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En attendant je suis en France, j’ai eu le temps pour lire un livre sur la IIème Guerre Mondiale, écrit par Curzio Malaparte, de titre Kaputt.

Je vous laisse ici la déscription d’une pièce du compositeur romantique Aleksandr Borodin qui, comme toute l’aristocratie et bourgeoisie russes, parlait français (ou je crois ça, quand même).

 

(Pardon pour mon térrible français!)

 

Dans les régions désertiques de l’Asie centrale retentit un chant russe. On entend se rapprocher le pas des chevaux et des chameaux ainsi que la mélodie d’une chanson orientale. Une caravane traverse l’immensité de la steppe, escortée par un détachement de soldats russes. Son long parcours s’effectuera en toute sécurité. La caravane s’éloigne peu à peu. Les chants s’unissent en une seule harmonie dont les échos retentissent longtemps dans l’immensité de la steppe avant de mourir dans le lointain.

A girl from Copenhagen.

The last day of our stay there, we got lost when we were going to the central station. We noticed that when we went out of an alley where there is, with that typical red brick, the best board games’ shop I’ve ever seen. There, in a big boulevard, we had to decide if we were going to the left or to the right.

And then we saw her, pale black-haired Danish, black clothes, white aura. She was doing jogging elegantly, walking fast, running slowly over the continental drift, but not feeling the vértigo she made me feel. We asked her where we had to go, and she said “to the right”, I said “oh”, and she said bye. She began running on that direction.

Then she turned and smiled at me.

I looked at her back.

It makes me remember the autumn -which, as everyone knows, has the colour of a falling leave.  However, this andante is blue, like a Finland morning, the first sun ray after the long night: the first time your eyes get used to the light after a three-months dark, your pupils diminishing.

Or, maybe, it’s only a moment of meteorological doubt, ten lonely minutes of sun.

Which is enough for this beautiful piece.

Mother night

Kurt Vonnegut

‘I can’t even tell you what the plot of “The Goblet” is’ I said.

So Wirtanen told it to me. ‘A blindingly pure young maiden’, he said, ‘guards the Holy Grail. She will surrender it only to a knight who is pure as herself. Such a knight comes along, and is pure enough to win the Grail.

‘By winning it, he causes the girl to fall in love with him, and he falls in love with her’ said Wirtanen. ‘Do I really have to tell you, the author, the rest?’

‘It – it’s as though Bodovskov really did write it -’ I said, ‘as though I’m hearing it for the first time.’

‘The knight and the girl-’ said Wirtanen, continuing the tale, ‘they begin to have impure thoughts about each other, tending, involuntarily, to disqualify themselves from any association with the Grail. The heroine urges the hero to flee with the Grail, before he becomes unworthy of it. The hero vows to flee without the Grail, leaving the heroine worthy of continuing to guard it.

‘The hero makes their decision for them’ said Wirtanen, ‘since they have both become impure in thought. The Holy Grail disappears. And, stunned by this unaswerable proof of their depravity, the two lovers confirm what they firmly believe to be their damnation with a tender night of love.

‘The next morning, confident of hell-fire, they promise to give each other so much joy in life that hell-fire will be a very cheap price to pay. The Holy Grail thereupon appears to them, signifying that Heaven does not despise love like theirs. And then the Grail goes away again, forever, leaving the hero and the heroine to live happily ever after.’

‘My God — I did write that, didn’t I?’ I said.

‘Stalin was crazy about it,’ said Wirtanen.

Richard Grayson

What if Debussy had composed Rhapsody in blue? And Gardel, The ride of the Valkyries? This man, Richard Grayson, improvises covers of several classical hits into different composers’ styles.

And what does it sound like? Like Heaven and celestial choirs, sir.

Today is 144th anniversary of the birth of Enrique Granados, a Spanish composer of Classical music, friend of Isaac Albéniz, and one of the best musicians in the Spanish nationalism musical movement -more intimistic than Russian nationalism.

Happy birthday, Mr. Granados.

Good morning, campers! I came here to write about The Humble Indie Bundle, a video games’ offer which is released periodically -as far as I know-, and which subtitle is ‘Pay what you want!’ -just for that it’s worth to talk about. But not only the price! The five games have been released by independent developers, who probably compensate their lack of money with a fall of imagination -and the games seem to agree.

For that, I’ve come here to make this own, humble, and probably indie, advertisement: http://www.humblebundle.com/