the sourcerer: The Social Network Thing

Showing posts with label The Social Network Thing. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Sugar in my bowl.

A friend of mine posted on Facebook this morning: how many of you are on Twitter and why?

Twitter is a mystery to me. I'm only there because the man with the generous heart said I should be (he also said you should start a blog / you should start a tumblr, etc. so I listen)

Sometimes I find interesting links there, sometimes it feels like a real-life soap opera. I never won anything before in my life, but on Twitter I won a meal for two at a posh wine farm and a few months later, a case of Pinot Noir. Who follows who is also an utter mystery to me. Dita von Teeze follows Die Antwoord! I once retweeted a writer from LA. It was something about hairy dudes in a car and it reminded me of film recces I've been on. He said thanks and we had a little chat. Next morning I woke up and Erica Jong was following me. Yes! Famous Feminist Writer! She of the zipless fuck!

(I do admit to checking every now and then to see if she's still there.)

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

The man in black. (another bit of facebook commentary)

Him: (Thinks) 'Circle of love . . . no, ring of love . . . no, ring of . . . of . . . '

Me: circle of wire... yes that's it! no no wait.

Me: drat.

Him: ‎. . . fiery ring . . .no. . . no wait . . .

Monday, January 3, 2011

Do you know these people?

#
Him: Yes, they are my great grandparents - Bernard and Bernadette van Zefflinghof.
Both were eaten by a lion called Cedric, who never admitted his guilt 'till his dying days
where he was kept in the penguin enclosure at the Tivoli Gardens, Copenhagen.
#
Me: dude naw! I thought it was Obscurio with one of his hoochy girls.
#
Him: That 'aint no hoochy girl! That's a 'kick-a-camel-in-his-arse-girl' That's my great
granny in drag.
#
Me: well. I must say, they have great physiques.
#
Him: It was rumored that Great Grandad was actually a blow up doll.
#
Him: My grandfather, his son, once told me that he saw his mother blow up his father.
#
Me: Gosh. I am lost for words.
#
Him: That's what great granddad was heard to have said.

(This is the kind of repartee that keeps me
from leaving Facebook)

Friday, July 2, 2010

Facebook delights:

I found this message in my inbox. It's from my long-lost Polish friend in Stuttgart.

Hi Lily , U.'s page has many suprices for me. You are my best luck.
Your´s smiles are like yesterday, but most colourfuly.It is nice to see you again.Salute R.

You could tend a garden at night, only at night, pouring dark water onto leaves, and into the earth, like pouring midnight onto midnight. You could hold your soil-stained hands up to the moon. The stars would gleam on the bottom of the shovel. It would smell the same as a daytime garden - it would smell green, violet, red, white. But come back, in daylight. Come back, to see the colours without closing your eyes.
- Sean Michaels. Accompaniment to the song "Immune" by LOW. Said the Gramophone

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don't bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: "It's not where you take things from - it's where you take them to."
Jim Jarmusch (1953- )

You got very hungry when you did not eat enough in Paris because all the bakery shops had such good things in the windows and people ate outside at tables on the sidewalk so that you saw and smelled the food. When you had given up journalism and were writing nothing that anyone in America would buy, explaining at home that you were lunching out with someone, the best place to go was the Luxembourg gardens where you smelled and saw nothing to eat all the way from the Place de l'Observatoire to the rue de Vaugirard. There you could always go into the Luxembourg museum and all the paintings were sharpened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry. I learned to understand Cézanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when I was hungry. I used to wonder if he were hungry too when he painted; but I thought possibly it was only that he had forgotten to eat. It was one of those unsound but illuminating thoughts you have when you have been sleepless or hungry. Later I thought that Cézanne was probably hungry in a different way.
Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) - from A Moveable Feast.