BASSO & BROOKE
http://www.bassoandbrooke.net/
Sunday, 11 January 2009
Friday, 9 January 2009
Thursday, 8 January 2009
======M O M O========
FAIRYTALE ABOUT A LONG WEEK
Little Momo knew that that week was going to be long.
She settled on the edge of armchair and was thinking if it is possible to turn around time, just like that reversible hill, where one can be walking down the hill forever. She was speculating how to speed up time.
She recalled the greenhouse in their garden, the chickens under the lightbulbs and a man who fertilizes with feathers.
She was trying to remember what they learned in the natural science classes.
She decided to try out everything she knew.
She enclosed all the clocks, watches, chronometres and displays with a fence and surrounded them with heating and lots of bulbs.
She made a hole into a glass cake cover and was wearing it as a coat-igloo.
She found a bit of wrinkles that she had, particularly on elbows and fingers. She sticked on them a fat layer of feathers (and secretly tried if it can help her flying..).
But Momo didn’t have a clue about the general cussedness of things.
The time decided to stop on her finger. Right on the third finger from left side of her hand. It just stopped and stayed like that. And Momo was feeling like many years had passed between her index and middle finger.
For a while she was cluelessly watching the time. Then she slid it down the finger and wore as a ring. But oops! the week started to wear on to a month and month to a year. That’s a trap! thought Momo. I have to show that I am not scared of it! And so, she started running anti-clockwise. And she was runnning on spill peripheries, running through round-abouts, sprinting around the crop circles.
On the way she was spontaneously picking up rubbish, framing it into precious frames and then exchanging with pigeons for their feathers.
But the time was doing whatever it wanted. There was no way how to hush it.
Momo was desperate. Angry. Furious! She took time to her hands and flinged it into the kitchen sink.
And so it happened, that Momo started to cook.
Dinners. Afternoon teas. Morning scrambled eggs. Christmass cookies.
She was frying clock hands, which were running around in the frying oil and swelling. She was baking Latin figures in puff pastry and in the blender she was passionately grinding essence from digital displays. She covered the vanilla rolls with the sand from sandglass and made lasagne from the chronometer sprockets.
Guests enjoyed it.
And so, that week, Momo was cooking every Sunday.
Mala Momo vedela, ze tenhle tyden bude dlouhy.
Sedla si na kraj kresla a premyslela, jestli se da cas otacet jako ten preklapeci kopec, kde se muze donekonecna chodit z kopce. Premyslela jak urychlit cas.
Vzpomnela si na sklenik, na kuratka pod zarovkami, na pana, ktery hnoji perim.
Vzpominala, co se ucili v prirodopise...
Rozhodla se, ze zkusi vsechno, co zna.
Pozavirala vsechny hodiny, hodinky, casomery a displeje do ohradky a obklopila je topenim a spoustou zarovek.
Do skleneneho poklopu na dort udelala diru a nosila ho na sobe jako kabat-iglu.
Nasla tech nekolik malo vrasek, ktere mela, zejmena na loktech a na prsticich. Prilepila na ne naplasti tlustou vrstvu peri ( a potaji zkousela, jestli ji to mimochodem nepomuze k letani).
Momo vsak netusila nic o zakonech schvalnosti.
Cas se ji zastavil presne na tretim prstu zprava, na leve ruce. Zustal proste jen tak stat a Momo citila, ze mezi jejim prostrednickem a prstenickem jako by uplynuly roky. Chvili na cas bezradne koukala a pak ho posunula niz na prst, jako prstynek. Ale ouha, tyden se zacal protahovat na mesic a mesic na rok. To je past! pomyslela si Momo. Musim mu ukazat, ze se ho nezaleknu! Rozbehla se v protismeru hodinovych rucicek.
A behala po obvodu louzi, probihala kruhovymi objezdy, sprintovala kruhy v obili. Cestou bezdecne sbirala odpadky, ramovala je do drahych ramu a prodavala holubum za pirka.
Ale cas si delal co chtel. Nebyl k ukonejseni.
Momo byla bezradna. Rozcilena. Vztekla! Vzala ho do dlani a mrskla s nim do drezu.
A tak zacala Momo varit.
Vecere. Odpoledni caje. Ranni vejce do skla.
Smazila rucicky, ktere v prskajicim oleji stale pobihaly dokola a bobtnaly. Zapekala rimske cislice v listovem teste a v mixeru vasnive drtila trest z digitalnich displeju. Vanilkove rohlicky obalovala v pisku z presypacich hodin a lasagne delala z ozubenych kolecek casostroju.
Hostum chutnalo.
A tak, ten tyden, Momo varila kazdou nedeli.
Little Momo knew that that week was going to be long.
She settled on the edge of armchair and was thinking if it is possible to turn around time, just like that reversible hill, where one can be walking down the hill forever. She was speculating how to speed up time.
She recalled the greenhouse in their garden, the chickens under the lightbulbs and a man who fertilizes with feathers.
She was trying to remember what they learned in the natural science classes.
She decided to try out everything she knew.
She enclosed all the clocks, watches, chronometres and displays with a fence and surrounded them with heating and lots of bulbs.
She made a hole into a glass cake cover and was wearing it as a coat-igloo.
She found a bit of wrinkles that she had, particularly on elbows and fingers. She sticked on them a fat layer of feathers (and secretly tried if it can help her flying..).
But Momo didn’t have a clue about the general cussedness of things.
The time decided to stop on her finger. Right on the third finger from left side of her hand. It just stopped and stayed like that. And Momo was feeling like many years had passed between her index and middle finger.
For a while she was cluelessly watching the time. Then she slid it down the finger and wore as a ring. But oops! the week started to wear on to a month and month to a year. That’s a trap! thought Momo. I have to show that I am not scared of it! And so, she started running anti-clockwise. And she was runnning on spill peripheries, running through round-abouts, sprinting around the crop circles.
On the way she was spontaneously picking up rubbish, framing it into precious frames and then exchanging with pigeons for their feathers.
But the time was doing whatever it wanted. There was no way how to hush it.
Momo was desperate. Angry. Furious! She took time to her hands and flinged it into the kitchen sink.
And so it happened, that Momo started to cook.
Dinners. Afternoon teas. Morning scrambled eggs. Christmass cookies.
She was frying clock hands, which were running around in the frying oil and swelling. She was baking Latin figures in puff pastry and in the blender she was passionately grinding essence from digital displays. She covered the vanilla rolls with the sand from sandglass and made lasagne from the chronometer sprockets.
Guests enjoyed it.
And so, that week, Momo was cooking every Sunday.
Mala Momo vedela, ze tenhle tyden bude dlouhy.
Sedla si na kraj kresla a premyslela, jestli se da cas otacet jako ten preklapeci kopec, kde se muze donekonecna chodit z kopce. Premyslela jak urychlit cas.
Vzpomnela si na sklenik, na kuratka pod zarovkami, na pana, ktery hnoji perim.
Vzpominala, co se ucili v prirodopise...
Rozhodla se, ze zkusi vsechno, co zna.
Pozavirala vsechny hodiny, hodinky, casomery a displeje do ohradky a obklopila je topenim a spoustou zarovek.
Do skleneneho poklopu na dort udelala diru a nosila ho na sobe jako kabat-iglu.
Nasla tech nekolik malo vrasek, ktere mela, zejmena na loktech a na prsticich. Prilepila na ne naplasti tlustou vrstvu peri ( a potaji zkousela, jestli ji to mimochodem nepomuze k letani).
Momo vsak netusila nic o zakonech schvalnosti.
Cas se ji zastavil presne na tretim prstu zprava, na leve ruce. Zustal proste jen tak stat a Momo citila, ze mezi jejim prostrednickem a prstenickem jako by uplynuly roky. Chvili na cas bezradne koukala a pak ho posunula niz na prst, jako prstynek. Ale ouha, tyden se zacal protahovat na mesic a mesic na rok. To je past! pomyslela si Momo. Musim mu ukazat, ze se ho nezaleknu! Rozbehla se v protismeru hodinovych rucicek.
A behala po obvodu louzi, probihala kruhovymi objezdy, sprintovala kruhy v obili. Cestou bezdecne sbirala odpadky, ramovala je do drahych ramu a prodavala holubum za pirka.
Ale cas si delal co chtel. Nebyl k ukonejseni.
Momo byla bezradna. Rozcilena. Vztekla! Vzala ho do dlani a mrskla s nim do drezu.
A tak zacala Momo varit.
Vecere. Odpoledni caje. Ranni vejce do skla.
Smazila rucicky, ktere v prskajicim oleji stale pobihaly dokola a bobtnaly. Zapekala rimske cislice v listovem teste a v mixeru vasnive drtila trest z digitalnich displeju. Vanilkove rohlicky obalovala v pisku z presypacich hodin a lasagne delala z ozubenych kolecek casostroju.
Hostum chutnalo.
A tak, ten tyden, Momo varila kazdou nedeli.
Dik, Veruna!
I wrote this fairytale about 3 years ago, when I knew that the week was going to be long.. 2 days ago I got a xmass present from my friend - it was this film poster. I never heard about this film!
Almost magic coincidence ;)
Almost magic coincidence ;)
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
- - PETER & AMIE - -
Bylo mu 60 uz kdyz otviral dvere a 60 mu zustalo po cely vecer. Oblicej byl nekolik
desitek let pozadu, ale ramena mel shrbena vedenim, ktere prislo prilis brzy. A na tech ramenech se se stejnym vedenim hrbilo jemne karovane sako. Oci mel zarudle v barve sveho styloveho kola, na kterem prijel. Byl to Peter a ja jsem opet nechapave kroutila hlavou nad tim, jak se nekteri lide rodi stari a nekteri zustavaji detmi cely zivot.
Behem vecere pozadal Amie opet o ruku, i pres ten prosty a nezvratitelny fakt, ze je gay. Amie to opet rozrusilo a zvazovala, jestli se s tim clovekem chce jeste bavit nebo ne.
Opodal, ctyri stanice autobusem smerem na jih a jeden den zpet, sesli jsme do podzemi.
Lide stali, ponoreni v komiksu a sem tam se nekomu odchlipl kus tela v cerne a bile,
dozajista doprovazeny bublinami s komentari. Vecirek produkcni spolecnosti slavil ukonceni prace na hollywoodskem akcnim filmu. Vsichni ten vecer hrali a nikdo nebyl trojrozmerny. Trojrozmerna tam byla pouze tezka nuda, ktera se prevalovala od ust jednoho k druhemu. Craig mi predstavoval vsechny svoje pratele, bajecne sablonovite lidi. “A co delas Davide? Taky reklamy jako vsichni tady?’’ ‘‘No, uz deset let, ale je to jen prechodne, chci natocit film.’’ ‘‘Vazne?’’ “Ale zadnej velkofilm, zadnej hollywood, to me nezajima. Chci natocit neco obycejneho. Uplne obycejny pribeh o uplne obycejnych lidech, chapes?” ‘‘Hm, chapu, to tu jeste nebylo, tak se budeme tesit.”” Potrebovala jsem zmizet a neslo mi najit skulinu. Na sofa se valela paruka. Podezrele metaforicka.. Ruzova. Nasadila jsem si ji a zmizela skrze ni. Uf!
Komix ziskal na barvach.
Stale jsem vnimala swingovou kapelu, cernosskou panterici v upnutych satech a s oholenou hlavou, spousty rtenek, haldy koutku oci, a hlavne, hlavne objednanou a tezce zaplacenou autenticitu. Jako ve filmu! Proto tu prece vsichni jsme.
Cim vic dostaval komix na barve, tim vic jsem si zacinala krizit mezi sebou lidi z obou vecirku. Musela jsem vysachovat casovy posun jednoho dne, jelikoz tam trochu haproval. Ale v Hollywoodu neni nic problem.
David dostal jako kanyrek Peterovo vedeni, trochu se mu nahrbila ramena a jeho obycejny film ziskal zajimave karovane zapletky. Asi jako kdyz George Clooney ucisne plochym hrebinkem uz tak dokonalou vlnu. Jeho film ziska hlavni cenu poroty na SUndance a stane se milackem publika v Cannes. Pribeh je o obycejnem architektovi, ktery si cely zivot mysli, ze je gay. Dokud nepozna noblesni unavenou damu se spravnym prizvukem. Pak milovani i projektovani nabere zcela jineho smeru.
Pak jsem potrebovala do komixu propasovat Tita, nezne zlovestneho basnika a psychoanalytika. Totem vsech nasich vecirku se rozhodl byt jako becherovka. Horky a sladky zaroven. Vyborne! K filmu se vsak nehodil, nicmene naroubovat do nej potencial cernosske panterice se mi moc zamlouvalo. Tito vyskocil do vzduchu skvelou otockou, popadl mikrofon a jal se podavat psychoanalyzu v rytmu samby. ‘‘Je neprekonatelny!!’’kricela jsem nadsenim. Vsichni se pridavali k tanci. Vydychanym vzduchem se misil refren:’’ Kdyz vsanc matcine prsu/navzdy jsi dan/never uz nicemu/ani v sebe sam.”
Dav silel nadsenim a bylo nacase nechat vstoupit do hry Amie. Jen co se objevila v prvnim policku komixu, strhla ze sebe dobre vychovani a ukazala nam jeste lepsi. S ni se stala reklama opravdovym umenim, lide opet umirali krasou a pri jejim sledovani si vypraveli pouze septem. Amie tancila reklamu na sambu a dav nabiral na sile.
Druha ranni se prehoupla a bylo nacase jit, zitra hostim doma party.
Nechala jsem Amie Titovym analyzam, ktere zpovzdali natacel David. Skrz ruzovou paruku jsem se spleti chodeb a schodu dostala opet nahoru, do ulic City, kde bylo mrtvo. Mesto, ktere po osme hodine vecer umre. Miluju tuhle uprimnost!
Dokonce i krysy tu nejsou.
Placam se o odlesky mrakodrapu a potacim se podpatkovite domu. Paruku cestou ztratim. Zatracene!’’ nadavam a s hlasitym BANG! uzaviram posledni, ted uz zas dokonale cernobile, policko komixu.
desitek let pozadu, ale ramena mel shrbena vedenim, ktere prislo prilis brzy. A na tech ramenech se se stejnym vedenim hrbilo jemne karovane sako. Oci mel zarudle v barve sveho styloveho kola, na kterem prijel. Byl to Peter a ja jsem opet nechapave kroutila hlavou nad tim, jak se nekteri lide rodi stari a nekteri zustavaji detmi cely zivot.
Behem vecere pozadal Amie opet o ruku, i pres ten prosty a nezvratitelny fakt, ze je gay. Amie to opet rozrusilo a zvazovala, jestli se s tim clovekem chce jeste bavit nebo ne.
Opodal, ctyri stanice autobusem smerem na jih a jeden den zpet, sesli jsme do podzemi.
Lide stali, ponoreni v komiksu a sem tam se nekomu odchlipl kus tela v cerne a bile,
dozajista doprovazeny bublinami s komentari. Vecirek produkcni spolecnosti slavil ukonceni prace na hollywoodskem akcnim filmu. Vsichni ten vecer hrali a nikdo nebyl trojrozmerny. Trojrozmerna tam byla pouze tezka nuda, ktera se prevalovala od ust jednoho k druhemu. Craig mi predstavoval vsechny svoje pratele, bajecne sablonovite lidi. “A co delas Davide? Taky reklamy jako vsichni tady?’’ ‘‘No, uz deset let, ale je to jen prechodne, chci natocit film.’’ ‘‘Vazne?’’ “Ale zadnej velkofilm, zadnej hollywood, to me nezajima. Chci natocit neco obycejneho. Uplne obycejny pribeh o uplne obycejnych lidech, chapes?” ‘‘Hm, chapu, to tu jeste nebylo, tak se budeme tesit.”” Potrebovala jsem zmizet a neslo mi najit skulinu. Na sofa se valela paruka. Podezrele metaforicka.. Ruzova. Nasadila jsem si ji a zmizela skrze ni. Uf!
Komix ziskal na barvach.
Stale jsem vnimala swingovou kapelu, cernosskou panterici v upnutych satech a s oholenou hlavou, spousty rtenek, haldy koutku oci, a hlavne, hlavne objednanou a tezce zaplacenou autenticitu. Jako ve filmu! Proto tu prece vsichni jsme.
Cim vic dostaval komix na barve, tim vic jsem si zacinala krizit mezi sebou lidi z obou vecirku. Musela jsem vysachovat casovy posun jednoho dne, jelikoz tam trochu haproval. Ale v Hollywoodu neni nic problem.
David dostal jako kanyrek Peterovo vedeni, trochu se mu nahrbila ramena a jeho obycejny film ziskal zajimave karovane zapletky. Asi jako kdyz George Clooney ucisne plochym hrebinkem uz tak dokonalou vlnu. Jeho film ziska hlavni cenu poroty na SUndance a stane se milackem publika v Cannes. Pribeh je o obycejnem architektovi, ktery si cely zivot mysli, ze je gay. Dokud nepozna noblesni unavenou damu se spravnym prizvukem. Pak milovani i projektovani nabere zcela jineho smeru.
Pak jsem potrebovala do komixu propasovat Tita, nezne zlovestneho basnika a psychoanalytika. Totem vsech nasich vecirku se rozhodl byt jako becherovka. Horky a sladky zaroven. Vyborne! K filmu se vsak nehodil, nicmene naroubovat do nej potencial cernosske panterice se mi moc zamlouvalo. Tito vyskocil do vzduchu skvelou otockou, popadl mikrofon a jal se podavat psychoanalyzu v rytmu samby. ‘‘Je neprekonatelny!!’’kricela jsem nadsenim. Vsichni se pridavali k tanci. Vydychanym vzduchem se misil refren:’’ Kdyz vsanc matcine prsu/navzdy jsi dan/never uz nicemu/ani v sebe sam.”
Dav silel nadsenim a bylo nacase nechat vstoupit do hry Amie. Jen co se objevila v prvnim policku komixu, strhla ze sebe dobre vychovani a ukazala nam jeste lepsi. S ni se stala reklama opravdovym umenim, lide opet umirali krasou a pri jejim sledovani si vypraveli pouze septem. Amie tancila reklamu na sambu a dav nabiral na sile.
Druha ranni se prehoupla a bylo nacase jit, zitra hostim doma party.
Nechala jsem Amie Titovym analyzam, ktere zpovzdali natacel David. Skrz ruzovou paruku jsem se spleti chodeb a schodu dostala opet nahoru, do ulic City, kde bylo mrtvo. Mesto, ktere po osme hodine vecer umre. Miluju tuhle uprimnost!
Dokonce i krysy tu nejsou.
Placam se o odlesky mrakodrapu a potacim se podpatkovite domu. Paruku cestou ztratim. Zatracene!’’ nadavam a s hlasitym BANG! uzaviram posledni, ted uz zas dokonale cernobile, policko komixu.
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