sábado, outubro 12, 2013


quinta-feira, outubro 10, 2013

The is only a text post . Not an image. Not a sound.

On the impossibility of downloading our brain information...

We're accustomed to save all the information we can in our portable devices, we take pictures, we record videos we share them over our social networks, we share so we don't forget, we share information that is in fact how we use to mark our school books, or others, in the pages we wanted to remember an image, we wanted to save a special quote, we marked our memory in bits of paper because some of us feel the urgent need to store everything we can so we build a memory from our life, we save and share things that relate directly to us in a different way than other things are completely random and go unnoticed.
We relate to things in way we don't even understand how do they become part of our lives, we remember things in a way our brain organizes information and we don't have any control over that. We relate to those things sometimes in a very filmic, cinematic way, we close our eyes and we are taken through a voyage of pictures, words, smells, snippets of moving details, that we didn't even know that we're stored, somehow they are and we're taken back to them...
Yesterday while taking a bike out for a ride and somewhere in the middle I got 'lost' in the middle of the city biggest park, at a very specific moment, under some vines I looked up and a feeling of déjà-vu stayed with me for a while until I recalled from a journey back in 2008 when I was under some similar skyscape and which I didn't even knew it had been stored in my mind. There was no specific reason for that image to be part of my memory, I've seen vines all throughout my life, I don't even have a strong bond to that kind of nature, I like them, and that's it; the main thing is that I was taken to a memory of the past which I didn't even knew it was there...
Our life is filled with those moments. 
In a world where we're digitally used to save information in hyperlink format, our body and mind work in the same way, storing information that makes us recognize the world in our own way... (Glad my memory of vines isn't a bad one)
There are places in the world I have no idea how they look like. Others have taken me by surprise, like when living in New York City - which a cinematic experience if the city made me feel completely at home as soon as I got there, and after that a very own personal memory of the city has changed the way I see very movie that is set in that city. And finally there are places, random recollections in the backstreets of our mind, that are there already because they belong to us, and like a puzzle they form the automatic recognition of what is being processed by our eyes...
Are we always processing memory? Are we seeing everything in delay, and waiting for our brain to establish connection or save that information so we remember it later on?
We live in this process of storing information perceived by our senses... I still have present the smell of a toy I had as I child, a purple panther that belonged to the collection of He-man toys I had. A smell impossible to describe, a smell I never smelled again in my life, I don't know if it's a real smell, as a matter if fact it could have been a characteristic smell placed in the toy itself to make addicted and wanting to buy more... I don't know.
And the only thing that made me write about this was hit only about the problematic of human memory, but because sometimes you become aware of his your body works, of its intelligence, of its internal software intended to process information.
I'm made of all the memories I carrie inside, and sometimes I rather don't share something because -like yesterday - I will, as long as my memory works, remember the world in my own way, and there are sunsets, and vines, and gardens, and smiles, and conversations, and places that have become mine, because when I close my eyes they are there as part of me, and me as a part of them...

terça-feira, outubro 08, 2013

meeting within

(Lisa & Daniel v.2 - 2013)

(Paris, Texas - 1984 -2013)

segunda-feira, outubro 07, 2013

Backstreets of the internet...

Produced by W+K 東京LAB

This film provides a glimpse of the type of creative culture that exists online behind the language barrier on the backstreets of the Internet in Japan.

Will Japanese Internet culture have an impact on global pop culture the way that Japanese street culture did? Are all Internet memes secretly manufactured in a warehouse in the Japanese countryside? No-one can say. But perhaps this video will allow you to form your own point of view.

Taken from here: http://www.newrafael.com/back-streets-of-the-internet-tokyo/

About someone sitting next to you...

In this month’s fiction podcast, David Sedaris reads “Roy Spivey,” by the writer and filmmaker Miranda July. The story, which appeared in the The New Yorker in 2007, is about a young woman’s encounter with a famous actor aboard an airplane, and the reverberations of their exchange throughout her life.

The narrator meets the “Hollywood heartthrob,” whom she refers to as “Roy Spivey,” (it’s “almost” an anagram of his name, she coyly tells us), when she is seated next to him after being updated to first class on a flight. At the end of a flirtatious plane ride, Spivey writes a number on a page of her SkyMall magazine—a phone number with the final digit missing, which he instructs her to memorize—and, though she never calls the number, the memorized digit becomes a talisman that she relies upon during painful moments later in her life.

True to July’s style as a storyteller, the exchange between the narrator and Spivey is awkwardly hilarious—she tries to wash her smelly armpits in the bathroom, he ends up spritzing them with Febreze for her—but the story is, finally, about the flipside of the narrator’s in-air fantasy: her heartbreaking paralysis when it comes to real life. Here she is in the aftermath of the flight:

That evening, I found myself standing in the middle of my living room floor. I had made dinner and eaten it, and then I had an idea that I might clean the house. But halfway to the broom I stopped on a whim, flirting with the emptiness in the center of the room. I wanted to see if I could start again. But, of course, I knew what the answer would be. The longer I stood there, the longer I had to stand there. It was intricate and exponential. I looked like I was doing nothing, but really I was as busy as a physicist or a politician. I was strategizing my next move. That my next move was always not to move didn’t make it any easier.

Sedaris, whose most recent New Yorker piece was about Valentine’s Day and taxidermy, says he was “completely, mysteriously shaken up” by July’s story when he first read it. He compares the experience to that of reading works by Lorrie Moore; though seemingly loaded with jokes, the lighter parts of the narrative accumulate into an unexpectedly affecting whole. “I’m laughing, I’m laughing, I’m laughing,” says Sedaris, “and, at the end, I’m just devastated.”

You can hear Sedaris’s reading of “Roy Spivey,” and his discussion with The New Yorkers fiction editor, Deborah Treisman, by listening above or by downloading the podcast for free from iTunes.

Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2012/11/fiction-podcast-david-sedaris-reads-miranda-july.html?printable=true&currentPage=all&mobify=0#ixzz2h2j28QbP