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Spinelli Birne feat. Jetzt Scheitan Endzeit feat. Eva Simonis Traum und Treibsand feat. Caiman Caith Dreamer Puma Wanderlust Musik Artefakt Thalamus feat. DJ Double D Neorap feat. This Album represents my output of the last 3 years. Seiokrontro — prafriplo: Bifzi, bafzi; hulalemi: quasti basti bo Lalu lalu lalu lalu la! Lalu lalu lalu lala la! Simarar kos malzipempu silzuzankunkrei ;! Gottfried Benn. Wo nehme ich nur die Zeit her, so viel nicht zu lesen? Karl Kraus.

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Strike, churl; hurl, cheerless wind, then; haltering hail May's beauty massacre and wisped wild cloud grow Out on the giant air; tell Summer No, Bid joy back, have at the harvest, keep Hope pale. Gerard Manley Hopkins. Zum Buch. Ich trinke dich, schimmerndes Licht, wie Wein, wie Musik, wie ihre Vorfahren dich jahrtausendelang getrunken haben. Es wird die Nacht mich an die Lampe zwingen. Rainer Brambach.

Februar Harry Ziethen Verlag. Christoph Leisten. Die Bibliotheca Alexandrina ist daher nicht nur ein Reich des Geistes, sondern auch ein Geisterreich.

Zur Subversion wird ihnen die Mattigkeit. Sing du ihn, Sohn. Das gelungene Gedicht versetzt Menschen wie Dinge aus einem ungenauen in einen genauen Zustand. Wilhelm Lehmann. Hans Sahl. Gedichte lies sie einmal dunkel einmal hell lies sie mit den Augen des Mittags und lies sie mit den Augen der Mitternacht Werner Lutz , Kussnester.


Jedenfalls nicht gleich. Gregor Laschen. Sechs Verse sollen es nur sein. Mir fallen leider keine ein. So suchen sie, damit was bleibt, den Autor, der sie niederschreibt. Axel Kutsch. In meinem Elternhaus verlaufe ich mich nicht mehr Fahrkarten werden zu Totenscheinen zu Buchzeichen bald Versteigert einer alles Matthias Kehle. Jan Wagner. Donald Marquis Im Museum nur ein einziges Bild sehen zu wollen, und davor, warum auch immer, in Starre zu verfallen. Harvey Henry Koster. Saadia Albert Lewin. Cento Cavalieri Vittorio Cottafavi. Little Man Tate Jodie Foster. Doch wie sich herausstellt, hat die Kirchturm-Uhr in Wirklichkeit gar keine Datumsanzeige.

William shares his personal drawings, sketchbook pages and Post-it doodles which include multiple Cool Dinos and a lot of humor. Wind as love, as inspiration, as history, as time, as death.


A powerfully binding force, wind is something that cannot be controlled but can be wielded for beauty, for creation. The film follows Jiro Horikoshi from when he dreams of engineering airplanes as a young boy in the wake of WWI, to when he becomes a key designer for Japan leading up to the dawn of WWII. Wind is also war. His fascination with flight completely separate from any notions of violence, Jiro is both a beneficiary and a victim of the war, having been given the opportunity to fulfill his dream only because of it, his creativity linked beyond his control to mass destruction and pain Herzog's Dieter Dengler films make for nice companion pieces here.

Like history, like love, like war, and like death, wind exists as something large and connective, beyond an individual's control, something seen and felt gusting past. Indeed, what makes The Wind Rises particularly moving is that it finds beauty in the real world.

Unlike any one film that he has made, but sharing qualities with all of them, The Wind Rises is as personal as Porco Rosso , as rooted in a real adult world as My Neighbor Totoro , and as nuanced and sobering as Princess Mononoke with its themes of nature, man, and war. What especially sets The Wind Rises apart is its love story, distinct from any other Miyazaki has portrayed. Jiro meets Naoko as a young girl on a train just as the Kanto Earthquake of hits, their romance's origins immediately something tied to history—and eventually as something that cannot escape it.

In contrast, the earthquake and its damage somehow seems fluid and natural whereas war is visualized as a sort of stagnancy, a cruel dark fog. One shot of a graveyard of planes suggests endless loss. From the opening dream sequence, in which anthropomorphic bombs interrupt a blissful flight through the clouds, war is inextricably a part of Jiro's story. Both films are about balance but in Mononoke it is about a balance between industry and nature, and while The Wind Rises certainly emerges partly from Miyazaki's ecological devotion, this is about a tragic balance wherein beauty and destruction, and life and death, cannot exist without the other.

The most sophisticated of his films, The Wind Rises is filled from beginning to end with stunningly composed "shots" and an intricate sound design, at times ecstatic, and at others focused to the point of being muted. It is also one of the most classically made films of the year, and finds Miyazaki working within a mode I fear we won't see animation tackle again without him. Ebooks and Manuals

But even for all its profound splendor and heartbreak, as well as its expertly crafted, sweeping narrative, it's still the slightest idiosyncratic details that define Miyazaki's work. It can be as small as how he renders a baby's face, the way a tossed paper plane briefly becomes an animate object, the secret sweetness of a grumpy girl's glare, the way Naoko glows in one shot the film's most moving moment, perhaps , how the wind ripples through the grass, clothes, and lives, and how, in spite of all this wonderful movement, stillness can be Miyazaki's most beautiful tool.

I spent much of the film waiting for certain elements to appear: water, pop songs. The former of which exists exclusively aurally before making a sudden, emphatic appearance. Tsai is so brilliant at only barely creating a narrative, and yet creating fully lived-in spaces, heartbreaking characters, and moving, intimate moments.

In spite of this being one of his most somber pictures, I still found slivers of humour throughout. DK: "Fully lived in spaces"—I was thinking this too, that the space of each shot was "precious," that is, used by its inhabitants, occupied and often, even, needed. A typical Tsai loner, she is drawn to the wanderings of the young daughter in her store.

AC : I'm glad you brought up the close-ups, as I feel digital cameras reveal different qualities, emotions, and connotations with how they represent faces with the veil of celluloid stripped away, leaving the texture of faces more vulnerable. Tsai takes full advantage of this, bringing out such an intensity of feeling from his actors. His camera dwells on them for minutes at a time, and it feels if he did so forever it would never cease resonating powerfully. Tsai's compositions here are indeed adventurous, a couple canted angle shots come to mind that turn spaces into oppressive landscapes, labyrinths even, that imprison the characters.

In one scene that feels disconnected from all the others because its architecture is so foreign to the spaces these people usually inhabit, Lee Kang-sheng wanders into a seemingly abandoned rich person's home, a multi-floor, spiral staircased, white-walled modern nightmare—with a comfortable bed unlike the one he shares with his two children in a decrepit building that for once he can get some real rest in.

DK : A luxurious, unreal rest without the implications of alcoholism and Lee's pristine rest seems a false sleep, unfair? The kids certainly don't get to sleep like that; but then again they don't seem to suffer the psychic despair haunting Lee, expressed so vividly in his first recitation and then singing of what is, according to Shelly Kraicer's correspondence with the director, a Southern Song Dynasty poem by General Yue Fei, " Man Jiang Hong ". This psychic pain seems to be the mysterious force driving Stray Dogs , a force which leads it to a final act narrative—and even stylistic, to a degree—gesture into the territory of David Lynch.

But certainly the tenderness, melancholy, and patience drawn from this final bizarre blip in time and lateral move into memory's and pain's no man's land is purely Tsai. AC : It's a heartbreaking moment in some ways, this rest outside of the father's sphere of responsibility, an escape, a betrayal.