“International Players Anthem” (UGK & Outkast)

…Spaceships don’t come equipped with rearview mirrors
They dip as quick as they can
The atmosphere is now ripped
I’m so like a Pip, I’m glad its night
So the light from the sun would not burn me on my bum
When I shoot the moon high, jump the broom
Like a premie out the womb
My partner yellin’ “Too soon! Don’t do it! Reconsider!
Read some liter’ on the subject
You sure? F*** it
You know we got your back like chiroprac – tic
If that b**** do you dirty
we’ll wipe her a** out and send detergent
Now hurry hurry, go on to the altar
I know you ain’t a pimp but pimp remember what I taught ya
Keep your heart 3 stacks, keep your heart
Aye, keep your heart 3 stacks, keep your heart
Man, these girls is smart, 3 stacks, these girls is smart
Play your part
Play your part”

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY.

J.W.

“Road to Nowhere” (Talking Heads)

Well, we know where we’re goin’
but we don’t know where we’ve been.
And we know what we’re knowing’
but we can’t say what we’ve seen.
And we’re not little children
and we know what we want.
And the future is certain
give us time to work it out.
We’re on a road to nowhere
come on inside.
Takin’ that ride to nowhere
we’ll take that ride.
I’m feelin’ okay this mornin’
and you know.
We’re on the road to paradise
here we go
here we go.
We’re on a road to nowhere
come on inside.
Takin’ that ride to nowhere
we’ll take that ride.
Maybe you wonder where you are
I don’t care.
Here is where times is on our side
take you there
take you there.
We’re on a road to nowhere –
We’re on a road to nowhere –
We’re on a road to nowhere –
There’s a city in my mind
come along and take that ride
and it’s all right
baby
it’s all right.
And it’s very far away
but it’s growing day by day
and it’s all right
baby
it’s all right.
Would you like to come along
you can help me sing this song
and it’s all right
baby
it’s all right.
They can tell you what to do
but they’ll make a foo lof you
and it’s all right
baby
it’s all right.
There’s a city in my mind
come along and take that ride

We’re on a road to nowhere. We’re on a road to nowhere.
We’re on a road to nowhere. We’re on a road to nowhere.

Jackson Williams.

The Scream / Edvard Munch’s Oslo

Pedersen's Last Dream

Agony & Ecstasy

NO PAINTING SUMS UP the alienation and isolation of 21st century existence as does The Scream by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch. After Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, it is the second most recognised painting in the world.

The idea came to Munch while walking in the wooded hills above old Oslo more than a century ago, following a bout of heavy drinking the previous evening.

“I was walking along the road with two friends. The sun set. I felt a great sadness. Suddenly the sky became blood red. I stopped, leaned against the railings, dead tired. And saw the flaming clouds as blood over the blue-black fjord and city. My friends walked on. I stood there trembling with angst. And I sensed a loud, unending scream pierce nature.”

Written shortly after his walk, the words that would eventually lead to the series of paintings and lithographs entitled Skrik (The Scream), contain…

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Horace Walpole

Longreads

Carrie Frye | Longreads | December 2014 | 16 minutes (4,064 words)

Download .mobi (Kindle)Download .epub (iBooks)

As a child, Horace Walpole frequently heard it said of himself that surely he would die soon. Born in England in 1717, the last of his mother’s six children, he was fragile and prone to illness from birth. Two siblings before him had died in infancy, and so in the family order it went: three older children, loud, healthy and opinionated; two grave markers; and then young Horace toddling up behind—half child, half potential grave marker.

Naturally, his mother, Catherine, spoiled him. His father, Sir Robert Walpole, was the King’s prime minister. This often kept him away from home, as did a long-time mistress who acted, more than his wife did, as his hostess and companion. For her part Catherine had her own dalliances. It was that sort of marriage. The Walpoles…

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The Body Language of Poetry (Djelloul Marbrook)

Typewriter

Vox Populi

Don’t gesticulate with your hands or make faces when speaking, the teachers at my British boarding school told me. It’s vulgar. I’m sure that this enjoinder at such an impressionable age imbued my poems with reticence and austerity.

But poetry has a body language. The poet’s way of breathing supplies oxygen to the body and to the poem. The poet’s way of walking and talking is inherent in the poem. I knew a poet who walked like the prow of a ship cutting through waves, the bone in its teeth, as sailors say, and that how her poems walked and talked.

The body language of a poem is also shaped by the script used in its writing. If it was first written by hand the poet’s hand, the stops and starts, the way I’s are dotted and t’s crossed, lives in the poem. If the poem was first typed, the…

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“Mrs. Robinson” (The Lemonheads)

And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson
Jesus loves you more than you will know wo wo wo
God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson
Heaven holds a place for those who pray
Hey hey hey, hey hey hey

We’d like to know a little bit about you for our files
We’d like to help you learn to help yourself
Look around you all you see are sympathetic eyes
Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home

And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson
Jesus loves you more than you will know wo wo wo
God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson
Heaven holds a place for those who pray
Hey hey hey, hey hey hey

Hide it in a hiding place where no one ever goes
Put it in your pantry with your cupcakes
It’s a little secret just the Robinsons affair
Most of all, you’ve got to hide it from the kids

Coo coo ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson
Jesus loves you more than you will know wo wo wo
God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson
Heaven holds a place for those who pray
Hey hey hey, hey hey hey

Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon
Going to the candidates’ debate
Laugh about it, shout about it when you’ve got to choose
Every way you look at it you lose

Where have you gone, Joe Di Maggio?
Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you woo woo woo
What’s that you say, Mrs. Robinson?
“Joltin Joe has left and gone away”
Hey hey hey, hey hey hey

J.W.

A poem from the future

ideas.ted.com

Editor’s note: This poem kicks off a new “Question Worth Asking” series: “How weird will the future be?” First up: a piece from poet and TED Fellow Ben Burke.

[Dear Helen- So sorry. Didn’t have time to write that poem. But my future self sent me one yesterday. So we’re good. Crazy, right? It’s totally legit and actually from the future, so no need to double-check, you’re probably too busy anyway. Happy New Year!  – Ben Burke]

Edited_RECORDER

THE TRANSHUMANIST’S LAMENT
or
TOO MANY RIVERS, NOT ENOUGH LAKES
or
OH, FUTURE — YOU SO CRAZY

I arrived in the basket that was weaved here before me
And I stayed in any place with a roof that would store me
I have lots of belongings
But didn’t pack for the trip
I got here, they put pants on me
And then the world gave me the slip

I’ve lived as slowly as…

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