iamagoatgirl: (tree)
Go listen to the memory palace, if you aren't already.  I'm serious.  It's been running since 2008 but catching up won't take you too long, as until recently the updates have been sporadic and even now they tend to max out at 10 minutes each, with some as short as 2.  The total run time of the entire podcast is 10.5 hours, and that .5 is remasters and clips episodes that can be skipped.

It will be 10 hours of your life well-spent.  Nate DiMeo can tell stories about history in a way i wish i could.  I've never heard someone who is so good at focusing on what the past must have felt like.  His podcasts are pretty well-researched, but ultimately they're more story than history, and that's okay.  The point isn't quite what actually happened; the point is to look at the gaps where we don't know what happened, and can't know, and imagine what might be in those gaps.  The use of music is also really excellent, and even the older, lower-quality episodes have a charming warmth to them such that i didn't even notice the technical flaws until DiMeo himself started pointing them out and remastering some old episodes.

I pretty much love them all but i think my favourite episodes are probably #12 (These Words, Forever), and #45 (Heard, Once) - which feel like two sides of the same coin, almost (and are a really interesting topic to hear about in the format of a podcast, to boot). Episode #18 (Dig, Set, Spike) also deserves mention as a great story, superbly told.

Seriously, go listen.  It's amazing, you'll thank me.
iamagoatgirl: (goat girl)
(these translations don't fit the form, but the original japanese does)

Great sunset glow,
in the colour of the fire
that burned down our house.

(おゆやけ わがや やきたる ひ の いろ に)


No escaping it:
I must step on fallen leaves
to take this path.


I have stolen a man,
but never a thing of value.
I roll up the bamboo blind.

(ひと は ぬすめど もの は ぬすまず すだれ まく)


April fool -
I do up my hair and go


Firefly light.
I step off the path
of woman's virtue.
iamagoatgirl: (lovecraft & liars)
Things I want decided

Which shouldn't exist
in this world,
the one who forgets
or the one
who is forgotten?

Which is better,
to love
one who hs died,
or to not see
each other when you're alive?

Which is better,
the distant lover
you long for,
or the one you see daily
without desire?

Which is the least reliable
among fickle things --
the swift rapids,
a flowing river,
or this human world?


Why haven't I
thought of it before?
This body,
remembering yours,
is the keepsake you left.


If you have no time
to come, I'll go.
I want to learn the way
of writing poems
as a way to you.


The dewdrop
on a bamboo leaf
stays longer than you
who vanish at dawn.


Soon my life will close.
When I am beyond this world,
and have forgotten it,
let me remember only this:
one final meeting with you.
iamagoatgirl: (near far)
For my own reference.


Is it forever
that he hopes our love will last?

He did not answer
And now my daylight thoughts
are as black and tangled as my hair.

by Lady Horikawa (early 13th century)


So many secrets in this rain;
If folk should ask
what has wet my sleeves
what should I say?

by Lady Izumi Shikibu (978~unknown),
written for a man who came to visit her on a rainy night and had to return home because of the weather


In this world
love has no color,
yet how deeply my body
is stained by yours.

by Lady Izumi Shikibu (978~unknown)


Silver dewdrops,
Dreams, this fleeting world
And even illusions:
Were I to compare them to our love
They would seem eternal.

by Lady Izumi Shikibu (978~unknown)
sent to a man who had caused her nothing but grief


As I dig for wild orchids
in the autumn fields,
it is the deeply-bedded root that I desire,
not the flower.

by Lady Izumi Shikibu (978~unknown)
judging by Lady Izumi's other poetry, i rather suspect this poem has more in common with contemporary Australian slang than one would think a thousand-year-old Japanese poem might...


A world of grief and pain
flowers bloom
even then.

by Kobayashi Issa (1763~1828)
Issa had a real bummer of a life, with everyone he loved dying before him and his house burning down so he had to live in the storehouse after that (he also wrote, "Everything I touch / with tenderness, alas / pricks like a bramble," which is a bit less optimistic.)  This poem was written after the death of one of his children.


Though I have no reason for regret,
upon hearing that you are headed to Shikasuga
I am not completely indifferent.

by Lady Akazome Emon
written on the occasion of the departure of someone she had no hope of ever seeing again
iamagoatgirl: (goat girl)
Mostly for my own reference, but anyone else who wants to start using this should also know about it.  How to link to bad content without it being received as good publicity is something i've found a difficult question in the past, and i'm glad to know someone's created a simple solution to that problem.


(Longer explanation of the service here.)


May. 15th, 2012 08:46 am
iamagoatgirl: (Default)
"He began to think of people in a new light: how everyone's just little more than that frightened, fragile brain stem, surrounded by meat and physics, too terrified to recognize the sum of their parts, insulated in the shells of their skulls and lower-middle-class houses, afraid of change, afraid of decisions, afraid of pain, stuck in traffic, listening to terrible music."
- Don Hertzfeldt, everything will be ok
iamagoatgirl: (red hair)
Adrienne Rich died today, at 82, which is kind of sad in that the world lost a great poet - but since i've finally started reading Never Say Die: The Myth and Marketing of the New Old Age by Susan Jacoby i'm finding it difficult to be too upset (82 sounds like a pretty good age to make it to, and anything much longer would probably have been awful, especially with rheumatoid arthritis).  Eventually i will probably write a post about Never Say Die, but not yet.

A friend of mine posted this poem of Rich's, and i'm going to re-post it here, more for my own reference than anything else (though sharing it is a nice bonus), because it's great.

by Adrienne Rich

Living in the earth-deposits of our history

Today a backhoe divulged out of a crumbling flank of earth
one bottle amber perfect a hundred-year-old
cure for fever or melancholy a tonic
for living on this earth in the winters of this climate.

Today I was reading about Marie Curie:
she must have known she suffered from radiation sickness
her body bombarded for years by the element
she had purified
It seems she denied to the end
the source of the cataracts on her eyes
the cracked and suppurating skin of her finger-ends
till she could no longer hold a test-tube or a pencil

She died a famous woman denying
her wounds
her wounds came from the same source as her power.
iamagoatgirl: (extended parentheses)

Quote comes from Ira Glass (of This American Life), apparently. Unsure who is responsible for the typography.


iamagoatgirl: (Default)

November 2015

8 91011121314


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Oct. 20th, 2017 12:08 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios