Hail to thee Day, hail, ye Day’s sons;
hail Night and daughter of Night,
with blithe eyes look on both of us,
and grant to those sitting here victory!
Hail Aesir, hail Asynjur!
Hail Earth that givest to all!
Goodly spells and speech bespeak we from you,
and healing hands in this life!

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

J

Life can be a dream, in a way

la la la la la

J

the weather is not bad really now, god it’s been a psycho winter, but it seems to be over

I am deciding about a bunch of things….this city has changed so much

there are so many interesting restaurants for sure… films, etc.

I am reading tons of good books, really interesting, complex books..all good….

working on a few amazing projects, really amazing….

“You never loved her Philip. You’re a man. You’re weapons, notions, deeds.  You’re technology.  Your Mom’s the Earth.  She’s the woods. Your Moms the rain and the wind. Your Mom’s nature.  Your mom’s what men world wreck.  Your mom’s abundance, but men are cold and hungry. Your mom’s life, while men aren’t even death they’re just nothing.   They’re the cold gray void death presumes to be.  Men are the end of space and the beginning of metal”

So life is picking up really

J

The Hollow Men

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

It’s wildy beautiful out…wild and beautiful

J

In Praise of Shadows…..by Tanizaki….  It’s so cool, dark and deep.

A lot of this reminds me of art critic Dave Hickey’s metaphor about the ’60s pulling out the tablecloth from underneath consciousness and we’re trying to put it back together. What parts of the old way of thinking are valuable if any?
Well, you see, I’m getting very excited talking to you because it’s opening some thinking that I hadn’t had before. What did YouTube do? YouTube said that anyone who wants to be a film director can be a film director, you don’t need a permit anymore. And the internet has opened all these long tails. But what I’m saying is you don’t need to hang in the Mary Boone gallery to be an artist, and you don’t need to be approved of by ArtNews to be an artist. You just need to decide to do art. Some bad art is going to be created as a result of that democracy, but we don’t have to like that stuff, we can move on. A lot of amazing art is created because someone can look us in the eye and will to change us in a positive way, whereas at McDonald’s you do that and you get fired because you’re not moving fast enough. It’s hard for me to think of any job that anyone would want to have where you’re not gonna be able to do art.

Those kids—the ones who are trying to sound just like Metallica or Bob Dylan, or anyone in between—they need to stop, because it’s not art if it’s a replica, it’s not art if you’re trying to fit in. Just because you have artistic tools doesn’t mean the stuff you’re making is art. That’s why it’s so annoying to see people say “this is the way you must have a blog, this is the way you must use Twitter.”

What they’re doing is creating a new status quo that ensures that most people will be mediocre and average, and that is worthless. We’re gonna see lots of people create stuff, but the bar is gonna be raised as to what it takes to create something meaningful. We saw this in the painting world twenty years ago and in the fashion world in the eighties, that once someone has already gone out to the edge, going out to the same edge is worthless.

So it’s getting better all the time?
I think that “better” is the really loaded term. Art makes people uncomfortable. I think that lots of things are going to get more uncomfortable faster, no question about that. Then the question is, what will we do about it and what will society reward? We’re so wealthy as a culture that we’ve been able to spend a lot of time and money amusing ourselves. The question is, will we continue to be wealthy and, if so, then we’ll be willing to amuse ourselves. Or, will we need to spend all our time and money feeding ourselves and sheltering ourselves, in which case there’s gonna be a lot less room for this kind of art I’m talking about.

The Children of South Africa is a stunning photographic journey capturing South African children from every walk of life, set against some of the most beautiful landscapes and architecture. These powerful, emotive images will highlight the magic, diverse beauty an spirit of hope that is South Africa.

100% of the profits are being donated directly to the MaAfrika Tikkun charity (of which Nelson Mandela is the Chief Patron) to support orphans and vulnerable children in South Africa.With support from Sir Bob Geldof and the South African Government, this corporate gift will create thousands of opportunities for the children of South Africa.

To be launched before the World Cup held in South Africa in 2010, this is a corporate gift that will not only be a wonderful memento of South Africa but will make a real difference.

Specifically the proceeds from the sale of the book will subsidise sports and soccer programs for HIV/AIDS affected orphans and vulnerable children in 6 townships.
(A detailed funding proposal is available on request. Please contact us.)

MaAfrika Tikkun’s Chief patron Mr Nelson Mandela, has hailed the MaAfrika Tikkun programs as a ‘MIRACLE’.

“You never loved her Philip. You’re a man. You’re weapons, notions, deeds.  You’re technology. Your mom;s the earth. She’s the woods. Your mom ‘s what men;s words wreck. Your mom’s abundance, but men are cold and hungry.  Your mom’s life, while men aren’t even death, they’re just nothing.  They’re just the cold, grey void death presumes to be.  Men are the end of space and the beginning of metal.”

Is that a horror or kind of true……  Please remind me if I am a sort of cunt or maybe someone who gets it.