Q and the “Les Particules elementaires” comes and goes sometimes. I went back and found the UK edition “Atomised”. In spite of the translation, Michel Houellebecq‘s wit and bitter poetry is appealing. I like the books who start with a ping:
” This book is principally the story of a man who lived out the greater part of his life in Western Europe, in the latter half of the century. Though alone for much of his life, he was nonetheless closely in touch with other men.”
This book was published in the US by the name “The Elementary Particles”.

Ludwig is silent

Tractatus ends this way:
“…
7 What we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.”