The third clock Tuesday morning, would not be one. Sleep, vague vision of the world reduced to that which filtered through my eyelashes I especially short, sweet porridge resisted domestic coffee, tea is cold, cold shower, hot, cold, massage . I'm dressed as a hermit, I tried to read, I tried to write, I surveyed the cave with brush.
'll just repeat what is released on Monday Babelio my reading, a little timid at first, my clumsy handling of the concepts, language post-philosophical antiquity seem unacceptable to me, "manual anti-dream" of Isabel Pariente-Butterlin, http://www.publie.net/fr/ebook/9782814504318/manuel-anti-onirique because if I find her beautiful notes on http://yzabel2046.blogspot.com/ I am sometimes dropped, I humbly admit, especially the languid days - but I was caught and:
It begins with a presentation by moral and philosophical, and turns to the tale. Which is under non-disclosure, loneliness, communication formal, small gestures to link, and mockery of that. Elk, and thoughts of her (the I is forbidden, with the result that she, the subject of "small exercises" I sounded, especially since it provides the intimate) against the other, those whom the assault, with those on which she had, she might like. Human animals and their relationships, and Nathalie Sarraute, who rode. The same charm elsewhere in this report, but just what is apparent is more sensual, almost lyrical at times.
"Everything is perfectly set. Every gesture is awkward, any protest unnecessary. It is splattered with their laughs, everyone laughs about her, she looks at them, looking for support, a face that would simply alien to the scene, everyone laughs, the circle closed around her She does not know how to escape them. "
..." He speaks, she listens with an attention so thin, so transparent, around them, the party withdrew. The bubbles rise, perfectly vertical, in the cup she held, and he refilled. Their attention to one another, they take refuge, created around them a place in the world where it is sheltered from the chaos and bustle of the evening. "..
a language closer to the things in long sentences, which comes at a time to feel the touch of an object, a sensation of light, vibration of the air and say , not to suggest, not to formulate what is happening inside the "she".
"In a maze colorful splashes of light explode silently motionless. Following which, they remain unresolved, arrested movement, in the sunlight passing through them and back on the ground and at the same time keeps the hot air from the afternoon summer. Sound vibrations from yellow, in all possible shades of Zeno's paradox, that nobody could have imagined. "
And what I like least (but I'm sure it personal) returned to the forefront sometimes a theory, a more explicit and which then becomes impersonal, no longer seems to emanate from the same source, but overlooks what was narration. And it results in re-creating dishes that link to "she", or with a more impersonal the "on" or "us". On this agreement in the world, too, that comes when, through exhaustion, or by grace, it stands empty cons in it, and that loneliness no longer exists, or anything more, for a time, which lasts not before the everyday did not create another void, will reduce the consciousness of failure, of finitude. On conviction, the abandonment of the "it" as was the "I" or "me."
Leaving only the writing. The attempt, pure, to the rhythm of life. (And return parables, descending into the memory, memory that is hidden)
Just, again, a quote:
"Loneliness condemns the obstinacy. Crossing the unknown city in the morning, understanding the possible routes, draw the features of its possible inclusion in the world and then face the following day until evening, with one stroke of the pen, perfectly straight. That only one hand can draw perfectly controlled. Stroke of a pen, ink black, who has drawn the street when she was just a suburb, it has been so many centuries that it freehand. "
And I done with my reading these days, which were often beautiful, or pleasing, or entertaining, or important, which can find a trace, if desired, or are curious about http://www .babelio.com / mabibliotheque.php
I had, however, delighted to quote, but it is beyond some of the long sentences, wordplay, concepts, intelligent and joyful "time zero" of Calvino surprise of these last two nights (which I still enjoy a few pages).
I gave myself indigestion with "stomach of Paris" by Zola, listening to some recordings of arias from Eugene Onegin (you-tube videos at random) to motivate me (pout dubious - bias not a fool - on behalf of Tchaikovsky: I've never heard this opera), I took out a velvet skirt, leotard and black oxfords, took a bit of green tea bleak and me went to the opera, invigorated by the auction
"A mist was rising humidity, dust, rain that blew in his face Florent This fresh breath, the sea wind that he recognized, bitter and salty, while he found in the first fish spread, pink mother of pearl, coral bloody, milky pearls, all memories and all the pallor of glaucous Ocean. "
a very pleasant surprise. Good music, not much, but good and went well with our orchestra. Good singers, but no stars and very good to me. Beautiful lights. A nice shutout and cream or dark colors in the costumes and deaf.
For tables of the first act a setting that is both simple and complex, little illustration, which introduced a world of representation: a large circular plate of light wood laid on the sloping floor of the golden plate, visually calibrated by high sheaves standing, a blue sky backdrop grayish, golden light, a tau of white cloth on the front, which fell, draping the ground and the circle, came to the front, as a huge bed (and at one point a tree cut down at an angle to a point like a big pen, giving the scene a short side letter dreamlike, without depriving him of strength, made her "maiden"). For the rest, as appropriate, mirrors, curtains neutral leaving a piece of board ...
A beautiful staging, simple and detached without acrobatics and without dullness, a pace that united them. With a success: the ball scene, and early this time the choir dress suits and dark shades of hot block is held in the center while the girls in white dresses and frocks dancers waltzing around them or, before, during the opening dance of Tania so low that swooning into the arms of Mr. Triquet Mephistophelian, deformations incessant to appreciate music, dance ensembles / choirs throughout the act that are never openly seeking an effect, but never stupid or really realistic.
For Tatiana, Nataloya Kovalova, a pretty tasty voice, strong and round. Olga Marie Lenormand A pretty, with a voice that becomes a little vibrating delicious down, the other two female roles, pretty good voice and incarnations. A tall, thin Onegin Armando Noguera which I liked the voice. More than Florian Laconi, sometimes a little too metallic (my lack of love for the tenors), but I really liked the simple line and voice their agreement in the duet before the duel and it plays well Lenski - no stranger to the beautiful Avignon as low as Nicolas Courjal Gremin.
A big flaw: the two intermissions of twenty minutes each.
PS.
But in the accelerated scrolling notes for a fresh start on Wednesday morning that it just perfect, on a power (on when not controlled) http://www .arnaudmaisetti.net / spip / spip.php? article586
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