| qoute of the day |
[Mar. 24th, 2005|12:03 am] |
But after several years of intesive listening and reading, I have come to the conclusion that the reigning stereotype of the tortured geius is to a large extent a myth created by Romantic ideology and supported by evidence from isolated and - one hopes - atypical historical periods. In other words, if Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy showed more than their share of pathology it was due less to the requirements of their creative work than to the personal sufferings caused by the unhealthful conditions of a Russian society nearing collapse. If so many American poets and playwrights commited suicide or ended up addicted to drugs and alcohol, it was not their creativity that did it but an artistic scene that promised much, gave few rewards, and left nine out of ten artists neglected if not ignored.
Mihaly Schikszentmihalyi, Creativity: Flow And The Psychology Of Discovery And Invention.
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[Mar. 24th, 2005|09:19 am] |
a passerby
hesitates then steps over
a snail
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[Mar. 24th, 2005|09:59 am] |
To me the most absurd aspect of the Terri Schiavo case is that the US President, Congress and the religious community care so much about restoring artificial food supply to a brain-dead woman, but largely manage to ignore "Millions (according to the UN data) of people, including 6 million children under the age of five, die each year as a result of hunger. Of these millions, relatively few are the victims of famines that attract headlines, video crews and emergency aid. Far more die unnoticed, killed by the effects of chronic hunger and malnutrition, a "covert famine" that stunts their development, saps their strength and cripples their immune systems."
I wonder how many of those people could be fed by money that were spent on lawyers, lawmakers, Bushes, and, of course, the ever present media. |
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[Mar. 24th, 2005|04:35 pm] |
Увидел у ![[info]](http://lj.rossia.org/img/userinfo-lj.gif) alik_manov@lj перекличку навеянную Мандельштамом и подумал, что в 1894 году дети рождались "после электричества", а всего через сто лет, в 1994, уже "после интернета". Многие из них, наверное, никогда не напишут "настоящее" бумажное письмо и не сделают "настоящую" фотографию, такую, что медленно возникает при красно-черном свете в ванночке с проявителем... Книжек, пожалуй, тоже скоро не будет.
И это все, конечно, если нам вдруг не отключат электричество.
...
Наливаются кровью аорты,
И звучит по рядам шепотком:
- Я рожден в девяносто четвертом,
Я рожден в девяносто втором...
И,в кулак зажимая истертый
Год рожденья с гурьбой и гуртом,
Я шепчу обескровленным ртом:
- Я рожден в ночь с второго на третье
Января в девяносто одном.
Ненадежном году, и столетья
Окружают меня огнем.
Осип Мандельштам, Стихи о неизвестном солдате. |
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[Mar. 24th, 2005|05:13 pm] |
-- ни ветерка --
на карнизе воркуют вороны
-- ни ветерка --
на карнизе воркуют каркадиллы
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