Better late than never (Updated)

Originally Published: Monday, March 26, 2012 at 6:01 a.m. in the Gainesville Sun here is a Letter to the Editor I recently wrote.

Better late than never

Last June UF unveiled its master plan for Innovation Square, on the old Shands at AGH site, at a community event at P.K. Yonge

At that meeting I asked when the construction fence currently surrounding the entire AGH property would come down, as I believed that having such a large chunk of property cut off from any visual or physical connection to the surrounding neighborhood would be a significant enhancement, compared to the fence.

The other day, almost one year later, I notice that portions of the fence have come down, and it looks like the rest of it is on the way out.

I would like to extend my thanks for this move, and hope that the rest of the public benefits of the proposed master plan (such as bicycle greenways and connections to Tumblin Creek Park) don’t take as long to materialize.

Late Ed. note: above should read….

“At that meeting I asked when the construction fence currently surrounding the entire AGH property would come down, as I believed that having such a large chunk of property (no longer) cut off from any visual or physical connection to the surrounding neighborhood would be a significant enhancement, compared to the fence.”

Pfarrkirche Heilig Kreuz

I recently learned about the architect Rudolf Schwarz and the churches such as Pfarrkirche Heilig Kreuz, in Cologne, that he designed in the 1950s. The awe they inspired in photographer Robert Adams for “containing the uncontainable“, was referenced by Aaron Rothman, in his essay/slidewhow for Places-Design Observer titled We Are in a Western Town.

Pfarrkirche Heilig Kreuz photo by schromann

For more amazing images check out the schromann’s Rudolf Schwarz Flickr set.

the idea of a Sabbath economy.

Romain Leick interviewed Tomas Sedlacek, Czech economist and noted moral economist discusses morality in the current crisis and why he believes an economic policy that only pursues growth will always lead to debt. He then argues for the idea of a Sabbath economy and holds up Diogenes life in a barrel as an philosophical ideal.

SPIEGEL: You support an existential view of economics, a sort of meta-economics. How does it feel to be a philosopher among bankers?

Sedláček: Like a colorful bird, but not without respect. People listen to me. I appeal to something in the public consciousness. Our time lacks moderation. We have to try to achieve more self-control.

More here by Der Spiegel

Salut, Jean!

I met Jean only once, to conduct the interview that appeared (gah!) 25 years ago in The Comics Journal, and he was as sweet, modest, and affable as every other person who ever met him has reported. I have said for years now — in fact, probably since 2000, when Charles Schulz left us, and there were four — that the three greatest living cartoonists are Robert Crumb, Jacques Tardi, and Jean Giraud. In the last 48 hours, that number has shrunk to two.

Kim Thompson writes an obituary for Jean “Moebius” Giraud, in The Comics Journal, who died almost two weeks ago.

The Enzo Ferrari Birthplace Museum

The Fondazione Casa Natale Enzo Ferrari is behind the museum’s construction and it “was designed by a Czech architect, Jan Kaplicky, before his death in 2009. Mr. Kaplicky’s architect partner, Andrea Morgante, an Italian, completed the exterior following the original design and did the interiors himself“.

More about the musuem from the NYT here

Recently Read; António Lobo Antunes and Songs of Kabir

 António Lobo Antunes’s: The Land at the End of the World (W.W. Norton & Company, NY 2011)

I previously posted that the book was  “the first Portuguese fiction I have read.” and that “The book recounts the anguished tale of a Portuguese medic haunted by memories of war in Angola.

It was the first novella that I had read in a good while. Over the years I find myself reading less printed long form. Although I suppose, reading books, was always something I had to make myself do. Despite of my love of and at some points hunger for reading and books. Anywho…

The book is told as a series of flashbacks primarily during what is ostensibly one night’s encounter between a man and a women he picks up from a bar. It is a delightful book. At one point I had read many autobiographies of soldiers written during Vietnam War. Although, I loved those books it is interesting to me the difference between them and the book by Lobo Antunes. It has the structure of a diary but the aesthetic of a piece of fiction. Perhaps that is the difference between a book and literature? In either case the blended context of both provincial service in the frontier of Africa but also the frontlines of a guerrilla back country war is highly entrancing. The book poignantly captures the madness both of wartime but also the madness that stays with the soldier even intruding on efforts to forget to enjoy some R&R.

For instance, “He died in combat in Angola,…Doctor, fix me up with some illness before I explode right here in the street from all the shit inside me.” (pg., 141). Or the pain that lingers upon the end of their service “Rootless, I float between continents, both of which spurn me, I’m searching for an empty space in which I might drop anchor and which could, for example, be the long mountain range of your body

It features vignettes of sleazy colonial outposts based on/near Portuguese military bases, “The large landowners and industrialists hidden away in their gigantic mansions replete with fake antiquities, from which they would emerge to paw the Brazilian prositutes in the nightclubs on Luanda Island” mixed with scenes narrated in first person from the authors night, in the bar and bed, with a women, years later back in Lisbon “Listen. It will be getting light soon, the alarm clocks in the building opposite will brutally propel the sleepers out of their dreams,…So, please, if you don’t mind, come over here to my side of the bed, sniff the mattress where I have my lair, run your fingers through my hair as if gripped by the gentle, greedy violence of a genuine tenderness“.

All in all, I would argue it is a must read, a shorter, more magically realist (instead of absurdist) version perhaps, of something like Catch-22.

Songs of Kabir Translated by Arvind K Mehrotra (New York Review Books CLASSICS, NY 2011)

Although I knew of Kabir, if only tangentially through my lifelong exposure to India’s spiritual traditions and saints, I had never read any of his poetry. To be honest I have never been a huge fan of reading poetry (with the exception of haiku particularly death poetry or jisei) but I figured this book was short enough that I could breeze through it.  The work was powerful. Especially noteworthy is the relationship between Kabir’s use of “upside down language“,  which Kabir used in the same way a Zen master’s koan is used to shock a student’s consciousness, and Mehrotra’s very contemporary translation. The slang and neologisms serve to provide the same sense of disrupture. Such as in his translation of KG 85.

To tonsured monks and dreadlocked Rastas,
To idol worshippers and idol smashers,
To fasting Jains and feasting Shaivites,
To Vedic pundits and Faber poets,
The weaver Kabir sends one message:
The noose of death hangs over all.
Only Rama’s name can save you.
Say it NOW.

Kabir comes across as a contemporary in spirit, of Rumi, the Persian Sufi master. They both share the sense of erotic, love for God, Allah, Man (in the deeply humanist sense) or Rama. Yet also mysterious and mysticalLy deep. For example in KGG 3.25

Chewing slowly,
Only after I’d eaten
My grandmother,
Mother,
Son-in-law,
Two brothers-in-law,
And father-in-law
(His big family included)
In that order,
And had for dessert
The town’s inhabitants,
Did I find, says Kabir,
The beloved that I’ve become
One with.

There are also some wonderful juxtapositions and inclusions of other authors poetry throughout the text including this one by Bhartrihari (c. 5th century) “Birth is scented with death.

Oh, London, you drama queen…

China Miéville on how the banlieuefication of London is under way for the NYT. He writes

The Olympics are slated to cost taxpayers $14.7 billion. In this time of “austerity,” youth clubs and libraries are being shut down as expendable fripperies; this expenditure, though, is not negotiable. The uprisen young of London, participants in extraordinary riots that shook the country last summer, do the math. “Because you want to host the Olympics, yeah,” one participant told researchers, “so your country can look better and be there, we should suffer.”