Truly beautiful music is hard to find. I am always searching for new artists and sifting through popular media for the good stuff. One such artist that I have found is the Canadian Francophone singer Cœur De Pirate, (In English this translates to ‘Pirate Heart’) her music and poetic lyrics are amazing, I have been listening her songs nearly non-stop for about 2 months now. Not all of her music is in french, she also has english language music as well.
Some of my favorite songs are:
- Place de la République
- Comme Des Enfants
- La Petite Mort
- Tu Oublieras Mon Nom
I am in the process of learning to speak and write french, and as each new word or phrase comes into clarity, I will notice the word in one of the french artists music I have been listening to, it is like a little light comes on in my head when I recognize the word. What started out as a way to learn more french by trying to immerse myself in the music and culture, has become a new found love of French language music. I have been listening to Cœur De Pirate, Stanislas, and Jacques Brel for several months now.
The music of Coeur De Pirate is unique in its mix of heartfelt poetic expression and great piano work, this is the kind of music I love no matter what the language of choice is. This is what music should be.
The New Raspberry Pi Zero.
The Raspberry Pi foundation has released the new Pi Zero, which comes in at an absolutely amazing $5 price. They are of course totally sold out so I can’t get my paws on one yet, but even so I know this is going to be amazing. I was excited about the size and cost of the model A+ which was $25. Now the tiny size of this new one opens up new avenues of creativity. The size is what I am all exited about, the price is just a nice bonus.
I was planning to do a keyboard computer conversion using a model A on a Apple IIGS keyboard, but now I think I will wait and get my hands on a model Zero for the conversion. In some ways the Model Zero makes the project even a little less impressive since it is so small. I am glad they didn’t populate the GPIO pins on this one, I had to de-solder the pins on one of my last projects, and I like that I can wire directly to the header with this one.
The Pi foundation has been very successful in promoting their single-board computers as learning tools for kids (or really anyone) getting into computers. They are low-cost and have an easy learning curve, so people who might otherwise be intimidated can start making things and experiment with programming and making electronics.. I am very impressed with what they have done.
This little micro board computer is vastly more powerful than my first computer: The ATARI 1200XL and it is smaller than a credit-card.
Truly amazing, I can’t wait to get one and start playing!
Where do we go from here?
Anticlimax is the word I would use to describe the state of the world at the moment. As humanity as a whole we no longer really have a goal. The world has shrunken and become less interesting as more and more exploration and discovery have lessened the mystery around us, replacing full questions with half-answers.
In the time of the Reformation and the Renaissance: the intellectual pursuits were knowledge and discovery for their own sakes. In the industrial revolution that came after; thinkers were replaced with consumers, and nation-states with alliances of nations that span the globe. What used to be petty wars between small entities became global conflicts that pushed humanity to the edge of destruction, and spawned the construction of weapons that for the first time in history have the power to destroy completely their own creators.
Tell me, where do we go from here?
To the stars? Or do we turn inwards and lose ourselves in the process?
I would be happy to say we will someday have colonies on Mars and perhaps in the high cloud-tops of Venus, but I fear that we are so close to a tipping point, that a mere breath will push us over the brink into destruction. The ‘modern world’ has been saved from the edge of destruction before, can we save it from ourselves again?
Years ago I took the Myer-Briggs Personality Type test, which is based on Carl Jung’s Personality Types, and I got an INTP result.
I took the test again today, and voila! got INTP-A again, so I used another site with slightly different question wording, and got INTP-A once more… so I would say that at-least as far as this test is concerned, the results are pretty consistent.
I read the generic description of the INTP type: http://www.16personalities.com/intp-personality and found it to be fairly accurate, a little like looking into a personality mirror. I don’t really put a lot of stock in psychology in general, since so much of it is subjective and based on the flexible opinion of whoever is writing the book, and very little concrete logical analysis, but I have found the Myers-Briggs test fascinating, and I do have respect for Jung -much more than for Freud at-least. Jung seems more down-to-earth and more fascinating than his more well known colleague: Freud.
Forget Me Not 1918
These pressed flowers were in a book I bought many years ago at a garage sale. I have kept the worm eaten book and these flowers for many years because they are special. I don’t know the story, I don’t know if this was a funeral bouquet for a fallen soldier, or an influenza victim, they may have been grown on the front and sent home to loved-ones, they may have nothing to do with the war: they might be a lovers bouquet, or just some flowers gathered in the springtime….
But I know that they have survived the years and were waiting for me to discover them. What years have passed into the dust of history, great men have risen through the ranks, to command despotic empires that have fallen crumbling into forgetfulness, and these small blooms have waited pressed between the mouldering leaves of a novel on a shelf.
Nations have risen in hope from the turmoil of revolution and then dissolved in chaos back again to rust and neglect, all while these little fragile spots of color waited for someone to notice them. What secrets could they tell us about the frailty of human lives and the short sharp pain of loss, if we would only listen? Someone picked these little springtime flowers and carefully tied them with string, and dated them. They pressed them between the pages of this book, and then time came swirling by and took all the meaning and memory away slowly and with gnawing blunt teeth.
No one knows now why they were picked and preserved, no one knows their story. What whispered lovers secrets were told in their presence? What fleeting kisses stolen on a secluded hillside awash with verdant springtime rainbows? These little flowers have a story to tell, but no lips to speak them with.
I will keep them so that they will outlive me, and their next discoverer can ponder the abyss of time also.
This is my Cuneiform Epitaph.
Scratches on clay the remnants of lives, tiny sparks that winked brightly and then went out; time consuming the present moment by moment, Langoliers following closely behind, watching for scraps and pouncing on wasted time.
When flesh grows cold, and entropy consumes blood, bones, and essence leaving nothing for the dusty shrines in the desert. Perhaps some would-be excavator will unearth or draw up from the bog and weedy rushes some ancient oxygen deprived preserved mystery. Some brine soaked encrusted memory devoid of identity. What sharpened flint points of logic and rhetoric will be discussed in papers of those learned and versed in the unknowable?
As Ötzi mulled over pre-stoic ideals and post-grazing utopias while munching roots and mushrooms, I am hunched before this scrap of plant fibers mashed down, boiled over and pressed out. I grasp my blunt tool and bleed dark Voynician prayers to the Old Ones still hidden in deep cold abysses of time and dark water.
Sawgrass riptide, silicate crystals smeared across my toes,
the pressed down deepened holes in the burning white,
where I run down to the harder pressed darker expanse of shallow sea.
There are gulls on the edges vision, screeching, diving, salty spray of feathers,
darting, running, scattering sandpipers leave tiny scratches on the hard-packed sandy horizon.
crushed bits of shell, tossed up to my cool twisting toes by the urgent surf, a gift of shattered pearlescent debris.
Éowyn is just turning 2 years old, and is full of energy already. She takes to things with no reservations or hesitation, she runs up and dives in with both feet. I see her doing this with things as simple as trying to get onto the recliner with me. She will run up with so much momentum, that she will bounce off and land on the floor. She wants to get up on my lap, but somehow the idea of coming up to me and then climbing up doesn’t occur to her. Watching her at the playground is a similar experience, she flies from the swings to the slides and back again. It is a workout just keeping up with her. I love to watch her have fun, she is such a little firefly darting here and there…
Its no wonder that we have nicknamed her: “TURBO”
I put a poem in the inside of every new moleskine I buy. I put this poem from Tennyson in the moleskine I used for the most chaotic, upsetting and exciting year of my life. (4-2014 to 3-2015)
An incredible number of things happened to me and my family during that time, and this poem has been on the back inside page of my moleskine journal the whole time. I have read this poem a hundred times if I have read it once.
Summer is finally here now.