Showing posts with label Head. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Head. Show all posts

Saturday, June 20, 2015

AVATAR (The body of city)



In cultural analysis the theoretical focus on postmodernism and historical focus on the metropolis is often taken to be one of a kind. But in fact, this double focus is oxymoronic in nature. The term metropolis means `mother city` or `mother cities`. This term is based on assumption that there is an original city, a first city from which other cities emerge like Athens or Rome in Antiquity or Paris in the nineteenth century, or in the ideal sense of a prototypical city, real or not, on which other cities are modeled, for example from the urban planning of functionalism or from the recirculation of grid structure on the North American continent.However, the other term of the title, postmodernity, means almost everything that goes against and even destroys this notion of the city and of place in general. But, nevertheless, without a highly developed urbanity, postmodernity would never have exsisted or been thought of.


More often than not, this contradiction is subsumed under the unifying umbrella of `urban culture`, which seems to allow us to avoid predetermining whether the postmodern urban condition is contradictory or not. The decision is left open to the actual dynamics of history, where we are confronted with various manifestations of urban culture through history, the term itself being considered historically neutral.But urban culture is too complex to just be a trivial fact, because it is always an imagined realithy-`reality` because it is a material fact whatever its definition might be, and `imagined` because its conceptualization, the basic understanding of it, does not automatically follow from historical urban realithy all by itself.




Saturday, February 1, 2014

Insomnia

Between dream and reality is a thin thread. 
Sometimes this thread like the strings of a violin.
 The sound is full of distortions and unrest...



Friday, November 16, 2012

Clonage


Et tous ces moutons au bord du vide,
Hybrides aux cerveaux d'un clonage pathétique!
Gouvernés par  les laboratoires médicaux légistes.

Ou nous en sommes à essayer de jouer à saute-mouton.
Dans  ce monde qui semblerait nous guider aux bâtons.
Par quelques têtes d'as de pique au gouvernail ? Des caméléons .

Cela sent comme une odeur d'éther dans ce cimetière d'hybrides.
Lorsque nous regardons l'avenir , on essaye d'y mettre un cachet de cire.
Masques en détresse dans les catacombes des  inaccomplis, indéfinis.

Ou la clonée numéro mille cent quatre dix s'est prise pour le fantôme
De  Marilyn Morone en rouge et noir. Attention c'est Halloween les mômes
Sortez vos casques  ça crame les neurones de refuser d'être comme tout le monde .  

Plus grand chose à dire les clones ! Idées alignées à l'identique.
Pas facile d'apprendre à vivre dans le royaume des victimes hystériques.
Sautant de moutons en moutons clonés dans un verre d' antiseptique.

Refusant toute contagions  en vidant les poubelles du diable descendu sur terre
C'était un matin ivre et gorgé de sang! Elle était la bête à sept têtes  ! 
Pris de multiple formes, mais n'en  laissa qu'une aux êtres: L'uniforme des muets .



Elisabeth Žarkov




Monday, August 20, 2012

Saffron



I have run out of words to tell you I love you Earth
I went to the sky to find the feather of hell
Will I survive the Stone Age Fire?

If I manage to save a few species
I do not want to draw any glory from it
Nor money, nor a decoration and Justice be

See, Lord, how I lose my head over this
Lord from where? What do I know, me the rebel
Who comes from brotherly flames, I am so

At the source I take the words so understood they will be
A long time ago a world was only asking to live
After six thousand years here and there towns went to sleep

By I do not know what maybe ignorance
Where fire was burnt by intolerance
There is there distrust in alternation

While there is no more water in the fields
And the light of heaven is refusing her perceptivity
She gave so much and so much kindness

After so many wars under breezes devoid of meaning
Go say to the dictators that she is coming back from ancient times
The Earth who abounds in loving flowers

Mighty people hear these thousand words from the white dove
Her feathers are turned lovely by them they announce spring
Hello centuries back from wars sailing before the wind
They are slowly drained

Children coming from past times refuse to destroy the Earth
From those fires in which heather over one's shoulder is dying
See Princes, Tyrants how the sky angers

In your letters made of nuclear alchemies
It's the same old story welded to our miseries
We forget Fire Sky and Earth

I have run out of words to tell you I love you Earth
I went to the sky to find the feather of hell
Will I survive Stone Age Fire?

See my back broken by all this hell on earth
Exploring osmosis in Universe
I come back from Large Land rewinding the rout backwards

And I spend full nights to save the nightingale singing
Slowly announcing winds of change
By these nonsense where Time, partisan, elegantly discourses


Not to offend the Wind with all of these empty noises, only too often
A war has started there "oh it's so far" says the guardian stallion
Go Mighty people and tell the flamboyant fires that Earth intolerates

Under the Earth who slowly gets exhausted under ivy
After so many wars rancid cavalier years
Go tell the Sky that I will go and pray on the ephemeral Fire

So that it becomes only a wavering Earth
Where water drop by drop is streaming
The Earth, Noble Lady with the saffron ribbon


Elisaabeth Žarkov