Who Gets Fame, And Who Gets Remembered, As Being Part Of Dance Music? Tatranka folkloric dancers live forever
Aluna Francis: “We not only need to give credit to the artists that created the genre, we also need to establish a long-term plan to secure a healthy future for dance music that is culturally and racially inclusive.” – Pitchfork
The Handwritten First Draft of Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing
WRITING (AND LIVING) IN THE YEAR OF THE JACKPOT: A Bonfire of Vanities.
Awarded for the first time this year, they've announced the winner -- though not yet at the official site, last I checked -- and it is V Elvisovi sobi, by Sebastijan Pregelj; see, for example, the report in Večer.
Pregelj's A Chronicle of Forgetting is available in English; see the Litteræ Slovenicæ publicity page. See also the Goga publicity page for V Elvisovi sobi.
The biography only covers Kundera's Czech years -- i.e. through 1975, when he went into exile in France (switching then also to writing in French).
Novák came to the US as a young teenager -- and attended the University of Chicago -- and has published books in both English and Czech. It'll be interesting to see whether this comes out -- in this form (it's almost 900 pages long ...) -- in English; see also the Argos publicity page.
NEWS YOU CAN USE? NASA will pay you to design a space toilet that works in lunar gravity.
Related (From Ed): No word yet if the Wolowitz Zero-Gravity Waste Distribution Disposal System is among the prototypes being tested.
6-Figure Deal for Assistant Professor of Philosophy’s New Book
Ten publishers bid for a chance to publish the next book from Myisha Cherry, assistant professor of philosophy at University of California, Riverside. (more…)
sensitive. So touchy. So
dangerous and delicate and
ready to tip. Touching,
though, is sweet. And we
are touched by the gift,
the thought. Moved
into knowledge of care
if not love. Touched, too,
means crazy. God-kissed.
The brain lit otherwise. I hope
we’ve all known someone
who has got the touch, able
to ease a knot, make any machine
hum true, tune a string. And
Touch me, says Kunitz
in the poem that always chokes
me up. As if the hand of a wife
would bring me back
to myself or to the selves
we both once were. Don’t
touch: first warning.
The stove, the open socket’s
shock, the body unknown
to you and all the bodies
it, in turn, has, willfully
or not, allowed such
intimacy. When I first
felt yearning for the skin
I always kept hidden
to touch another’s
hidden skin, it was
the early decade of a different
terrible virus. The danger
was known and unknown
both, and in some small
way, the risk of infection
was not unlike the risk
of intimacy. In touch, when
we know how someone
is faring. Touch and go,
when we’re not sure
how things will turn out.