Tuesday, August 3, 2010
What the Mountains Whisper
There's a band called Faded Paper Figures that a friend here at UCI told me about (they're lyrics are full of allusions that should be familiar to most humanities grad students). I guess one of the band members was in the ward here before he got a job at Yale (English major). On their website there is a free download for a song that one of the band members, Kael Alden, did for a Lexus commercial. The blog entry about the song led me to the website for a music house, named Robot Repair, that I'm assuming Alden works for. On their site I found something that might interest both of you, Taragui and Xpoferens. Check out the first video:
http://robotrepair.wiredrive.com/l/p/?presentation=7bae8393a0c157c6f6424f4174172f62
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Farmacia - Nada de nada y Te puedo abrazar
FARMACIA Nada de Nada (video) from FARMACIA on Vimeo.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Like we said: "Cats"
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Borges and Birds
At the Jorge Luis Borges Conference that I just attended and where I read a paper on "El sur," there was a presentation referencing Borges's great story(?) "Argumentum ornithologicum" which traced Borges's logic very closely. I kind of wandered in and out of listening to the ponencia and so I don't think I could come close to giving itjustice. "Argumentum," however, has not completely left my thoughts and so I reproduce it here below along with its Andrew Hurley translation:
"Cierro los ojos y veo una bandada de pájaros. La visión dura un segundo o acaso menos; no sé cuántos pájaros vi. ¿Era definido o indefinido su número? El problema involucra el de la existencia de Dios. Si Dios existe, el número es definido, porque Dios sabe cuántos pájaros vi. Si Dios no existe, el número es indefinido, porque nadie pudo llevar la cuenta. En tal caso, vi menos de diez pájaros (digamos) y más de uno, pero no vi nueve, ocho, siete, seis, cinco, cuatro, tres o dos pájaros. Vi un número entre diez y uno, que no es nueve, ocho, siete, seis, cinco, etcétera. Ese número entero es inconcebible, ergo, Dios existe."
"I close my eyes and see a flock of birds. The vision lasts a second, or perhaps less; I am not sure how many birds I saw. Was the number of birds definite or indefinite? The problem involves the existence of God. If God exists, the number is definite, because God knows how many birds I saw. If God does not exist, the number is indefinite, because no one can have counted. In this case, I saw fewer than ten birds (let us say) and more than one, but did not see nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, or two birds. I saw a number between ten and one, which was not nine, eight, seven, six, five, etc. That integer--not-nine, not-eight, not-seven, not-six, etc.--is inconceivable. Ergo, God exists. (trans. Andrew Hurley)"
There is too much here for me to go into because I am a very impatient thinker and writer. I think that this is still stuck in my craw because of what I am studying at the moment. I’ve been trying to link visual culture to ecocriticism and I think that the doubt that comes through Borges’s argument is related to what we would call our “wonder” before nature. We stand at the top of a cliff at the edge of the
Just like with our consciousness’s before the Grand Canyon, I think any encounter with the ‘other’ of nature, whatever the scale or location, is constructed in several spatiotemporal instances and that we constantly return to and playback. A poem or a photograph gives us something akin to what Benjamin calls “unconscious optics” with regard to our wonder before nature. Then again, it’s late and I should be working on something else.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Ekphrasis

The storyboard of a Saturday, our view over
of a flickering, modern skyline haunts our attachment
to fleeting time, even if we know that we will never
really catch the slow, plodding car ahead of us that
can’t seem to pick a lane and stay in it.
45 miles per hour in a winter rain obliges us to use the
passenger side door window as a self-evident filter that
keeps the rain out, even as each drop slides up the glass
and tries to get in after floating like a pearl over the dead.
I ask her to lean back so that I can twist my neck and
gaze at the faded height of
breadth of the cemetery through the speckled afternoon.
“I’ll take a picture” she says. “Keep your eyes on the road.
We don’t want to get in a wreck."
"I’ll take a picture so you can to see the same view as me.
You'll be able to relive the experience through the photo.”
How do I tell her what I know? The moment is gone,
there is nothing but the present and her photograph
captures only ghosts, only a view of a city both dead and
alive. We cross the bridge and “We should make time to
visit the city when it's not raining” is all I can say.
This is just a little poem that I'm working on. Any constructive criticism is appreciated.
*Picture taken by my wife with some focused "editing" on my part.
