In a time where people share all sorts of data, even what they purchase through their credit cards, my favourite painter of all time, Vincent van Gogh, has every recorded bit of his personal correspondence splashed-out onto the Internet for all to see. I’m quite certain that the database is legally in the black, as most of the letters have been in print for decades.

You can see the entire database containing the letters here.

Personally, I think it would feel extremely weirding to know that anybody could sift through my personal correspondence once I’ve died. I’m not entirely sure I’d even like my family to do that, or to read their journals!

But there’s a big flip-side to this, for me.

As I once picked up Kurt Cobain’s “Journals” I didn’t feel ashamed of reading it, and I don’t think I’d feel ashamed by reading it again. Yet, I can’t say why I don’t want to read personal correspondence. Maybe it’s because it would be too personal? I’ve gone through a period of sifting through school-books that Mia and I have unearthed from our respective pasts, which has been a lot of fun. But very personal letters? Hm. And yeah, it’s been real fun reading the part of Cobain’s journals that are doodles, musings on potential band-names, brainstorming for a cleaning-company with Krist Novoselic and anti-anti-feministic drawings, but incredibly hard to read his notes from the latter part of his life. And to seem even more hypocritical, I’d love to read Sylvia Plath’s “Unabridged Journals” – despite her ex-husband’s alleged burning of the last journals. Why?

I think it all boils down to this: van Gogh’s art means so much to me on very basic, subconscious levels, roping me in all the way to my more conscious levels, that I don’t want to know his inner workings; I really don’t want to know why he painted the sky in those colours. I just want them to work me out! I don’t want to find out more about his relationship with God. Fuck it! I don’t want to delve into his profound – I get enough of that from work. Don’t, don’t, don’t! To me, it’d probably be a bit like discussing Rimbaud’s poetry; I might learn something, but it wouldn’t heighten my emotions.

Also, I don’t really relate to Plath and Cobain in the same way as with van Gogh.

Would you mind having everything you’ve created splayed on the Internet when you’re dead? Photographs of your clothes, scribbles from your notebooks, photographs from every possible moment, the secret names you gave your pets?

Apparently, cheese-rolling in Gloucestershire is tradition. Broken bones seems like such fun here. I have to say, I adore the song and the video, even though it’s acetate in nature; I think it’ll hold for a few listens only. I can’t help but cheer the star on, to see how it all pans out for him and smile at his smiling at the end.

Or can you?

Yesterday I bought three tickets for Stockholm Ice. Merrily, I went about trying to open the PDF-file. First of all, I use Google Apps, and for once GMail’s built-in PDF-viewer couldn’t open the file, or even display its contents as HTML.

The requirements for reading said file? According to Ticnet, it’s “Adobe Acrobat Reader 4.0 or higher”.

I downloaded the file and stubbornly tried to open it using Foxit PDF Reader v3.1.4. No go. It just said the file was damaged. So, I tried opening it using Sumatra PDF Reader v1.0.1, but the same thing happened. Yes, I then tried to open said file in Adobe Reader v9.3.0 and it also refused, pointing to the same type of error as above.

I tried this on three different Windows XP machines, using two different antivirus solutions altogether; I may also add that I could open a plethora of other PDF-files without any problems, using all three above programs (that are all updated to the latest version).

So, what happened?

On the train I used my Nokia N900 to read my e-mail and decided to try and view the PDF-file, and blimey, it worked – in my mobile phone, that’s running Maemo, a Linux distribution. I used the mobile phone’s built-in PDF reader to save the file and then opened it on my computer.

And it now works.

Seems like Ticnet has a problem on their hands, if I didn’t happen to get a malformed PDF-file, but it doesn’t look like it; all you may need to solve the problem is a Linux-based computer.

This morning is great. Had a cup of Åre Kafferosteri’s Rwanda according to The Coffee Collective’s updated AeroPress brewing method, then did Ashtanga Yoga and will now follow up by cleaning the apartment. Tonight it’s time to celebrate Ida, woo, birthday!

Obviously, the two are very sharp objects, but Stewart doing a spider-impression in the middle of faux-political discourse is hilarious. And also:

Stewart: You’re a news organisation between nine and eleven, and then you’re “opinions” between eleven and one, except on Jewish holidays…

I love the second part where O’Reilly defends the fact that FOX News (their label) nowadays separate “news” and “opinions” without labelling them once on the air.

O’Reilly: you don’t think people know the Factor is an opinion chair, you don’t think they know that?
Stewart: it’s certainly not clearly labelled; I’ve looked at your promos – you’re part of the “fair and balanced” part.

Also, as quoted from The Hollywood Reporter, but edited and corrected by me:

In the second segment the duo debate whether Fox News is a “fair and balanced” news organization, with Stewart calling the network a “cyclonic perpetual emotion machine.”

“You have become, in some ways, the voice of sanity here, which, as I said, is like being the thinnest kid at fat camp.”

The part at 24:43 where O’Reilly feels like becoming a TV-preacher and Stewart laughs and goes “Oh God”, might be the funniest thing. That, or the fact that streaming this pulp shows what FOX News is about; politics as entertainment. Too bad they’re not trying to combine the funny with truth – do note the words at the top of this screenshot:

The end is just so simple and sweeps away the entire conversation, in a very metaphorical sense regarding FOX and, well, reality:

O’Reilly: you’re out of touch with the folks.
Stewart: the folks?! You live in a castle!

Oh HIM! Now I know! The one who looks retarded! Yeah! He must be from Norrland…they all look a bit like him up there.

Yesterday evening watching “Kitchen Nightmares“, I saw a sweet, 70-year-old man come back from retirement, seemingly on his restless wife’s behest. He trodded along the floors of the horribly decorated Flamango – which is what the place was called – cutting badly cooked filet mignon tsunami – their actual word on the menu for it – table-side for guests, pouring some kind of tincture of garlic and butter over it all and letting it run from the carcass into a bowl. Yes, in front of the guests.

He walked around with his trolley/abattoir, his body constantly threatening to stop working and start dying. I just wanted him to get out of there, to retire, which seemed like what he wanted to do all along. He seemed so nice to his wife, trying to make her happy by giving her what she wanted. She was 100% sure of herself, that despite their quickly moving toward foreclosure and bankruptcy in the golden years, she was right; the decor was good, the menu was excellent, nothing needed changing – it was her staff and the customers that were idiots, obviously. Not her.

Of course she made a fool of herself, without realising it. And in the background, always, was her husband. And at the same time, by being humble and sweet, he was always in the foreground.

Download audio file (2010-02-04-rightstart.mp3)

I’ve had this song in my head for the better part of today; it’s a demo version of Talking Heads‘ “Once In A Lifetime“. So funky, yet a missing link between the Talking Heads I love and David Byrne’s Luaka Bop label. Maybe, one day, I’ll like it. As with jazz. But I still loathe some types of jazz, like fusion. I can’t stand it. At the same time, the mere thought of nearly every single noise Einstürzende Neubauten’s made sends shivers down my spine. Or Johnny Rotten screaming into a mic while Steve Jones literally bangs his guitar with the only thing that resembles music is a drum-beat somewhere in the background. I don’t think I’ll ever come to terms with fusion. Seemingly disorganised noise I can love, but not fusion; it’s like Swedish band Kent’s latest music video: complete shite.

On the flipside there is great music, made with few pretensions of trying to attain great artistic merit, that just rocks.

Download audio file (2010-02-04-girl.mp3)

That voice, his way of singing just creeps inside of me, beyond anything bad. Shit, I’m the pretentious one in describing what it sounds like. Just listen. Buddy truly rules, still.

No, I am not trying to find something that isn’t there. Hence, I’m trying to venture into the calm and self-curing through music.

Currently playing, in order:

1. Tindersticks – “Piano Music”
2. Morrissey – “I Have Forgiven Jesus”
3. The Jesus & Mary Chain – “April Skies”
4. Brian Eno – “1/1”
5. The Kills – “At The Back Of The Shell”

I feel like I’m Atreyu floating on top of Falcor in that calm way, even though Falcor smiled and closed his eyes while flying through the clouds in the night, following all that string music and the startling images of the Nothing moving further, of G’mork in the cave. That’s how I’m left after hearing the track by Brian Eno.

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And…I shouldn’t be posting this due to the stupidity of it all but it weirdly, very weirdly, puts me back on track. A Sphynx that is evil. And a brief word from a Chinese Crested. And there’s a slew of people from Saturday Night Live/30 Rock in there.

All from Wikipedia:

Acoustic Kitty was a CIA project launched by the Directorate of Science & Technology in the 1960s attempting to use cats in spy missions. A battery and a microphone were implanted into a cat and an antenna into its tail. Due to problems with distraction, the cat’s sense of hunger had to be addressed in another operation. Surgical and training expenses are thought to have amounted to over $20 million.

The first cat mission was eavesdropping on two men in a park outside the Soviet compound on Wisconsin Avenue in Washington, D.C..

The cat was released nearby, but was hit and killed by a taxi almost immediately. Shortly thereafter the project was considered a failure and declared to be a total loss.

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I’ve not blogged in…forever.

It feels as though I’m reading other blogs – not that I’m doing a great job at that – rather than working on my own. What can I possibly tell you?

I’m well. I’m quite rested. Work is harrowing right now, as I’m working hard at relieving myself from work; it’s now less than two months until I quit working at my current job and start work at the new place, something that I’m infinitely looking forward to!

My parents, my sister and her entire family came by to celebrate my birthday (thank you) last weekend, which was really nice.

Don’t trust the pic. Blixa loves Magnus, my sister’s boyfriend. And she loves Mia, most of all. She crawls, snuggles and contorts her way to get to Mia. And she lies in bed between us, being a little Heart and a Crux at the same time. I love Mia. And I love our little one.

And I miss Lotta. It’s been a month since she passed away and I’m sad about that. Our little big kitty. And maybe one day, Blixa might get a friend. A little kitty friend. Some day it’ll be likely to happen.

Soulwax’s “A Ballad To Forget” rings out and makes me think of Money Mark’s voice and of how underrated they are. Sure, they make you dance but they’ll make you cry as well.

And I’m happy. I’m happy when I’m home. When I’m in Mia’s arms and she in mine, when I solve a professional puzzle, when I cradle what’s rich to me; when I escape that which is materialistically available at a near distance, whether it is on the Internet or my new mobile phone, I just feel like the words I need are the words of Mia. Of my friends. Of what brings me joy, of catching a glimpse of a snowflake from the sky. Touching verbal smiles and warnings from roof-tiles that grind and threaten to come loose to crush what’s beneath us, to open up the ground.

It’s as though I’m close to something good, even though I cannot verbalise what it is. And I’m really happy with that. And actually, with discovering “30 Rock” and looking forward to meeting The Pirate Cats tonight.

Related posts

• Life goes on without Whole Lotta Love (cyndamoore.wordpress.com)
• Lotta is gone (niklasblog.com)