Milestones—Milorad Pavic

Here and especially here.


The only representative of Serbia at the International festival of animated film in Neum NAFF 2009. ”

“Dreams” was inspired by the book ” Dictionary of the Khazars ” Milorad Pavic, and a subjective experience of the author of the literary work. Most elements of the book serve as a basis and are in a abstract way, making three parts to look completely different, and yet indivisible. Film consists of three parts as dictionary contains three books in it.
Each unit begins with quote from the book that introduces the viewer in the story and leads to the thought. Mr. Pavic’s ” Dictionary of the Khazars ” made reversible, and allow readers to work came upon the various parties.

Susana Bombal—Jorge Luis Borges

Tall in the evening, arrogant, aloof,

she crosses the chaste garden and is caught

in the shutter of that pure and fleeting instant

which gives to us this garden and this vision,

unspeaking, deep.  I see her here and now,

but simultaneously I also see her

haunting an ancient, twilit Ur of the Chaldees

or coming slowly down the shallow steps,

a temple, which was once proud stone but now

has turned to an infinity of dust,

or winkling out the magic alphabet

locked in the stars of other latitudes,

or breathing in a rose’s scent, in England.

She is where music is, and in the gentle

blue of the sky, in Greek hexameters,

and in our solitudes, which seek her out.

She is mirrored in the water of the fountain,

in time’s memorial marble, in a sword,

in the serene air of a patio,

looking out on sunsets and on gardens.

And underneath the myths and the masks,

her soul, always alone.

Alastair Reid, translator.

Related:  scroll down for a picture of Susana on her wedding day.

Thurston Moore Digs Boris Vian

Interview here (complete with music!).

CARRIE BROWNSTEIN: What’s the last book you read or film you saw that made you want to go home and play music?

THURSTON MOORE: I think it was probably reading Foam of the Daze by Boris Vian — the surreality and romantic energy of it, and its love of Duke Ellington, made me want to play.

Vian’s death was an interesting one (in any of the versions):

The story goes like this: Having had a heart condition all his life which should have prevented him being exuberant in all things (but didn’t) in 1959 at age 39 he went to a screening of a really bad film based on his book I spit on your graves. Apparently he had “forgotten” to take his heart medicine that morning. He did not approve of the film and had not been involved in the screenplay. After 10 minutes he apparently stood up and said “These are supposed to be Americans? My arse!” Then he collapsed and died….


On 23 June he went to a preview screening of the film J’irai cracher sur vos tombes. He strongly disapproved of the film’s treatment of his work, having battled with the film company for years and having all his own film treatments of the book rejected by the producers. Having forgotten to take his medicine that morning, and very agitated, the experience literally killed him.

After ten minutes of attendance, seated in an armchair, he collapsed and died.

I started, if I recall, with Heartsnatcher.


Levels of dissonance in music had been steadily rising since the last years of the nineteenth century, when Liszt wrote his keyless bagatelle and Satie wrote down the the six-note Rosicrucian chords of Le Fils des etoiles.  Strauss, of course, indulged discord in Salome.  Max Reger, a composer versed in the contrapuntal science of Bach, caused Schoenberg-like scandals in 1904 with music that meandered close to atonal.  In Russia, the composer-pianist Alexander Scriabin, who was under the influence of Theosophist spiritualism, devised a harmonic language that vibrated around a “mystic chord” of six notes; his unfinished magnum opus Mysterium, slated for a premire at the foot of the Himalayas, was to have brought about nothing less than the annihilation of the universe, whence men and women would emerge as astral souls, relieved of sexual difference and other bodily limitations.

– Alex Ross, The Rest Is Noise, p.63.

Where has ambition in music gone, brothers?