Monday, June 22, 2009

Can I Do Cicuit Training If Pregnant

Kripax vs Cage: 4'36''





1952: American composer John Cage (1912-1992) presented to the public the composition 4 '33''or 4 minutes and thirty seconds of silence.
Silence, Cage says, "is that aspect of sound that can be expressed by the sound of her absence, both positively and negatively."
"What listening" to 4'33 "some believed was silence, as it ignores how to listen, is full of sounds accidentali.Alla first performance was heard during the first movement, the wind blowing outside. During the second movement drops of rain began to tap on the roof, and during the third produced the same people all sorts of interesting sound or talking out of the room. "

2009: Kripax Italian composer (1982 -), introduces the public the composition 4 '36'', or four minutes and thirty seconds of silence.
The silence in the recorded track is complete, digitally generated. The problem for the public is the same: silence can be heard? An 'other issue is the copyright: Kripax can play the silent "Cage", without committing plagiarism? In his defense
Kripax says: "My silence is purer than that of Cage, and also has a longer life. This should be enough to say that my silence is more silent in every way to that of Cage."


----------------------------------------------- -----------------

1952: The American composer John Cage (1912-1992) presented to the public the composition 4.33, or 4 minutes and thirty-three seconds of silence.
Silence, Cage wrote, "is that aspect of sound that can be expressed by both the sound of its absence, both positively and negatively."
"What you listening to" 4'33 "some believed was silence, because they ignored how to listen, is full of accidental sounds. The first performance was heard during the first movement, the wind blew outside. During the second movement drops Rain began to tap on the roof, and the third during the same people produced all sorts of interesting sounds or talking out of the room. "

2009: the italian composer Kripax (1982 - ), presented to the public the composition 4' 36'', or 4 minutes and thirty-six seconds of silence.
The silence in the recorded track is total, digitally generated. The problem for the listener is the same: silence can be heard? Another problem the copyright Concerns: Kripax can play without incurring the silence of Cage to plagiarism?
In His defense Kripax says: "My silence is Purer Than Cage's silence, Also Has a Longer duration. That Should suffice to say That my silence is more silent Than Cage in every way."

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Tendonitis In Foot Leg How Long Does It Last?

Heart


A writing I learned from friends, but
without them. You taught me to love
, but without you. Life
with his pain teaches me to live, but almost
without life, and to work
but always out of work. So
then I learned to cry, but
without tears, to dream, but I do not see
dream inhuman figures.
no longer limit my patience.
I have no patience for nothing more, nothing remains
most of our luck.
Even I had to learn to hate
and friends, and you and the whole life.



There are those who, unlike me, do not despair,
that health and strength and virtue and good
Fortunately, we've got to die after
many beautiful days, filled with many
things of this world or another world;
or after so many days and the only joy
poorer days. I am happy,
in this world, only this and hope that I
fate confers with his
pests and mercy and sorrows
a single best day of all these
my painful days, or my pain
forget for a single
day.



(How long was my illness,
and much love my life in that
was close and crumpled like a rag, and I
pale and tired as a world
whole should bear all
on my back, I struggled so much, I imagined worlds

all very mild and more of my birds, so that
m'affliggeva and tormented,
and ravings of hidden truth
and quiet of the skies clear thoughts
where more than my soul could be broken
dwell, and could not find these
things that are not, and suffers)



My ailments have calmed,
and I got a job. They are less anxious and more
nice, and I'm lucky.
's spring now and spend time
free to turn down the street. I look
who knew no pain and I remember
the lost days. Waste my time
with friends and suffer a little
for my loneliness.
Now I have time to read to write
and maybe make a trip, and maybe not.
I'm happy and sad. They are distracted and wandering
I realize what is lost.



M'innamoro of things near and far,
work and are respected, then
I also found a slight edge,
in this world that you can not escape.
Maybe discover a new law
universal, and other things and men
will learn to love. But I have nostalgia
of impossible things, I want to go back
. Tomorrow I leave, and I drink and I see
chimeras and feel things disappear
far and near.



But beyond these truths, and within these
empty words I'm fit.
Now I only know that I am sitting at this table
, for many good reasons
time and I hate to spend.
And enough for me without even
curse. It is not losing the game, and then
makes good food.
martial art I want to learn, that always
can linger to hurt.
An abstract theater of shots and thoughts
per i giorni neri. E poi le gioie e insieme
con gli amici far niente.

Beppe Salvia -
Braci n. 0, gennaio - marzo 1984

Monday, June 8, 2009

Can I Do Circuit Training If Pregnant



I am leading a quiet life
in Mike’s Place every day
watching the champs
of the Dante Billiard Parlor
and the French pinball addicts.
I am leading a quiet life
on lower East Broadway.
I am an American.
I was an American boy.
I read the American Boy Magazine
and became a boy scout
in the suburbs.
I thought I was Tom Sawyer
catching crayfish in the Bronx River
and imagining the Mississippi.
I had a baseball mit
and an American Flyer bike.
I delivered the Woman’s Home Companion
at five in the afternoon
or the Herald Trib
at five in the morning.
I still can hear the paper thump
on lost porches.
I had an unhappy childhood.
I saw Lindbergh land.
I looked homeward
and saw no angel.
I got caught stealing pencils
from the Five and Ten Cent Store
the same month I made Eagle Scout.
I chopped trees for the CCC
and sat on them.
I landed in Normandy
in a rowboat that turned over.
I have seen the educated armies
on the beach at Dover.
I have seen Egyptian pilots in purple clouds
shopkeepers rolling up their blinds
at midday
potato salad and dandelions
at anarchist picnics.
I am reading ‘Lorna Doone’
and a life of John Most
terror of the industrialist
a bomb on his desk at all times.
I have seen the garbagemen parade
in the Columbus Day Parade
behind the glib
farting trumpeters.
I have not been out to the Cloisters
in a long time
nor to the Tuileries
but I still keep thinking
of going.
I have seen the garbagemen parade
when it was snowing.
I have eaten hotdogs in ballparks.
I have heard the Gettysburg Address
and the Ginsberg Address.
I like it here
and I won’t go back
where I came from.
I too have ridden boxcars boxcars boxcars.
I have travelled among unknown men.
I have been in Asia
with Noah in the Ark.
I was in India
when Rome was built.
I have been in the Manger
with an Ass.
I have seen the Eternal Distributor
from a White Hill
in South San Francisco
and the Laughing Woman at Loona Park
outside the Fun House
in a great rainstorm
still laughing.
I have heard the sound of revelry
by night.
I have wandered lonely
as a crowd.
I am leading a quiet life
outside of Mike’s Place every day
watching the world walk by
in its curious shoes.
I once started out
to walk around the world
but ended up in Brooklyn.
That Bridge was too much for me.
I have engaged in silence
exile and cunning.
I flew too near the sun
and my wax wings fell off.
I am looking for my Old Man
whom I never knew.
I am looking for the Lost Leader
with whom I flew.
Young men should be explorers.
Home is where one starts from.
But Mother never told me
there’d be scenes like this.
Womb-weary
I rest
I have travelled.
I have seen goof city.
I have seen the mass mess.
I have heard Kid Ory cry.
I have heard a trombone preach.
I have heard Debussy
strained thru a sheet.
I have slept in a hundred islands
where books were trees.
I have heard the birds
that sound like bells.
I have worn grey flannel trousers
and walked upon the beach of hell.
I have dwelt in a hundred cities
where trees were books.
What subways what taxis what cafes!
What women with blind breasts
limbs lost among skyscrapers!
I have seen the statues of heroes
at carrefours.
Danton weeping at a metro entrance
Columbus in Barcelona
pointing Westward up the Ramblas
toward the American Express
Lincoln in his stony chair
And a great Stone Face
in North Dakota.
I know that Columbus
did not invent America.
I have heard a hundred housebroken Ezra Pounds.
They should all be freed.
It is long since I was a herdsman.
I am leading a quiet life
in Mike’s Place every day
reading the Classified columns.
I have read the Reader’s Digest
from cover to cover
and noted the close identification
of the United States and the Promised Land
where every coin is marked
In God We Trust
but the dollar bills do not have it
being gods unto themselves.
I read the Want Ads daily
looking for a stone a leaf
an unfound door.
I hear America singing
in the Yellow Pages.
One could never tell
the soul has its rages.
I read the papers every day
and hear humanity amiss
in the sad plethora of print.
I see where Walden Pond has been drained
to make an amusement park.
I see they’re making Melville
eat his whale.
I see another war is coming
but I won’t be there to fight it.
I have read the writing
on the outhouse wall.
I helped Kilroy write it.
I marched up Fifth Avenue
blowing on a bugle in a tight platoon
but hurried back to the Casbah
looking for my dog.
I see a similarity
between dogs and me.
Dogs are the true observers
walking up and down the world
thru the Molloy country.
I have walked down alleys
too narrow for Chryslers.
I have seen a hundred horseless milkwagons
in a vacant lot in Astoria.
Ben Shahn never painted them
but they’re there
askew in Astoria.
I have heard the junkman’s obbligato.
I have ridden superhighways
and believed the billboard’s promises
Crossed the Jersey Flats
and seen the Cities of the Plain
And wallowed in the wilds of Westchester
with its roving bands of natives
in stationwagons.
I have seen them.
I am the man.
I was there.
I suffered
somewhat.
I am an American.
I have a passport.
I did not suffer in public.
And I’m too young to die.
I am a selfmade man.
And I have plans for the future.
I am in line
for a top job.
I may be moving on
to Detroit.
I am only temporarily
a tie salesman.
I am a good Joe.
I am an open book
to my boss.
I am a complete mystery
to my closest friends.
I am leading a quiet life
in Mike’s Place every day
contemplating my navel.
I am a part
of the body’s long madness.
I have wandered in various nightwoods.
I have leaned in drunken doorways.
I have written wild stories
without punctuation.
I am the man.
I was there.
I suffered
somewhat.
I have sat in an uneasy chair.
I am a tear of the sun.
I am a hill
where poets run.
I invented the alphabet
after watching the flight of cranes
who made letters with their legs.
I am a lake upon a plain.
I am a word
in a tree.
I am a hill of poetry.
I am a raid
on the inarticulate.
I have dreamt
that all my teeth fell out
but my tongue lived
to tell the tale.
For I am a still
of poetry.
I am a bank of song.
I am a playerpiano
in an abandoned casino
on a seaside esplanade
in a dense fog
still playing.
I see a similarity
between the Laughing Woman
and myself.
I have heard the sound of summer
in the rain.
I have seen girls on boardwalks
have complicated sensations.
I understand their hesitations.
I am a gatherer of fruit.
I have seen how kisses
cause euphoria.
I have risked enchantment.
I have seen the Virgin
in an appletree at Chartres
And Saint Joan burn
at the Bella Union.
I have seen giraffes in junglejims
their necks like love
wound around the iron circumstances
of the world.
I have seen the Venus Aphrodite
armless in her drafty corridor.
I have heard a siren sing
at One Fifth Avenue.
I have seen the White Goddess dancing
in the Rue des Beaux Arts
on the Fourteenth of July
and the Beautiful Dame Without Mercy
picking her nose in Chumley’s.
She did not speak English.
She had yellow hair
and a hoarse voice
I am leading a quiet life
in Mike’s Place every day
watching the pocket pool players
making the minestrone scene
wolfing the macaronis
and I have read somewhere
the Meaning of Existence
yet have forgotten
just exactly where.
But I am the man
And I’ll be there.
And I may cause the lips
of those who are asleep
to speak.
And I may make my notebooks
into sheaves of grass.
And I may write my own
eponymous epitaph
instructing the horsemen
to pass.


Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Saturday, June 6, 2009

A Person Sentenced To Community Service

The Autobiography of mastery

The other day a week would welcome at this conference by noting that it reminded the author unjustly forgotten. E 'habit of the media take care of something only if it somehow makes the news. Rowing is in the news (and then called: Mode of the moment: Roland Barthes), the scandal hit the headlines, the recent publication of a work, but in the absence of better news may be the revelation that someone or something has been overlooked - and in this case, the "scoop" of the newspaper is to remember what else have dropped into oblivion. But Roland Barthes
can really be called an unjustly forgotten author? If we were to visit today libraries in New York we would realize that there are shelves devoted exclusively to his works, in the course of continuous translation, is published by the rhythm rather intense new monographs on Barthes, France, Italy and immediate rebound, continue to appear, unpublished barthiani ; Barthes is mentioned, commemorated regret.
If anything we might say that what happened could not happen: that life was a controversial (and still remember all the controversy of Professor Picard dichiaratogli and ostracism from the Sorbonne) and in death has become an unquestioned character. Of which no one should complain, since becoming undisputed is the aspiration of everyone in a spirit of honesty and passion, putting to write a page. And finally, still life, Barthes had enjoyed the supreme celebration of the satirical pamphlet. The thing had very sorry, and I was amazed, because if someone writes an entire pamphlet parodying the language of a page, even the language of his followers, this means that the parody has reached a state of great listening. But we all know, Barthes, tender and painful sensitivity.
That someone is amused at the things he did with shadowy conviction hurt him. Such was the man, but this man can say anything but has been forgotten. But
Seeking to understand the sense in which the reporter has heard Barthes as "overshadowed" and deployment dividing thinkers into two categories. Mind you, the distinction is convenient, and especially does not want to establish hierarchies and oppositions between black and white. I just want to outline two ways, both useful and acceptable to be teachers. There is the teacher who works offering his life and his work as a model and is the teacher who spends his life building models, theoretical or experimental, to be applied.
Barthes undoubtedly belonged to the first type of masters. He never proposed plans to write other pieces of amorous discourse, but even in his most purely "academic" (and think of S / Z) has offered models of analysis - in the sense that it is not enough to split a text I read in an author to say what Barthes was able to say that Balzac. Take also the idea of \u200b\u200bcode proairetico, take it in the hands of a student without imagination, and tell him to go and apply, say, a Peau de chagrin : not much will come of it.
belong to the second category authors such as Chomsky or Greimas: they propose analytical models that deliver to their disciples, and formulate them precisely because they are applicable beyond the individual genius of those who apply them (though of course there may be bad Chomskyans greimasiani and bad, as there are poor students who can not work with the multiplication table). You can be
Hegelians and can not be if not metaphorically, Kierkegaard. The masters of the second category require that someone in their wake, proceed to apply their assumptions, and perhaps correct them to improve them, to falsify them.
Masters in the first category pose embarrassed their followers, challenging them to a constant and impossible "imitatio magistri," which addresses precisely because it produces something different from the work of the master.
Working with masters of the second type means testing their models locally, correct in infinitesimal details, and you run the risk at every step, to be recognized as heretics. Not so happens with the masters of the first type has always heretics, and you may not be. I said
I did not want to establish hierarchies, and I repeat it. There are bad teachers of the second type, which impose their models dogmatically, and do not allow students to discuss them. There are bad teachers of the first kind, which puts on a show of visionary ecstasy and educate their followers to worship the ineffable.
E 'characteristic of teachers of the first type have a communicative practice that is identified with the artistic practice. Barthes often made us understand that knowledge comes through the practice of writing. It does not come from abstract diagrams that you then try applications. Barthes tried at least once, thinking to abstract diagrams, and it happened with system of Fashion, but we know that he had do so, almost on a bet, but not for academic needs (and what gave him so much trouble that the finished work, he declined to use it as a university degree). This will also chair
artistic works of the so-called theoretical Barthes. It seems to me that yesterday, in an interview, François
Wahl deny that there are moments in the work of Barthes and scans. I would agree with him: if there were, were external and accidental.
Isabella Pezzini A year ago and I wrote for "Communications" an essay in which we tried to show how Barthes semiologist existed before Elements of semiology , And certainly since the days of Mythologies
. But if it is true that Barthes semiology was from the beginning, even when he wrote of the "proposed" by the academic tone for nothing, it is also true that Barthes was stretched even when those creative writing booklets for use by its students, then, and only by accident, we have great movement known as university books.
Let me go back to some personal memories.
When the Elements of semiology appeared on "Communications 4", Barthes had no intention to publish them later in separate volume. He considered them a notebook, a folder of notes for the use of his seminars. However existed in Italy since the magazine Marcatrè "which had the advantage of being large, can endure very long essays, Barthes, and I asked permission to translate the site's elements. He agreed because it was just to publish them as working materials. He entrusted the translation of Andrea Bonomi. As he was ready to go to press, died Vittorini, and friends dell'Einaudi I got a call saying that one of the last wishes of the deceased was right to publish the elements in volume, for the series "New University". At the request acted blackmail, for sentimental reasons, both Barthes on me: I gave in the translation Bonomi, Barthes and agreed in volume edition.
The volume has been as successful as we know, and only after the Italian episode Barthes decided to republish the text in French. With a few changes (I once asked to translate the material for a booklet Bompiani) happened with the old rhetoric .
Because there was even then in Barthes this fear to expose themselves as a theorist and crafts? I would say that, of deception, at the beginning he did not feel these texts as an exercise of true writing. Deceiving, I say, because the theoretical effect that they have had will affect writing, persuasive and subtle strategy. Fake hand, they were. Barthes made us believe that expose us flatly Saussure, reversed the relationship between Saussure and semiotics, and linguistics. We believe it was to borrow the concept of connotation (so important in his critical practice) from Hjelmselv, and it was not true: if you go to re-read the Prolegomena hjelmsleviani you will notice that in that context the concept of connotation was more limited and moderate (or conservative). Hjelmslev Barthes had offered not a notion "strong" as connotative semiotic semiotics whose expression plane is an underlying semiotics, but rather a notion "weak" of what this cannot semiotics. Hjelmslev gives the examples of connotation, for example on the fact that a decision can characterize the source Regional. There is no concept of "strong" and then manipulated by Barthes, where through the reading of the connotations it appears possible to read traces of the ideology and the way in which a company does move in a highly persuasive signs most seemingly innocuous. Barthes pretended to repeat, but in fact consisted of subtle strategies and writing, while writing, its authors, he is transformed in his hands.
This explains why Barthes then it seemed to deny their theoretical exercises and launched by a decision in writing explicit works, giving us the impression that he has abandoned his interest semiological (again disregarded the interests of its writer). In reality he has always remained faithful to his vocation, which was not to build a usable system semiological but always tell us at every turn that around us there is semiological, or you live in semiosis.
This is evident even in the most seemingly didactic readings of the myths of today, in some analysis of images where it seems that Barthes tries to explain to us what that picture meant. But its lesson is never intended for what the image meant, but the fact that in any case "it said" It 's rare that Barthes (who talked a lot of codes) arrivals to stiffen his readings in a final encoding . His lesson semiological, what made him so controversial, was right in pointing the finger at any event, the universe and feel that it would mean something. This angered both the Anglo-Saxon philosophers of language training, for example, who accused him of applying to the culinary arts categories of the language and read as a language that was not produced linguistically. We discuss certain transpositions barthiane linguistic categories from other systems of signs, but we must realize that what he wanted to do was to warn that in any case there is significant also in the culinary and that somehow you need to search, even if the ways and tools can be reformulated. The
semiologist, we repeat, is the one that when out and about in the street, where people see the facts and events, sees, smells signification. The have pinned on the idea that there is always around us, of meaning, rather than on the task of translating dizionariale for tourists sociological signifiers multiple meanings are clear and fixed once and for all, this was the ' Barthes's legacy.
only way we can understand his Japanese adventure. Finally he stood in front of a civilization that did not know any code: here he played his ability to understand and to say that there was significant, even when they did not understand that.
dangerous game, in which Barthes was walking on a razor's edge: of that language he did not know the rules, yet he knew that it says something in the way of making a package or cut fish. Where the Japanese semiosis is implicit, and the western non-existent, Barthes had a challenge, a methodology of suspicion. But just because what interested him was the mechanism of semiosis, not the encoding of its results, he was happy with the risk of contradiction. Working on a civilization that celebrated the Zen sense of rejection, silence, opacity, each page Barthes denounced and denied the significance, in a dialectic of bravery and modesty. The haiku does not make sense, and yet you spend three chapters to show the game creates the sense that it continuously around.
why, especially in recent writings, the significance of the preferential condition appeared to him that poetry, or literature in general (see Lesson ): literature is not required to set a direction, with the way you play. The metaphor recurs throughout his poetry reading in Japan, yet just as Barthes uses this metaphor shows us that there is poetry even in everyday gestures flatly. E 'in order to avoid filling the daily act of ultimate meaning, the work of interpretation as if it were a metaphor. He worked daily with the fear of semiosis on lock, and treated her gently, as it did who, out of respect for life in each of its forms, caressing a stray cat with light and love (and worship) that you petting a cat angora. Everything is full of meaning, he told us, and reveal a lot there, but do not show the whole film, and what I say I drop a shadow of suspicion, perhaps skeptical, because I do not want rigid code in what I'm displaying and interpreting that rise facades a ghost, the ghost of the referent.
I remember one day in Milan, in the early sixties, after a breakfast. We were and he take leave, as if to sum up the discussion we had done at the table, he said: "Et surtout, d'accord, Umberto, il faut tuer the réféfent. These were the years in which theories of language were still heavily referential, and anchored to the values \u200b\u200bof truth. The address of structuralist semiology was trying to work instead on the content, the illusion of truth, the production of ideology, the strategies of persuasion. The moment when the signifier is still in its supposed referent is the moment when language loses its thickness and does not rise more, and become "unnatural". Barthes fought against this, and saving the possibility of a continuous query language, he realized his way of being semiologist, even when it still seemed (or more) to semiotics. He wanted to leave the significant rise not because he believed, like others, that everything is signifying chain and there is no meaning, but precisely because he knew that everything has meaning.
And yet we must be careful not to read Barthes in the light of other theories of the text (such as deconstruction, the drift) appeared after Barthes. His idea of \u200b\u200b"jouissance" was not an anarchist, he was aiming, reading, according to elicit multiple, but not to celebrate the elusiveness, perpetual slippage of meaning.
There are two types of attitude towards the infinity of the text: one is that of St. Augustine, the other is what the Kabbalists.
Kabbalists knew that the letters of the Torah can be combined to infinity to produce new versions of the book, and then infinite interpretations. I do not see anything in this text Barthes' theory. Augustine knew that the sacred text was infinite (infinite sensuum sylva, "as St. Jerome had said), but that could always be subject to a rule of forgery, to rule out what the context is not allowed to read, for it was the energetic hermeneutical violence to which he was undergoing. You can not say when an interpretation is valid, or what is the best, but you can tell when the text rejects an interpretation is incompatible with its contextuality. And what Barthes Sarrasine law, divides it into lexias precisely because the "jouissance" must be controlled by their cross-reference, and the articulation and verification of governs lexias the dialectic of pleasure, the excitement of divination. Barthes and Augustine was not Kabbalist.
But it is clear: he taught us the adventure of a man in front of a text, it gave us schematic model to be applied, but a living example of how "enchanted" every day in front of the vitality, and mystery, semiosis in progress. In this sense we have to thank him and in this sense, despite what the newspapers say, I think it will be hard to forget his teaching and let die *.


* This intervention by Umberto Eco at the conference in Reggio Emilia on Roland Barthes on 13-14 April 1984 was collected in the volume of Roland Barthes' Mythologies , edited by Paolo Fabbri and Isabella Pezzini, publishing practices, Parma 1986, pp. 297-304, which is here thanks you for your courtesy.

Roland Barthes , myths of today (foreword by Umberto Eco ) , Einaudi