{video} Time For Techno Viking

Even after all these years and the internet’s curiosity, the true identity of the Techno Viking remains shrouded in mystery.

From Wikipedia:

The four-minute video shot by experimental video artist Matthias Fritsch at the Fuckparade on 8 July 2000[1] begins with the title “Kneecam No. 1”. The camera is on a group of dancing people with a blue-haired woman in front. A man stumbles into the scene grabbing the woman. A bare-chested man (known colloquially as the Techno Viking) wearing a Mjölnir pendant enters the scene while turning to that man. He grabs him by the arms and the camera follows, showing the confrontation. The bare-chested man pushes the guy back in the direction he came. He looks at him sternly and then points his finger at him, ensuring he behaves.[notes 1] Then the camera follows the bare-chested man as the techno parade continues. Another observer comes from the back of the scene offering an inverted bottle of water to him. As the situation calms down, the bare-chested man starts to dance down Rosenthaler Straße (52°31′33.8″N 13°24′13.2″E) to techno music.[2]

{sunday} Jan Uiterwijk ~ Windscape (master)

Self-lit by KC Trommer
You’re humming through the streets,
self-lit. I have to correct strangers
who touch your head without asking,
as if to bless you or to take a blessing from you.
When we leave the city, you become
a boy hunting locusts. Nature stuns you—
you load up your pockets and want to bring it
home with us, but Nature stays with nature, I say,
a refrain learned from another mother.
You cannot be unpuzzled by things,
but you marshal all your sweet bravado for me,
who tries but never beats you in a game of chess.
I witness the rook and Queen
moving inside your thinking, squaring
and hewing to pathways of wins, losses.
Childhood’s end is always menacing,
apparent places of stars mark its outer limits.
It heaves up in you when you lose,
when you rage, when you’re afraid.
Glowering out of a fever dream, your eyes shine
as you confess in the dark I was the monster.
You show me a hornet’s nest on a bed of cotton,
hold it up as an offering. I wonder with you
at what you hold—
            summer rivers that show bracken corners,
            eye agate marbles,
            daggerwings of our days in the city
            built of strangers,
                         in a country built of sky.
When I pull you close,
what will flee trembles in you.

Happy Sunday.

Ólafur Arnalds – Live at Sydney Opera House | Digital Season

Barbara duBois ~ she carried the moon in her arms

and so I followed her
she carried the moon in her arms
and that’s why i followed her
—Robert Chastain 01-22

Joni Mitchell ~ Goodby Porkpie Hat (with Pat Metheny, Jaco Pastorius, Michael Brecker, Don Alias)

Barbara duBois ~ She said “There is no reason”

And the truth is plain to see
But I wandered through my playing cards
Would not let her be
One of sixteen vestal virgins
Who were leaving for the coast
And although my eyes were open
They might have just as well’ve been closed

Whiter Shade of Pale by Procol Harum

From the YouTube notes: This is an original 16mm Scopitone conversion, not a copy. I used an actual old scopitone player, fed the signal to an old VHS, of which I then fed the output to a Canopus ADVC300. This ‘summer of love’ 1967 hit record was remixed in 2006. Also fixed audio-sync.*

*Not quite.

Paul Toussaint ~ Union Square Book Club and Sales

Simon & Garfunkel – The Dangling Conversation

It’s a still life watercolor
Of a now-late afternoon
As the sun shines through the curtain lace
And shadows wash the room

And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference, like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roarIn the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives

And you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our place with book markers
That measure what we’ve lostLike a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time (in syncopated time)

And the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives

Yes, we speak of things that matter
With words that must be said
“Can analysis be worthwhile?”
“Is the theater really dead?”

And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow, I cannot feel your hand
You’re a stranger now unto me

Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives

The Art of the iPhone

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