понял что занимаюсь совершенно не тем. что пытаюсь переделать город, диверсифицировать инфраструктуру под себя, под людей всяких разных живых, не только под себя и таких как я. меньше машин, меньше мусора, меньше дебильного жестокого граффити-преапизма больше лавочек и болтливых милых бабушек больше секси и френдли поведения. но изменяешь изменяешь человеческий антропоморфный климат, а самое главное не меняется. самое главное это этот поганый климат. как-то еще лет 7-8 назад, гостив у Игоря ("коля с района", журнал Наш) он спросил меня, в чем метацель моей деятельности - говорю (цитатой) "чтобы лето не кончалось. а оно кончается. каждый раз. каждый раз "мало" работаю Kirill Kto P.S
You make me real Rebekka Karijord The story of two very illusive creatures almost interacting in the midst of the Swedish wilderness. Special music video for Rebekka Karijord rebekkakarijord.com Directed, photographed and edited by Oskar Wrangö oskar.wrango.com
“The attraction of snowboarding is the freedom it gives you.
With a snowboard on your feet the sky is the limit.
You can do anything and go anywhere.
This is not just for pro riders. It is for everyone.
The other amazing thing with snowboarding is how easy it is
to get away from people and enjoy the solitude of the mountains.
Its almost impossible in surfing but with snowboarding it is a short hike
from the top of the lift or the side of the road.”
― Jeremy Jones
As the sun sets behind a smoky cloudbank, an excitable crowd of snow enthusiasts gathers at the University of Utah’s Fine Arts Auditorium. Fueled by Clif Bars and Nalgene bottles filled with unidentified distilled beverages, we settle into our vintage desk seats and prepare for the night’s entertainment. On the docket is the second piece of big mountain rider Jeremy Jones’ opus, Further. For the past several winters, Jones and his crew of athletes have been traveling the world in search of the most remote mountain ranges. His team is composed of a wide swath of talent that includes Ryland Bell, Lucas Debari, Terje Haakonsen and local hero Forrest Shearer. Prior to the start of the film, Jones greets the crowd and gives a shout-out to Shearer, stating, “He has become one of my favorite riding partners.” The opening sequence of the movie illustrates this quote as the viewer is treated to an onslaught of epic images from a trip to the Japanese Alps. Shearer’s first line takes place on “The Face of No Return” and almost immediately after dropping in, he is caught by his slough and taken for a 1,500 vertical foot ride. Miraculously, he comes up on top and finishes the run.
What sets Jones’ films apart from many others is the logistical planning and research that goes into each segment. Free from the whirling blades of helicopters, the riders gain summits under their own power. A typical trip lasts three weeks and everyone must count on each other to survive the grueling conditions and tedious days stuck in tents. However, the team’s immersion in their environment gives them unique insight into the surrounding terrain and affords them amazing opportunities to explore.
Japan, Austria, Norway and Alaska provide the proving grounds and each adventure builds on the next. During one excursion to an isolated range in northern Norway, Haakonsen says, “These trips are great for escaping the digital world.” In a technologically driven industry where everyone is showing off their travels on Instagram and Facebook, unplugging is rarely thought of. To see the camaraderie that is formed during days deep in the wilds is inspiring. It truly shows the beauty of the untapped natural world and breathes fresh air into the lungs of the sport. The advantages of exploring the nether reaches of the planet also make for incredible cinematic opportunities, and the movie is rife with images of the Aurora Borealis and peaks that no one has ever laid eyes upon.
By the film’s end, the audience was left with a sense of astonishment and respect for the hard work that was put into its production. An authentic snowboarding masterpiece that leads us to question what is next on tap for Jones and his dedicated band of shredders.
Be still And go on to bed Nobody knows what lies ahead And life is short To say the least We're in the belly of the beast
Be still Wild and young Long may your innocence reign Like shells on the shore And may your limits be unknown And may your efforts be your own If you ever feel you can't take it anymore
Don't break character You've got a lot of heart Is this real or just a dream? Rise up like the sun Labor till the work is done
Be still One day you'll leave Fearlessness on your sleeve When you've come back, tell me what did you see What did you see Was there something out there for me?
Be still Close your eyes Soon enough you'll be on your own Steady and straight And if they drag you through the mud It doesn't change what's in your blood (Over chains) When they knock you down
Don't break character You've got a lot of heart Is this real or just a dream? Be still Be still Be still Be still
Over rock and chain Over sunset plain Over trap and snare When you're in too deep In your wildest dream In your made up scheme When they knock you down When they knock you down
Don't break character You've got sooooo much heart Is this real or just a dream? Oh Rise up like the sun And labor till the work is done Rise up like the sun Labor till the work is
Rise up like the sun And labor till the work is done
Причем в такой грамматической форме, которая содержала заведомое отрицание: – Ты не поедешь ко мне? Ты не желаешь меня видеть? Ты больше не любишь меня?.. Может, надо было кричать: – Поедем! Я с тобой! Люби меня!
You call to me, and I fall at your feet How could anyone ask for more? And our time apart, like knives in my heart How could anyone ask for more?
But if there's a pill to help me forget, God knows I haven't found it yet But I'm dying to, God I'm trying to
'Cause trying not to love you, only goes so far Trying not to need you, is tearing me apart Can't see the silver lining, from down here on the floor And I just keep on trying, but I don't know what for 'Cause trying not to love you Only makes me love you more Only makes me love you more
And this kind of pain, only time takes away That's why it's harder to let you go And nothing I can do, without thinking of you That's why it's harder to let you go
But if there's a pill to help me forget, God knows I haven't found it yet But I'm dying to, God I'm trying to
'Cause trying not to love you, only goes so far Trying not to need you, is tearing me apart Can't see the silver lining, from down here on the floor And I just keep on trying, but I don't know what for 'Cause trying not to love you Only makes me love you more
So I sit here divided, just talking to myself Was it something that I did? Was there somebody else? When a voice from behind me, that was fighting back tears Sat right down beside me, and whispered right in my ear Tonight I'm dying to tell you
That trying not to love you, only went so far Trying not to need you, was tearing me apart Now I see the silver lining, from what we're fighting for And if we just keep on trying, we could be much more 'Cause trying not to love you Oh, yeah, trying not to love you Only makes me love you more Only makes me love you more
"..I belong to no one - Who belong to everyone Who had nothing - Who wanted everything" “I was in the winter of my life — and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not a very popular one, who once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet — but upon an unfortunate series of events, saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again — sparkling and broken. But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is. When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living — they asked me why. But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lie your head. I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way, I’d be lying — because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one — who belonged to everyone, who had nothing — who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about — and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me. Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people — and finally I did — on the open road. We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore — except to make our lives a work of art. Live fast. Die Young. Be Wild. And Have Fun. I believe in the country America used to be. I believe in the person I want to become. I believe in the freedom of the open road. And my motto is the same as ever — I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself — I ride. I just ride. Who are you? Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself where you’re free to experience them? I have. I am fucking crazy. But I am free.”
1
Сдав все свои экзамены, она
к себе в субботу пригласила друга,
был вечер, и закупорена туго
была бутылка красного вина.
А воскресенье началось с дождя,
и гость, на цыпочках прокравшись между
скрипучих стульев, снял свою одежду
с непрочно в стену вбитого гвоздя.
Она достала чашку со стола
и выплеснула в рот остатки чая.
Квартира в этот час еще спала.
Она лежала в ванне, ощущая
всей кожей облупившееся дно,
и пустота, благоухая мылом,
ползла в нее через еще одно
отверстие, знакомящее с миром.
2
Дверь тихо притворившая рука
была -- он вздрогнул -- выпачкана; пряча
ее в карман, он услыхал, как сдача
с вина плеснула в недрах пиджака.
Проспект был пуст. Из водосточных труб
лилась вода, сметавшая окурки.
Он вспомнил гвоздь и струйку штукатурки,
и почему-то вдруг с набрякших губ
сорвалось слово (Боже упаси
от всякого его запечатленья),
и если б тут не подошло такси,
остолбенел бы он от изумленья.
Он раздевался в комнате своей,
не глядя на припахивавший потом
ключ, подходящий к множеству дверей,
ошеломленный первым оборотом.
Иосиф Бродский
1970
*Ранний вариант:слетела ругань. Глядя в пустоту,
он покраснел и, осознав нелепость,
так удивился собственному рту,
что врос бы в грунт, не покажись троллейбус.
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P.S
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