Dunno why, but there’s a recurring moon thing going on here at the mo… Well, actually, there usually is anyway, but besides that point, here’s another moment from Apollo 16’s mission that NASA doesn’t promote often…

Going for some slightly abstract ones, each of varying medium. First is an animation of the track “Where Did the Night Go?” by Gil Scott-Heron (who I should make a note of checking out more of later).

Second, one in a series of semi-psychedelic watercolour animations by Matt Box based on influential skaters.

And lastly, this fluidly surreal short by Masanobu Hiraoka that evokes several impressions of Masaaki Yuasa films, but wholey unique as well.

Adventure Time Fan Art

Ghosts of Gemini

NASA have recently released several photos from their archives, taken during the flights of Gemini, the often overlooked tech testing phase that took place between the Mercury and the Apollo space program.

One haunting image in particular is that of doomed astronaut Ed White wrapped in shadows and looking uncannily like Brad Pitt for some reason (looked nothing like him in general). Anyhow, the rest of the images can be found here.

From the last company I’d have pegged to develop an awesome new technological advancement (though it kinda makes sense), Disney Research have released this video of their Touché interactive system that is both simple in it’s approach and incredibly versatile; by being applicable to almost any surface, be it water, wood or tasty, tasty human, the practical possibilities of this is huge.

Hell, the five examples they give at the end of this five minute video are amazing enough, but the more I think about it afterwards, the potential applications really do seem limitless. Check it.

I’m not even sure what you call this process of… er, using non-music based objects to create tunes; I’m sure there’s a term for it and I’m not thinking right today, but whatevers. It’s cool.

First off is the original DOOM video game theme played on eight floppy drives:

Old favourite one of Radiohead’s Nude on an array of old computer components:

And finally, I couldn’t figure out which video from these guy’s channel to choose from, but eventually settled on In the Hall of the Mountain King (though in retrospect, something mathematically Mozart would be wonderfully appropriate).

Either way, musical Tesla coils. Are. Awesome.

Christ, this video confirms the fundamental laws of awesome that Arnie should make a musical; or that this should be the blueprint for the upcoming remake I just read that they’re making (really?).

Also, of similar awesomeness is the Amazing Robocop Rap.

Am home early today thanks to the flu looking to do something vile to my body. But just as the night is darkest before the dawn, a new fucking Dark Knight Rises trailer has made my fevered evening more endurable. Unlike the latest Prometheus trailer (that’s rumoured to be filled to the brim with devil-worshiping spoilers), this one at first, seem like it’s gonna head into that territory but then, Christopher Nolan’s shining fucking name blazes across the screen and it almost mutates into this insanely pants tightening sense of ‘okay… fuck yes. This is gonna be awesome.’

That or the flu meds are finally starting to work.

So immediately upon starting the last post, I realised I had just boxed myself into a corner in terms of both subject and tonal matter for what I really wanted to post: a (what I assume is) fake note from Werner Herzog to his cleaning lady, Rosalina.

While I wouldn’t put it past him to actually pen something like this, reading it certainly screams out that it’s a fake, but no matter, that is insignificant to just how funny and on the mark it is…

Rosalina. Woman.

You constantly revile me with your singular lack of vision. Be aware, there is an essential truth and beauty in all things. From the death throes of a speared gazelle to the damaged smile of a freeway homeless. But that does not mean that the invisibility of something implies its lack of being. Though simpleton babies foolishly believe the person before them vanishes when they cover their eyes during a hateful game of peek-a-boo, this is a fallacy. And so it is that the unseen dusty build up that accumulates behind the DVD shelves in the rumpus room exists also. This is unacceptable.

I will tell you this Rosalina, not as a taunt or a threat but as an evocation of joy. The joy of nothingness, the joy of the real. I want you to be real in everything you do. If you cannot be real, then a semblance of reality must be maintained. A real semblance of the fake real, or “real”. I have conquered volcanoes and visited the bitter depths of the earth’s oceans. Nothing I have witnessed, from lava to crustacean, assailed me liked the caked debris haunting that small plastic soap hammock in the smaller of the bathrooms. Nausea is not a sufficient word. In this regard, you are not being real.

Now we must turn to the horrors of nature. I am afraid this is inevitable. Nature is not something to be coddled and accepted and held to your bosom like a wounded snake. Tell me, what was there before you were born? What do you remember? That is nature. Nature is a void. An emptiness. A vacuum. And speaking of vacuum, I am not sure you’re using the retractable nozzle correctly or applying the ‘full weft’ setting when attending to the lush carpets of the den. I found some dander there.

I have only listened to two songs in my entire life. One was an aria by Wagner that I played compulsively from the ages of 19 to 27 at least 60 times a day until the local townsfolk drove me from my dwelling using rudimentary pitchforks and blazing torches. The other was Dido. Both appalled me to the point of paralysis. Every quaver was like a brickbat against my soul. Music is futile and malicious. So please, if you require entertainment while organizing the recycling, refrain from the ‘pop radio’ I was affronted by recently. May I recommend the recitation of some sharp verse. Perhaps by Goethe. Or Schiller. Or Shel Silverstein at a push.

The situation regarding spoons remains unchanged. If I see one, I will kill it.

That is all. Do not fail to think that you are not the finest woman I have ever met. You are. And I am including on this list my mother and the wife of Brad Dourif (the second wife, not the one with the lip thing). Thank you for listening and sorry if parts of this note were smudged. I have been weeping.

Your money is under the guillotine.

Herzog.

[ Source: sabotage times ]

Spent quite the bit of this weekend going over some Herzog material, particularly Into the Abyss, his recent documentary film that revolves around capital punishment and its subsequent TV mini-series On Death Row. Both are chillingly astute observations, not so much of the United State’s justice/prison system, but more about the microcosm that the people involved now live in. Very recommended.