Toska is one of the many words of the Russian language that are considered untranslatable. Vladimir Nabokov describes it like this: “No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
So, melancholy, sorrow, lugubriousness, anguish, nostalgia, boredom. Those words come close to some definition of toska, but none of them manages to capture its poetry and richness, the Russianness of the word, the imagery of snow and vodka and gloominess that comes with it. A full grasp of the word will always be lost to non-Russian speakers.
So what happens when we try to define ourselves? Even if we could speak all the languages in the world, would there be a word out there that could fully capture our poetry, the Russianness of us? And if there existed a language that was just ours and no one else’s, that could provide an accurate description of who we are, would we be able to find the equivalent words in other people’s language?
We can exchange experiences, share thoughts and feelings with one another and find a common ground, but there is a side of us that remains forever untranslatable, impossible to convey in someone else’s language. They might seize a certain sentiment or mood of whatever it is that we’re trying to express, but an exact match is unattainable. Some shades of us are bound to get lost in translation. There’s a place in all of us that is beyond other people’s reach, shut off from the outside world, ineffable to anyone but us. There’s a place where we’ll always be alone.
18.4.12
7.2.12
7.10.10
25.9.10
Otros locos lindos
Uno de los tantos episodios raros en la vida de Werner Herzog, narrado por él mismo y animado por Sascha Ciezata.
Del mismo autor, When Lynch met Lucas.
19.9.10
America Earth, fuck yeah!
A la conferencia que asistiría con gusto es a la del Dr. Robert Sungenis. Todo título que connote una teoría conspirativa me suena a Los expedientes X y me hace pensar en Mulder observando con aire cansado el poster del ovni en su oficina. Todo muy the truth is out there. Entretenimiento garantizado.
Acá la página oficial del Geocentrismo, con diseño web 1.0 y argumentos a favor de esta teoría, que también cuenta con su propio merchandising.
Pero what if...?
14.9.10
X
Every now and then I get this dreadful thought.
One day, I’ll run out of ideas. I only get a limited number of them to come up with and when I’ve used them all, I’ll be empty. Non recyclable material. No other way to produce energy. I only have that given amount, and that’s that. My mind is becoming extinct, and every time I put it out there is a reminder that I’m throwing it away a little bit more.
I imagine this happening not just with thoughts to write about, but with everything else in life. It’s like I’m on a game show, browsing categories, knowing that there are only so many panels I can choose before the game is over. If I don’t get a job, that’s one more thing that’s been crossed out of my list. That opportunity is gone. Nothing will replace it. That panel has an X on it. If I like a guy and he doesn’t like me back, no one will take his place. X again. If I do something right, if I choose a panel and get the correct answer, then things are better. But I still used one, and I’m not getting it back. It’s always "one less" in my book.
It’s scary. My world gets smaller each time.
And so it is. Another idea out there.
Another one down.
How many to go?
One day, I’ll run out of ideas. I only get a limited number of them to come up with and when I’ve used them all, I’ll be empty. Non recyclable material. No other way to produce energy. I only have that given amount, and that’s that. My mind is becoming extinct, and every time I put it out there is a reminder that I’m throwing it away a little bit more.
I imagine this happening not just with thoughts to write about, but with everything else in life. It’s like I’m on a game show, browsing categories, knowing that there are only so many panels I can choose before the game is over. If I don’t get a job, that’s one more thing that’s been crossed out of my list. That opportunity is gone. Nothing will replace it. That panel has an X on it. If I like a guy and he doesn’t like me back, no one will take his place. X again. If I do something right, if I choose a panel and get the correct answer, then things are better. But I still used one, and I’m not getting it back. It’s always "one less" in my book.
It’s scary. My world gets smaller each time.
And so it is. Another idea out there.
Another one down.
How many to go?
13.9.10
Awesome people: Mary Ellen Mark
Me encanta la fotografía de Mary Ellen Mark, tanto su extenso trabajo como fotógrafa en el set de cantidad de películas (Apocalypse now, Satyricon, Australia, las últimas películas de Tim Burton) como sus trabajos documentalistas (Streetwise). Algunas de sus obras que más me gustan:
Tiny in Her Halloween Costume, Seattle, Washington, USA, 1983
Batman and Little Barbies (2002)
Tiny in Her Halloween Costume, Seattle, Washington, USA, 1983
Batman and Little Barbies (2002)
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