Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. Kierkegaard xxx I look out of the café window, just sitting, not thinking about whether anybody will come in. Different people come into the café every day; nobody has breakfast, lunch, or dinner here regularly. The café gets flooded with visitors, a […]
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Jurgita Jasponytė – Sharp Shards Read More »
When I must describe the poetry of Tomas Petrulis, I am at a loss for words. Perhaps it is a symptom of having come into contact with a unique poetic logic—a poetic logic of nonsense—an “Alice’s world,” though in Petrulis’s poems the Cheshire Cat is often also accompanied by Behemoth, part of Woland’s entourage. Petrulis’s
A Logic of Nonsense, a Bodily Religion, a Strategy of Infantility Read More »
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Mindaugas Nastaravičius – I thought I had already written… Read More »
Music in their Eyes It’s windy this morning; the trees growing along the shore let loose their leaves, sending them to the centre of the lake. This lake is deep, and full of hungry leeches. Its shores are silty. The area is enclosed by a high electric fence, with cameras everywhere. The white-hulled expedition yacht
Sometimes, an incident appears so colorful that if we wrote it down, nobody would believe it. But the opposite can happen, too: fantasy starts to compete with reality. Jurga Tumasonytė once confessed that when interviewing visionaries for women’s magazines, they would be so boring that she’d have to invent new, more exciting characters herself. This
A Little Bit of Play, Art-House Style Read More »
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Vaiva Grainytė – Chambers (BA thesis) Read More »
In the annotation of Jurgita Jasponytė’s second poetry book The Sharp Gates of Dawn, the book’s editor, poet Aidas Marčėnas noted that these poems are inseparable from the region where the poet was born and from the cultural memory embedded in the language of that region. The statement is meaningful yet complicated, because it implies that
Walking I love Vilnius, its paths, library the fingerprints pressed into bricks I love the ink on your hands I flow into your fissures and I scoop up the heights with that ink – this city’s relief allows it – I gabble nonsense while sense stays silent walking is my speech walking is my expression
Surreal moods I collected surrealistic moods while still living in Lithuania. And then, when I was looking at albums or sitting in Montmartre near the Salvador Dalí museum in Paris, more than once I tried to intrude into this artist`s mind. At that moment I did not know yet that layers of surrealism would greet
