[I’ve been felled by a silly little Flu the past week and I do promise to check-up on all my talented blogger friends and their artistic endeavours hopefully by tomorrow. In the meantime, since the annual epic quest to retrieve that most famous of silver chalices looms near; and since the boy in me still demands his presence to be foolishly felt during such a time; and my Black & Gold came oh so very very close to drinking from Lord Stanley’s famously shining cup last year, I thought I’d break away from all my usual silly dialecticalness for a brief moment and instead embed a few videos.
The first was CBC’s last-year opening playoff montage accompanied by the sounds of one very excellent rock band. I must say, there’s really nothing quite like gallant heroes jousting against dastardly puck-stealing villains, or swashbuckling swordsmen doing battle with net-hoarding armored ogres! Valhalla anyone? The second one PLEASE start it at the 4:20 mark. There’s a ridiculous reason for this(The whole video is terrific, and the first part is good, so if you feel inclined certainly do watch). Ridiculous reasons can be motives you know. 😉 Perhaps my delightful readers, known or unbeknownst to this video’s creator, there’s something else hidden below it’s immediate surface besides greedy owners and pampered players, or ridiculous ideologies, or just a mere celebration of a sport…perhaps, just perhaps, there’s something of a deeper nature…or perhaps I’m just being a silly boy ;).
[START AT 4:20 MARK]
mr johannes 
🙂 What is it about boys & ice? There is something there– Rousing vids. 🙂
PS May you find yourself far from the dark path La Grippe has led you down. Even brave heroes are glad of a cuppa now and then.
PPS
An epic poem–entitled Voice. Word. Verb. (It’s just a coincidence that used this title for one of my poems)–
I thought you might like–it’s a bit of a surrealist poem. I could attempt a translation if necessary–but it has an “effect–as a multi-sensory experience, in any case. The poet, Igor Sid is reading his own poem.
This was very interesting to watch and listen to. And yes, you’ll definitely have to translate it for me but I insist it be at your convenience Ms Flame. 🙂 The over-all impression I got from the video has a Zooropian quality or feel to it. i.e.The current media over-saturation has on disrupting the existential in modern day man For me, the music chosen certainly echoes a Brain Eno/Passengers affectation – an electronic modern mood so to speak, while the video itself seems to flicker back and forth between imaginative sci-fi versus actual achievements attained in space. Sort of like wondering if technology, even with all its clever little aesthetic enhancements, has served in reality a dull-stifling effect on what Aristotle thought moved the world: “Wonder”. It is not through reason and logic that we begin to act, but the impetus is through wonder at the mysterious;, One might even venture to say that erotic love must contain mystery and wonder at its outset; else erotic love becomes nothing more than animals in heat – and at best that’s the humerous, at worst its bestiality. Or to put it like that very erotically barren but extremely sagacious Mr. Hume wrote: Reason is the hand-maiden of passion…. As you can see its getting late here, and I’m being distracted by those marvelously devious sleep fairies at this time, causing me to drift in some philosophical nonsensical nonsense, so I’ll halt this capricious thought where its at lol.
Mr. Johannes, I’ll let you know if/when I am able to translate the poem…
Wonder may hide in mysterious places, and emerge when we least expect—
Here is a fumbling attempt at a translation of the text:
Voice, Word, Verb.
Voice, word, verb: glossolalia from a child’s cradle,
and washed over the world, whirlwinds born spinning.
In a Cyclopian gesture of blue and azure
dividing heaven and sea, we lay without strength,
hermeneutics and frontists in the battlefield of the surf,
but old man de Kullè noticed us, and blessed
the World Tree — let rootlings shoot into a colorless
parallel world, expressed as magma under Aetna’s slopes,
the Stymphalian larva of boiling stone! And Zhlya* *an ancient Slavic goddess
circles forest and steppe, dividing into green and more green .
Or like this: settling into the negative cone Aida,
I said: grapes. A cubist mustache, meander,
the embryo of the Labyrinth, Thessaly, yet Thebes,
concentric terror of the square of Mytilene.
Freeze frame:
Into a fire-breathing ravine, in the iris of the poor Cyclops,
along its vast spine Europe is serving back to the New World,
made doubly lonely by loudly boiling seas
tossing Cadmus turns a burning Vulkanalia;
for incense-filled Sinai, where lava spilled as tablets
and in the brine lurks the golden Black Sea sturgeon,
there is constructed in a cube consisting of termite song
a full-fledged Kaaba, a skinny Adam’s Apple
of Basurmen *. Adobe phrases of walls. *i.e. Muslims
And a double Jihad, as the land is burned and barren.
And still farther each continent moves from the other,
yet they remain obedient, the Muslim and Proteus, many-faced,
and thus is Hera, tearing her hair up in an electronic amnesia—
the way Weissmann howled from thirst to drink from the crater,
and Alyosha’s tadpole freezes in the ice in the winter.
Nostalgia draws good paintings: we are together.
And it is not clear just who we are. Already on the way
to the metropolis we feel that something is wrong. We fly up home:
along the erased avenues–an RNA transcription won’t save us—
a six-pawed brave backbone of nonverbal jazz,
three centuries of vertebrae, an injection aimed at the heart,
And yet continues a child’s speech, calling: voice, word, verb.
Canonical texts are nasty in that they weave, today,
on the eve of the end; Doryphoros, an empty pyramid
and dry Baalbek, in the absence of the Holy Sepulchre
of indubitable patristics. But — no guesswork — soars
in six-jazzed colors, the continent over the holes of hell.
And inside, like a Doric order, stands a cannonade.
The black stone in the wall — it’s like trying to fold
spear-bearing wings and a lay down new song
as if a medal for the motherland, suddenly turned Maltese,
proprietary lame-footed Hephaestus gestalt:
mechanical servant, mechanical servant, mechanical servant.
Still better the falcon than the copper bulls for King Tethis,
and the angry King revokes the screening machines, learning,
that his treacherous daughter, tossing out Poetaina,
the ocean, is once again in trousers. And a century of wolfhounds
is slept through: as in single file I leave, walking along the corridor.
“AND THE GATES OF WAR WERE CRUSHED BY CRUEL STRIFE.”
–Igor Sid
1993
Ah and so …
Just so … and for all that great oceans might divide.
Regarding device and all manner of sporting endeavour. And all that Aldus Huxley in his pomp might testify … “An intellectual is a person who’s found one thing that’s more interesting than sex” … And sport might qualify???????
And yet and now, you have to qualify … The striker seeks to score?
An evolving bunch of words …. most engaging … the reader thanks the writer so.
hahahaha, you aren’t implying are you my good Mr. Harlequin, that there might indeed be at the very moment of a sports highest climax a metaphorical ecstasy resembling that of…well…I assume most reading this will not need that allusion finished. If we take it in that direction no doubt a qualifier would be needed . However, for my silly purposes here; while sex is rather a deep and very interesting matter as concerns the human race, my intentions were toward’s something else of a less physical plain… 😉
I do highly appreciate that you took some time to watched these videos and to perceive there’s more to them than a mere celebration of sports Mr. H. I see you’ve got a blog about that mustachio ol’ Nietzsche. I’m a bit familiar with some of his work. I’ll def. check it out when I’ve got a bit more time.
Unity, strength in numbers; that’s what directly comes to mind. Good combating evil, victory after struggle.
And our own perceptions as to who’s good and who’s evil – who are the baddies and who are the goodies? It’s hard to tell some days. Example: I find blogging particularly vexing, communication wise. I assume, rightly or wrongly, certain bloggers are up to no good, and difficult to separate the genuine ones (present company excluded).
An interesting and enlightening blog dear friend.,…. I’ve probably got the above all wrong, but wanted to contribute somehow. Hope you’ve got over that pesky flu! Take care.
D.
Religion is never silly, even if one cannot believe what the faithful are compelled to believe. Sports fanaticism is surely one of the true faiths. I think it’s sweet.