I took a career test that said this: You would most enjoy a career that allows you to meet new people. You would also be happiest in a career that allows you to be free and flexible, and allows you to be extremely creative. You are a great leader. You genuinely enjoy being around other … More In Which I Do Not Recognize Myself
Years ago I took a class from this interesting professor, on Mário de Andrade and music. Before Reeducation I did a lot of things like that. Reeducation was not able to believe we could have had any kind of rich experience in our past, and yet we did. Axé.
De la musique pour le weekend: not “House of the Rising Sun,” an entirely different song. Axé.
A pesky novella by Miguel de Unamuno seems to boil down to this: 1- a priest does not believe, but believes people need to; 2- people in fact do not think about this as much as he does, and just want good works; 3- even his main disciple is more interested in truth / authenticity … More San Manuel Bueno, Mártir
It is out of fashion to lecture and not to have audiovisual equipment, but I have no media enabled classrooms this semester. I am teaching four different classes, two of which I have never taught before, and I have many other responsibilities. So I take questions, I ask questions designed to foment discussion, I assign … More Old School
He is truly brilliant. Axé.
I hate to see the ev’nin’ sun go down Hate to see the ev’nin’ sun go down, ’cause my baby, he done left this town Feelin’ tomorrow like I feel today Feel tomorrow like I feel today, I’ll pack my trunk, make my getaway St. Louis woman with her diamond rings Pulls that man ’round … More East St. Louis Blues
This is another song from the Russian lullaby animation project. The child dreams his whole life, and when he is on the point of death, he awakes. I am taking German. In the Roman alphabet, with the English translation, I can understand this whole Yiddish song. Axé.
Ay, ay, caballito negro, ¿dónde llevas tu jinete muerto? Ay, ay, caballito frío, ¡qué perfume de flor de cuchillo! Ay, little black horse, where are you taking your dead rider? Ay, cold little horse, ay the smell of knife-blossom! Axé.
I am not willing to consider the cat dead, but I am interested in this poet. On the Death of a Cat In life, death was nothing to you: I am willing to wager my soul that it simply never occurred to your nightmareless mind, while sleep was everything (see it raised to an infinite … More Poem
