unabridged haiku

Edison Machine → Laurence Winram

Tue, 20 Jul 2010 09:41:47 -0300

Edison Machine → Laurence Winram

An enviably pretty slide deck, by the great Austin Kleon.

Thu, 08 Jul 2010 14:17:00 -0300

An enviably pretty slide deck, by the great Austin Kleon.

Borrowed Dreams → Teetering Bulb

Wed, 07 Jul 2010 08:59:20 -0300

Borrowed Dreams → Teetering Bulb

Robert Hodgin fucking rocks.

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 12:28:25 -0300

Robert Hodgin fucking rocks.

Something the wife and I have been working on.

Wed, 30 Jun 2010 13:12:18 -0300

Something the wife and I have been working on.

the children’s book of american birds → Conrad Roset

Tue, 29 Jun 2010 14:17:04 -0300

the children’s book of american birds → Conrad Roset

"Perhaps people will never come to feel about a tuna the way they have come to feel about whales...."

Sun, 27 Jun 2010 11:04:00 -0300

“Perhaps people will never come to feel about a tuna the way they have come to feel about whales. Whales are, after all, mammals: they have large brains; they nurse their young and breed slowly. All of that ensconces them in a kind of empathic cocoon, the warmth of which even the warmest-blooded tuna may never occupy. But what we can perhaps be persuaded to feel, viscerally, is that industrial fishing as it is practiced today against the bluefin and indeed against all the world’s great fish, the very tigers and lions of our era, is an act unbefitting our sentience. An act as pointless, small-minded and shortsighted as launching a harpoon into the flank of a whale.”

- Tuna’s End - NYTimes.com

It has been written about how our distance from the source of our food makes us less sympathetic — that seems obvious when filet mignon is consumed with predatory fury but, say, tongue is frowned upon as too morphologically transparent, too close to the actual animal itself. When you bring the conscience of the existence of a prior life in what feeds us to the plate, eating becomes a much more graceful thing, so much more aware of what’s at stake in your steak.

Fish don’t benefit from this conscience. Even if one’s eviscerated in front of your eyes, they don’t elicit mushy feelings; you don’t think of a fish as someone’s mommy, some scaly beauty of the seas. They’re, I feel sometimes, in the same category as insects, empathy-wise — except that they’re seen as edible in most cultures. And that is what I find the hardest in trying to explain my position in this matter to other people: saying “I don’t eat fish” is like saying “I don’t kill roaches”. “Come on, they’re fish”, they say. “Yes, they’re fish. And I’d like my offspring to get to know them, and appreciate them, and yes, some time or other eat them sustainably. Your sushi Tuesday is ruining it for me.”

I’m used to the frowns by now. I have even used the allergy excuse once, out of cowardice, to avoid having people feel like I am berating them by not munching on some delicious cod. But here’s the thing: if you are as well informed as I am, and keep eating farmed salmon, tuna, overfished sea bass without a care, maybe I should be frowning upon you. Maybe it is my moral imperative to remind you of your role in the legacy you’re leaving for generations ahead when you say “Worrying about fish? How silly” and smile at your plate of “fresh” tuna, captured thousands of miles away (let’s not even begin the oil talk).

It takes guts to put a foot on the ground and take a stance on any matter, especially those that concern what people gulp down when their bellies call for fulfillment. Doing so will estrange friends and result in long inquiries in restaurants, in incredulous head-bobbing and openly annoyed hosts. To me, that’s the worst — I have a particularly hard time displeasing others, even those I don’t know.

On the fish matter, however, I’m surprisingly adamant: I simply can’t fathom living in a world full of empty waters, a world that watches schools of colorful animals on the Discovery Channel, marvels, but can’t quite connect that with what goes on the plate. The allergy route has saved me from dissertations about the state of fisheries and the lawlessness of the seas, but you know what? I’m not using it again. I’m sorry if you invite me for a seafood lunch: I’m not attending, and that doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It just means I don’t share your fish politics — and you have one, believe me.

Tetsuya Ishida → lowart

Tue, 08 Jun 2010 09:37:45 -0300

Tetsuya Ishida → lowart

From my other tumblog, 52 Livros. If you speak Portuguese, like...

Thu, 27 May 2010 15:07:22 -0300

From my other tumblog, 52 Livros. If you speak Portuguese, like books, tolerate inane writing and appreciate lousy sketches, I vouch for its quality.

Eric Fischl, “Sunroom Scene”

Thu, 27 May 2010 10:35:28 -0300

Eric Fischl, “Sunroom Scene”

James Gili → but does it float

Tue, 25 May 2010 09:59:19 -0300

James Gili → but does it float

I miss Maira Kalman.

Mon, 24 May 2010 16:19:06 -0300

I miss Maira Kalman.

"My only response to it was “Oh, yeah, so this is how I’m supposed to be living.” It’s not often..."

Mon, 24 May 2010 10:14:13 -0300

“My only response to it was “Oh, yeah, so this is how I’m supposed to be living.” It’s not often you’re confronted with a piece of art that so clearly presents you with your own definition of success for your life.”

- Blog: Frank Chimero (On Avedon. On Vonnegut.)

Racinet Polychrome - Middle Ages e (via peacay)

Fri, 21 May 2010 17:06:12 -0300

Racinet Polychrome - Middle Ages e (via peacay)

Clichê: abro meu Emacs e C-x C-f ~/Dropbox/escrever.md, com a rádio no Last.fm tocando Mogwai. Após...

Fri, 14 May 2010 15:09:00 -0300

Clichê: abro meu Emacs e C-x C-f ~/Dropbox/escrever.md, com a rádio no Last.fm tocando Mogwai. Após gastar minha hora de almoço lendo prosa que surpreendentemente me comove, um ímpeto muito parecido com o que me motivava a escrever no Livejournal que um dia tive vira alguns parágrafos que nunca serão publicados. Chego quarto ou quinto bloco de texto, ocupo-me com as habituais reprimendas por destrinchar sentimentos juvenis e abandono o arquivo, que será apagado daqui a alguns meses num surto de Amr ibn al ‘Aas.

Não raro pareço estar extremamente próximo de uma revelação vernacular, e há uma pá de sensações que pedem papel e caneta assim que bamboleiam no meu peito. O caderno vermelho que me serve de diário sempre que preciso ventilar algum recôndito pestilento da minha cabeça está cheio de textos incompletos, ideias mal acabadas e imaturidade (como pessoa e escriba). Entre tirar as coisas da mochila e tentar expressar honestamente o que me impelia, algo se perde.

Minha vida interna muitas vezes parece definida por essa incapacidade de dar o próximo passo e me destituir de algo que me agasta. Levar as questões à frente, sem tratá-las de alguma maneira artística e romântica, parece sub-humano, tão reducionista como tratar comida como combustível e sexo como procriação. Concomitantemente, escrever sobre o que não se consegue definir parece impossível — mesmo que o ato em si venha a ser definição.

Como nerd, tento circundar o problema com ferramentas e técnicas para lidar com o problema. Aprendo mais coisas no Emacs; tenciono desenvolver uma versão do Scrivener usando algum framework Javascript que me interesse; leio posts e livro sobre criatividade e escrita; dou conselhos como se soubesse algo do assunto; faço exercícios por dois dias e os abandono, mantendo a mesma convicção de que me esforço quanto um vegetariano que come peixe. Como ser humano, me esquivo constantemente do enfrentamento inevitável para quem quer estar em paz com alguma coisa, mesmo que as negociações sejam turbulentas e belicosas.

Por algum motivo, viver algumas coisas abertamente, talvez um reflexo de geração, tem importância que tenho renegado desde que passei a me enxergar como adulto. E mesmo adulto continuo me debatendo com o que eu quero da vida, como quero e quando quero. Leio livros e blogs sobre isso diariamente, mas por algum motivo não me permito estar aqui com a mesma franqueza, com minhas faltas e minhas qualidades à mostra. Estou um pouco cansado.

Quando eu era criança, eu tinha um telescópio. Enquanto durou a novidade, eu o armava diariamente sobre a mesa da sala, as pernas do tripé seguindo as de bambu e vime sob o tampo de vidro. Observava a Lua, e fazia desenhos tão detalhados quanto possível, descrevendo o que via em anotações científicas. Eu rabiscava e me sentia perto da superfície cinzenta, prestes a pousar, mas jamais botava os pés no chão, sempre temendo não ter oxigênio o suficiente.

Vinte anos depois, quero descer. O chão é pedregoso e eu posso morrer a qualquer momento, mas estou aqui.

"A mere redrawing of borders, a change in governments, those things can never faze a Jewess with a..."

Fri, 14 May 2010 09:53:20 -0300

“A mere redrawing of borders, a change in governments, those things can never faze a Jewess with a good supply of hand wipes in her bag.”

- Michael Chabon, “The Yiddish Policemen’s Union”

backeis: I die for good time lapse like this! Totally worth...

Mon, 10 May 2010 17:55:23 -0300

backeis:

I die for good time lapse like this!

Totally worth it.

Jij bent mijn liefje. Buenos Aires, 2010

Mon, 10 May 2010 14:50:26 -0300

Jij bent mijn liefje.

Buenos Aires, 2010

Some people think they're having a conversation when all they're doing is giving a lecture.

Fri, 23 Apr 2010 19:20:43 -0300

And stupid me remains listening.

makenosound: Pixels, a fantastic video from Patrick Jean—make...

Thu, 08 Apr 2010 07:15:59 -0300

makenosound:

Pixels, a fantastic video from Patrick Jean—make sure you hang in there until the credits roll.

Putting our 80’s childhood to better use. Fantastic.