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robertogreco : dreaming   22

k'eguro on Twitter: "One of my favorite pieces of recent political writing Danai Mupotsa, "An open love letter to my comrade bae" https://t.co/JcDew7Wkzs"
"One of my favorite pieces of recent political writing

Danai Mupotsa, "An open love letter to my comrade bae"

https://www.thedailyvox.co.za/an-open-love-letter-to-my-comrade-bae-or-at-least-32-reasons-why-i-see-you/

I love the many ways this writing imagines being in struggle together. I love how it embodies those who dream and struggle.

I love the forms of labor it sees: the cooking, the cleaning, the dreaming, the screaming.

I love how it thinks about fear and vulnerability.

I love how it thinks about ordinary practices of care and pleasure. How it thinks about seeing and being seen."
danaimupotsa  keguromacharia  struggle  solidarity  cleaning  dreaming  cooking  vulnerability  pleasure  care  caring  caretaking  seeing  beingseen  being  togetherness  2018 
july 2018 by robertogreco
The Transformative Experience of Writing for “Sense8” | The New Yorker
"A large number of the American writers I know, and I know a few, are involved in writing or developing long-form narrative television. One reason for this was recently provided by John Landgraf, the C.E.O. of FX Network, who said that four hundred and fifty-four scripted original series had aired in the U.S. in 2016; he thought that the number could rise to five hundred this year. Apparently, the industry needs writers and, black-hole-like, is sucking in galaxies of them. Until I was asked to work on “Sense8,” I’d never been interested in that particular black hole, even though I had come to believe that American television had overtaken narrative literature in its ability to deal with contemporary realities. No novel has addressed the Bush years’ crypto-fascist notion of “leadership” with the same clarity of thought as “The Sopranos.” If you wanted to understand the waste laid by the so-called War on Drugs, you wouldn’t read a novel—you’d watch “The Wire.” Television, in other words, offers opportunities to confront and report from the world as it changes.

Before “Sense8,” my screenwriting experience consisted of co-authoring a script with the Bosnian director Jasmila Žbanić for her comedy “Love Island,” in 2014. The rest of my writerly life had taken place in the self-imposed isolation of my head. I don’t take part in workshops or writing groups; I don’t share ideas or drafts with my fellow-writers for feedback; I make all the decisions and am responsible for every word in the book that I am writing, acknowledgments included. My solipsistic authorial habits would seem to feed into a common misconception about writing, which is that it is merely a conduit for the writer’s interiority, and that a good writer—or even just a capable one—possesses the skills to transfer the contents of that interiority onto the page with as little loss as possible. Much of the creative-writing industry depends upon that misconception and the promise, implicit or explicit, that the acquisition of those skills is unconditionally achievable. I’ve grown to be suspicious of that notion, as I have learned that writing generates the content and therefore transforms—or even creates—the interiority. Writing is a means of interaction with the world, and therefore it changes the writer. If it doesn’t, it contains no discovery and merely reproduces the already known and familiar. Writing, I believe, should be a matter not of execution but of transformation.

My screenwriting experience confirmed my belief. While Lana, Lilly, and Joe were responsible for the foundations of the show—for all the characters and their narrative trajectories—my role was to make proposals that would be taken up by the other people in the room and spun around a few times. The version of the proposal that emerged would have little to do with the original, yet belonged to me as much as to everyone else. In the course of one of those spins, I realized that, whenever I spoke or listened to someone, I was looking at the center of a circle that was delimited by the participants. Somehow, we started calling this space, and the collaboration that it housed, the Pit. A whole Pit-related phraseology soon emerged: “I’m going to throw this into the Pit.” “Let’s spin it in the Pit.” “The Pit concurs.” “The Pit needs a pendulum.” I enjoyed losing myself in the process, which felt all the more fascinating for the fact that the distinguishing characteristic of the heroes of “Sense8” is an ability to inhabit someone else’s mind. All this may be yesterday’s news to the film, television, and theatre people out there, but I’d never experienced the pleasure of temporarily losing my intellectual sovereignty—of watching my bright idea be destroyed, only to be transformed into something entirely different.

After that week in 2015, David and I went back home. (My home is about five blocks away from Kinowerks; David’s is in Ireland.) For the rest of the year, we were regularly assigned scenes to write on short deadlines. Cognizant of their place and role in the larger narrative, we were tasked with working out the dialogue and the details, tossing in our suggestions for a remote Pit spin. “The Wolfgang and Lila dinner, 2-3 pages, tomorrow,” Lana would write in an e-mail. The following day I’d submit the requested two to three pages. Lana and Joe would perform the bulk of the Pit work, developing, amending, or just rejecting the pages we sent in. Over the course of three months or so, I sent in some hundred and twenty pages, happy in the knowledge that not a single one of them would make it to the final seven-hundred-page script in the form in which I had written it."



"In my literary projects, the plotless structures I gravitate toward allow me to seek connections and meanings that emerge primarily not from characters and events but from language and the potentialities of thought within it. I think inside endless semantic, syntactic, rhythmic variations. Both David and I were continuously tempted to apply our respective colored pencils to the pages of the script (David’s grammatically persnickety alter ego is named Lawrence and likes to use a green pen), but there was little time and even less need to attend to the language in the way we were accustomed to. We did, however, often discuss the structure of individual events and their positioning in the larger plot. For instance, the second season of “Sense8” ended with a cliffhanger, the resolution of which would necessarily prohibit certain future plotlines. There was, nevertheless, an infinite number of possibilities for the plot that would follow; not unlike language, our plot was a discrete combinatory system, in which from a finite number of elements any number of combinations could be made. From our respective couches (which Lana, David, and I named, for reasons that I cannot explain here, “Illumination,” “Ireland,” and “Doom,” respectively), before making any notes, we spent hours reshuffling the abstract, as yet nonexistent structure of the story.

During one of those sessions, I had a near-Proustian involuntary memory of a time, some thirty years ago, when I was a freshman at an engineering college. My friend and I were studying together for an advanced-differential-calculus exam, solving tough integral problems, until we ran into one that we could not break. For two days, for at least twelve hours a day, we sought a solution; the process required reducing the integral to some identifiable type and then applying a preëxisting algorithmic protocol. (We finally called in a math-genius friend, who looked at the unbreakable integral and solved it in just a couple of steps.) The memory made me realize that plotting a narrative is a logical, algorithmic operation, albeit one that has an infinite number of possible outcomes, rather than one correct resolution. Building a plot is like creating an algorithm from scratch, starting before the problem is even defined and then backtracking after the desired solution has been selected.

The memory also suggested that my subconscious was following a logical algorithm. My dreams are usually amorphous, featuring a field of confusingly connected events—a description that also applies to most of my work, as well as to my waking mind. The subconscious authority governing my dream life, however, had lately begun to insist that the events and the characters in my dreams be logically connected, that they follow one another causally. In recent dreams, I’ve struggled to connect discrete events, so much so that I’ve woken in despair. Once, I dreamed that I was a screenwriter trying to untangle a plot knot. Some dreams have featured “Sense8” characters, others those from the New Project, who sometimes act like real people in my dreams and are sometimes just structural problems that I have to solve.

Back in my early years in the U.S., at the time when my English was in transition from tourist to survival mode, I’d catch myself dreaming in English, and noticing, in my dream, that the people who shouldn’t be talking in English were doing so. Even more bizarrely, I would recollect English conversations with my family or friends, which would certainly have taken place in our native language. I interpreted those dreams and memories as my subconscious mind welcoming this non-native language. If I hadn’t absorbed the new language in that way, I wouldn’t have been able to write any of the books I’ve written in English, or to have lived a full life in this language. I am writing this on the last day of the Pit’s screenwriting session, overwhelmed by the feeling that the sandbox is about to be dismantled, that my friends will go back to their separate lives and careers, and that, very soon, I’ll be returning to my former, stark, monastic literary practices. What the experience of exultant plotting at Kinowerks may have done to my mind, I cannot begin to know, at least not yet."
aleksandarhemon  2017  writing  sense8  collaboration  collaborativewriting  english  languageacquisition  dreams  dreaming  memory  kinowerks  television  screenwriting  howwewrite 
october 2017 by robertogreco
Hatsuyume - Wikipedia
"Hatsuyume (初夢) is the Japanese word for the first dream had in the new year. Traditionally, the contents of the dream would foretell the luck of the dreamer in the ensuing year. In Japan, the night of December 31 was often passed without sleeping, thus the hatsuyume was often the dream seen the night of January 1. This explains why January 2 (the day after the night of the "first dream") is known as Hatsuyume in the traditional Japanese calendar.

It is considered to be particularly good luck to dream of Mount Fuji, a hawk, and an eggplant. This belief has been in place since the early Edo period but there are various theories regarding the origins as to why this particular combination was considered to be auspicious. One theory suggests that this combination is lucky because Mount Fuji is Japan's highest mountain, the hawk is a clever and strong bird, and the word for eggplant (nasu or nasubi 茄子) suggests achieving something great (nasu 成す). Another theory suggests that this combination arose because Mount Fuji, falconry, and early eggplants were favorites of the shōgun Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Although this superstition is well known in Japan, often memorized in the form Ichi-Fuji, Ni-Taka, San-Nasubi (一富士、二鷹、三茄子; 1. Fuji, 2. Hawk, 3. Eggplant), the continuation of the list is not as well known. The continuation is Yon-Sen, Go-Tabako, Roku-Zatō (四扇、五煙草、六座頭; 4. Fan, 5. Tobacco, 6. Blind acupressurer). The origins of this trio are less well known, and it is unclear whether they were added after the original three or whether the list of six originated at the same time."

[via: "TILT: hatsuyume, the first dream of the new year: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hatsuyume ("It is ... particularly good luck to dream of ... an eggplant")"
https://twitter.com/emckean/status/673941561453903872

responded: "🎉😴💭🍆➡️🍀 "
https://twitter.com/rogre/status/674090080315674624 ]
hatsuyume  japan  dreams  dreaming  eggplants  newyear  hawks  mountfuji 
december 2015 by robertogreco
The Octavia Project | Indiegogo
[video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gZnUlB0uz4 ]

"We use sci-fi to encourage Brooklyn girls to dream big and empower them to design their own futures.
“Hard times are coming when we will be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now.” —Ursula K. Le Guin at the National Book Awards

Young people are already envisioning, writing, and creating alternative ways of living, but they need to be given the space, the encouragement, the platform, and the tools to make it happen. With your help, the Octavia Project will bring this opportunity to young women from Brooklyn's under-served neighborhoods. These girls have important, world-altering stories living inside them, but without the support and space to flesh them out, these narratives may languish away in the purgatory of good ideas.

We want to use girls’ passion in sci-fi, fantasy, and fan-fiction to teach them skills in science, technology, art, and writing, equipping them with skills to dream and build new futures for themselves and their communities. Our inspiration and namesake is Octavia E. Butler, who broke barriers in writing and science fiction to become an award-winning and internationally recognized author (Kindred, Lilith's Brood). We are inspired by her visions of possible futures and commitment to social justice.

Twelve girls, ages 13-18, will participate in this free summer program. In the first workshop a girl might develop her story set two thousand years in the future. In the next workshop, she works with a professional architect to engineer a physical model of her own imaginary future city. In another workshop, girls might learn to code a simple program that morphs their names into strange aliases that inspire fictional adventures. Or they’ll learn the basics of circuits and light up the pages of their work with LEDs. They might even use Twine, an interactive storytelling platform, to share their narratives with the world.

No matter the final curriculum, our girls will have access to women working in science and tech, internship and online publishing opportunities, and college-aged mentors.

The Octavia Project is the brainchild of a robotics teacher, Meghan McNamara, and a science fiction author, Chana Porter."
scifi  sciencefiction  octaviabutler  girls  stem  education  octaviaproject  dreaming  thinking  futurism  dreams  children  youth  brooklyn  nyc  lcproject  openstudioproject  learning  imagination  fantasy  fanfiction  maghanmcnamara  chanaporter  teaching  howwelearn  ursulaleguin 
may 2015 by robertogreco
The Book of Forgetting - Scientific American
"Much has been written on the wonders of human memory: the astounding feats of recall, the way memories shape our identity and are shaped by them, memory as a literary theme and a historical one. But what of forgetting? This is the topic of a new book by Douwe Draaisma, author of The Nostalgia Factory and a professor of the history of psychology at the University of Groningen. In Forgetting, Draaisma considers dreaming, amnesia, dementia and all of the ways that our minds — and lives — are shaped by memory’s opposite. He answered questions from Mind Matters editor Gareth Cook.

[Q:] What is your earliest memory and why, do you suppose, have you not forgotten it?

[A:] Quite a few early memories in the Netherlands involve bicycles, and mine is no exception. I was two-and-a-half years old when my aunts walked my mother to the train station. They had taken a bike along to transport her bags. I was sitting on the back of the bike. Suddenly the whole procession came to a halt when my foot got caught between the spokes. I’m pretty sure this memory is accurate, since I had to see a doctor and there is a dated medical record. It’s a brief, snapshot-like memory, black-and-white. I don’t remember any pain, but I do remember the consternation among my mom and her sisters.

Looking back on this memory from a professional perspective, I would say that it has the flash-like character typical for first memories from before age 3; ‘later’ first memories are usually a bit longer and more elaborate. It also fits the pattern of being about pain and danger. Roughly three in four first memories are associated with negative emotions. This may have an evolutionary origin: I never again had my foot between the spokes. And neither have any of my children.

[Q:] "Forgetting" is usually thought about in a negative sense but you come to it with a different perspective. Can you explain how you arrived at this way of thinking?

[A:] Psychologist Endel Tulving once counted how many different types of memory there are and he came up with a staggering figure of 256, each with their own laws of encoding, retention, reproduction, and so on. Then it dawned on me that there must also be a multitude of types of forgetting. Considering that we forget so much more than we remember, it is fair to say that the core business of memory is forgetting. After the switch, the topics came in swift procession. Why is it that your colleague remembers your idea, but seems to have forgotten that it was your idea? Why do portraits tend to eclipse our memories of faces? Why is there an art of memory, but no art of forgetting? See?

[Q:] Why does a colleague remember an idea, but not whose idea it was?

[A:] This phenomenon is actually a nice demonstration of the fact that we should think of ‘memory’ as a federation of different types of memory. Suppose you’re in a meeting with colleagues, discussing some problem. You come up with a suggestion, but is is decided someone else’s solution will be tried first. This situation activates two types of memories. Autobiographical memory takes care of retaining who was there, whether it was a morning or an afternoon meeting, perhaps even what the weather was like that day. Semantic memory retains the facts of the matter: what the problem was, which solutions were suggested, etc. The trouble is, semantic memory has trouble remembering sources and circumstances. Most of the facts you remember – such as the meaning of ‘incubation’ or the capital of Sweden – are just the facts, and you have probably forgotten who told you or where you read this. A week later, at a follow-up of the meeting, you may find that your colleague has retained your idea, thanks to his wonderful semantic memory, but has forgotten its source – you.

[Q:] And, tell me what an “art of forgetting” might look like — why would that be useful, and what might some of its techniques be?

[A:] Sadly, or perhaps fortunately, there is no such a thing as deliberate forgetting. Rather the reverse, we seem to have a very tenacious type of memory for the things we would gladly forget, such as childhood humiliations, embarrassing situations or scenes you had rather not witnessed. But even if there were some technique of forgetting, of editing at will what you remember or forget, most people tell me they would hesitate to do so. Consider the movie Eternal Sunshine on a Spotless Mind, which is a profound thought experiment on the averse consequences of deliberate forgetting. In the movie, Clementine and Joel were in a loving relationship when things turned sour. Clementine ends the relation and, moreover, wants to get him out of her memory as well. It then turns out that there is an obscure medical company, Lacuna Inc (!), specialized in erasing memories no longer wanted. Soon Joel has disappeared from her memory. On learning this, Joel wants the same treatment to get her out of his memory. At this point you may already sense the tenor of the story. They meet again, fall in love again, and again the relationship fails. Without painful memories you may find yourself repeating painful situations. So, not being able to forget what you dearly would like to forget may actually be a blessing in disguise.

[Q:] What light do dreams shed on how and why we forget?

[A:] Waking from a dream and then trying to remember it is much like watching the movie Memento: you try to grasp a story that is told in reverse chronological order. After all, you wake up with the final scene of the dream-story, and then try to remember what led up to this final scene. Julius Nelson, an American biologist, pointed this out in 1888. Reconstructing the dream-story means hunting it down till you finally reach the beginning. And since this is a time-consuming and elaborate process you will often find that the beginning of the dream is forgotten before you get there. To me, this demonstrates that our memory operates best with stories in their natural chronology, where you have causes and questions first and consequences and answers later.

[Q:] I wonder, do you see any connection between forgetting and sleepwalking, where someone wakes up, but fails to forget the dream in some sense?

[A:] The paradox of sleepwalking is that we do this during ‘deep sleep’, not during ‘rem-sleep’, when we are close to waking. Most of the dreams we remember are dreamt during rem-sleep. During deep sleep there is hardly any recollection of dreams, either because we dream less or because we are too far away from a conscious state to remember them. That is probably why people who are sleepwalking seldom remember having been sleepwalking as a result of some dream. If there was a dream at all, it is usually remembered in an extremely sketchy way, such as ‘something with a tomato cage’ (as in the YouTube-hit ‘My mom sleepwalking’)."
memory  forgetting  douwedraaisma  via:anne  garethcook  dreams  dreaming  sleepwalking  sleep  endeltulving  psychology  juliusnelson  biology  consciousness 
may 2015 by robertogreco
Are You In A Jorge Luis Borges Story?
"You are in a library that may not exist. You are having a terrible time.

It is unclear whether you have been writing the story, or the story has been writing you.

You visit the south of Argentina, where something terrible happens to you.

You are standing inside a sphere. Its center is everywhere and its circumference is nowhere. You are terrified.

Everyone around you is being murdered in a perfect Kabbalistic pattern.

A Scottish man sells you a book that ruins your life.

A red-haired woman tells you that you have always been a dead man.

You are lost in the desert. Your map is the desert itself.

You may have committed a murder. You’re not sure.

Everywhere you look, you see a sinister equilateral triangle.

A train conductor is rude to you, who was once a king in Babylon.

You are dreaming. You have never existed. You are being born. You are a thinly veiled version of Borges himself, and you have been dying for a thousand years.

A gaucho with a knife is laughing at you. There is blood on your saddle, but you have been in a hospital for the last four days. There is no saddle. Now it is you who is holding the knife, and no one is laughing.

You are standing in the middle of an empty city that is also the corpse of a tiger. There is one company in the entire world, and it does not exist, but it is watching you.

You may be a man, but then again you may be a mathematical thought experiment; it’s difficult to tell.

You die in a labyrinth."
borges  books  maps  magicrealism  malloryortberg  2015  via:caseygollan  argentina  time  space  dreams  dreaming  cities  math  mathematics 
january 2015 by robertogreco
Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 69, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
"When García Márquez speaks, his body often rocks back and forth. His hands too are often in motion making small but decisive gestures to emphasize a point, or to indicate a shift of direction in his thinking. He alternates between leaning forward towards his listener, and sitting far back with his legs crossed when speaking reflectively."



INTERVIEWER How do you feel about using the tape recorder?

GABRIEL GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ The problem is that the moment you know the interview is being taped, your attitude changes. In my case I immediately take a defensive attitude. As a journalist, I feel that we still haven’t learned how to use a tape recorder to do an interview. The best way, I feel, is to have a long conversation without the journalist taking any notes. Then afterward he should reminisce about the conversation and write it down as an impression of what he felt, not necessarily using the exact words expressed. Another useful method is to take notes and then interpret them with a certain loyalty to the person interviewed. What ticks you off about the tape recording everything is that it is not loyal to the person who is being interviewed, because it even records and remembers when you make an ass of yourself. That’s why when there is a tape recorder, I am conscious that I’m being interviewed; when there isn’t a tape recorder, I talk in an unconscious and completely natural way.



GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ I’ve always been convinced that my true profession is that of a journalist. What I didn’t like about journalism before were the working conditions. Besides, I had to condition my thoughts and ideas to the interests of the newspaper. Now, after having worked as a novelist, and having achieved financial independence as a novelist, I can really choose the themes that interest me and correspond to my ideas. In any case, I always very much enjoy the chance of doing a great piece of journalism.



INTERVIEWER Do you think the novel can do certain things that journalism can’t?

GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ Nothing. I don’t think there is any difference. The sources are the same, the material is the same, the resources and the language are the same. The Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe is a great novel and Hiroshima is a great work of journalism.

INTERVIEWER Do the journalist and the novelist have different responsibilities in balancing truth versus the imagination?

GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ In journalism just one fact that is false prejudices the entire work. In contrast, in fiction one single fact that is true gives legitimacy to the entire work. That’s the only difference, and it lies in the commitment of the writer. A novelist can do anything he wants so long as he makes people believe in it.



INTERVIEWER How did you start writing?

GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ By drawing. By drawing cartoons. Before I could read or write I used to draw comics at school and at home. The funny thing is that I now realize that when I was in high school I had the reputation of being a writer, though I never in fact wrote anything. If there was a pamphlet to be written or a letter of petition, I was the one to do it because I was supposedly the writer. When I entered college I happened to have a very good literary background in general, considerably above the average of my friends. At the university in Bogotá, I started making new friends and acquaintances, who introduced me to contemporary writers. One night a friend lent me a book of short stories by Franz Kafka. I went back to the pension where I was staying and began to read The Metamorphosis. The first line almost knocked me off the bed. I was so surprised. The first line reads, “As Gregor Samsa awoke that morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. . . .” When I read the line I thought to myself that I didn’t know anyone was allowed to write things like that. If I had known, I would have started writing a long time ago. So I immediately started writing short stories. They are totally intellectual short stories because I was writing them on the basis of my literary experience and had not yet found the link between literature and life. The stories were published in the literary supplement of the newspaper El Espectador in Bogotá and they did have a certain success at the time—probably because nobody in Colombia was writing intellectual short stories. What was being written then was mostly about life in the countryside and social life. When I wrote my first short stories I was told they had Joycean influences.



INTERVIEWER Can you name some of your early influences?

GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ The people who really helped me to get rid of my intellectual attitude towards the short story were the writers of the American Lost Generation. I realized that their literature had a relationship with life that my short stories didn’t. And then an event took place which was very important with respect to this attitude. It was the Bogotazo, on the ninth of April, 1948, when a political leader, Gaitan, was shot and the people of Bogotá went raving mad in the streets. I was in my pension ready to have lunch when I heard the news. I ran towards the place, but Gaitan had just been put into a taxi and was being taken to a hospital. On my way back to the pension, the people had already taken to the streets and they were demonstrating, looting stores and burning buildings. I joined them. That afternoon and evening, I became aware of the kind of country I was living in, and how little my short stories had to do with any of that. When I was later forced to go back to Barranquilla on the Caribbean, where I had spent my childhood, I realized that that was the type of life I had lived, knew, and wanted to write about.

Around 1950 or ’51 another event happened that influenced my literary tendencies. My mother asked me to accompany her to Aracataca, where I was born, and to sell the house where I spent my first years. When I got there it was at first quite shocking because I was now twenty-two and hadn’t been there since the age of eight. Nothing had really changed, but I felt that I wasn’t really looking at the village, but I was experiencing it as if I were reading it. It was as if everything I saw had already been written, and all I had to do was to sit down and copy what was already there and what I was just reading. For all practical purposes everything had evolved into literature: the houses, the people, and the memories. I’m not sure whether I had already read Faulkner or not, but I know now that only a technique like Faulkner’s could have enabled me to write down what I was seeing. The atmosphere, the decadence, the heat in the village were roughly the same as what I had felt in Faulkner. It was a banana-plantation region inhabited by a lot of Americans from the fruit companies which gave it the same sort of atmosphere I had found in the writers of the Deep South. Critics have spoken of the literary influence of Faulkner, but I see it as a coincidence: I had simply found material that had to be dealt with in the same way that Faulkner had treated similar material.

From that trip to the village I came back to write Leaf Storm, my first novel. What really happened to me in that trip to Aracataca was that I realized that everything that had occurred in my childhood had a literary value that I was only now appreciating. From the moment I wrote Leaf Storm I realized I wanted to be a writer and that nobody could stop me and that the only thing left for me to do was to try to be the best writer in the world. That was in 1953, but it wasn’t until 1967 that I got my first royalties after having written five of my eight books.



INTERVIEWER What about the banana fever in One Hundred Years of Solitude? How much of that is based on what the United Fruit Company did?

GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ The banana fever is modeled closely on reality. Of course, I’ve used literary tricks on things which have not been proved historically. For example, the massacre in the square is completely true, but while I wrote it on the basis of testimony and documents, it was never known exactly how many people were killed. I used the figure three thousand, which is obviously an exaggeration. But one of my childhood memories was watching a very, very long train leave the plantation supposedly full of bananas. There could have been three thousand dead on it, eventually to be dumped in the sea. What’s really surprising is that now they speak very naturally in the Congress and the newspapers about the “three thousand dead.” I suspect that half of all our history is made in this fashion. In The Autumn of the Patriarch, the dictator says it doesn’t matter if it’s not true now, because sometime in the future it will be true. Sooner or later people believe writers rather than the government.

INTERVIEWER That makes the writer pretty powerful, doesn’t it?

GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ Yes, and I can feel it too. It gives me a great sense of responsibility. What I would really like to do is a piece of journalism which is completely true and real, but which sounds as fantastic as One Hundred Years of Solitude. The more I live and remember things from the past, the more I think that literature and journalism are closely related.



INTERVIEWER Are dreams ever important as a source of inspiration?

GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ In the very beginning I paid a good deal of attention to them. But then I realized that life itself is the greatest source of inspiration and that dreams are only a very small part of that torrent that is life. What is very true about my writing is that I’m quite interested in different concepts of dreams and interpretations of them. I see dreams as part of life in general, but reality is much richer. But maybe I just have very poor dreams.

INTERVIEWER Can you distinguish between inspiration and intuition?

GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ Inspiration is when you find the right theme, one which you really like; that makes the work much easier. Intuition, which is … [more]
gabrielgarcíamárquez  1981  interviews  colombia  writing  journalism  truth  reality  fiction  literature  latinamerica  drawing  kafka  jamesjoyce  stories  storytelling  everyday  williamfaulkner  imagination  biography  autobiography  politics  childhood  fantasy  magicrealism  credibility  detail  details  belief  believability  responsibility  history  bricolage  collage  power  solitude  flow  dreams  dreaming  inspiration  intuition  intellectualism  translation  mexico  spanish  español  gregoryrabassa  borders  frontiers  miguelángelasturias  cuba  fame  friendship  film  filmmaking  relationships  consumption  language  languages  reading  howweread  howwewrite  routine  familiarity  habits 
april 2014 by robertogreco
University of California Research: The universal language is in our minds  As a deaf....
"As a deaf person in a hearing world, “I am bound to negotiate in the realm of non-verbal communication,” says UC Berkeley linguistics lecturer Patrick Boudreault. “I’m adept at communication with anyone, every day of my life — people who know sign or don’t know sign.”

Born deaf to deaf parents, Boudreault’s first languages were Quebec Sign Language, then French, which he learned to read and write as a child. He added English and American Sign Language to his repertoire in his early teens. In introducing himself to students, he adds that he’s married to a Russian woman whose native languages are Russian and Russian Sign Language.
I meet a lot of people and sometimes they ask, “what are your dreams like?" I have to smile. Of course, that depends on the individual! “But, are you signing in your dreams? Speaking? Processing thought conceptually?" And my answer is, it depends…but from my perspective, language is a fluid thing.  Whether it’s spoken or signed, it always starts as a fluid thing inside your head.  So, maybe the only place a universal language will happen is in our minds, not our hands or our mouths.

"

[Embedded video is also here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQtrPpkCRBM ]
asl  deafness  deaf  language  linguistics  communication  universality  patrickboudreault  dreaming  nonverbalcommunication 
june 2013 by robertogreco
The Garden | Contents Magazine
"Tagore’s influence scattered into the world, beloved but uncollected, like the impromptu stanzas that he wrote on admirers’ paper scraps while touring. He is in politics and activism, hidden behind the image of his friend Mohandas Gandhi, whom he held back from many ill-advised projects. He is in education via Montessori, and in economics via Sen and the Grameen Bank. He is especially in literature: via Anna Akhmatova, Bertolt Brecht, T. S. Eliot, Pablo Neruda, Victoria Ocampo—a reader could live many happy years on books by his admirers. Kawabata, who wrote The Master of Go, was a particular fan."



"The archives are best just before sleep, as memory and imagination take sway. Every archive has an intended logic, a day logic, with well-defined topics, alphabetical orderings, hierarchical taxonomies, or cross-referenced indexes. At night we see less of what is intended and more of what is there. "



"Archives cut up the understandings we make of things as we live them. As fragments, distant pieces of the world can find each other. When we visit the archives, we are visited by what arises among the fragments: by memories with their own power, by coincidences, by hidden patterns and new understandings. As we step out of the archives into everyday life, and back and forth, like we cycle between dreaming and waking, we stitch our own seams."
charlieloyd  dreams  archives  writing  memory  memories  seams  2013  contentsmagazine  rabindranathtagore  tagore  darkmatter  taxonomy  night  understanding  everyday  everydaylife  fragments  assemblage  bricolage  patterns  patternsensing  patternrecognition  dreaming  sleep  monetssori  mariamontessori  grameenbank  victoriaocampo  tseliot  bertoldbrecht  annaakhmatova  pabloneruda  gandhi 
april 2013 by robertogreco
Departures, Cont. - Ta-Nehisi Coates - The Atlantic
"I felt myself as horrifyingly singular there. A language is more than grammar and words, is the movement of The People, their sense of appropriate laughter, their very conception of space. In Paris the public space was a backyard for The People and The People's language was not mine. Even if I learned the grammar and vocab so part of it must be off-limits to me. it could never really be "mine." I had a native language of my own. I felt like a distant friend crashing a family reunion. Except the family was this entire sector of the city. I could feel their nameless, invisible bonds all around me, tripping my every step."



"I got my ticket, boarded the train. and descended further into the European continent.

The loneliness was intense. I knew at a least few people in Paris. But this train winding through high and gorgeous country, leaving behind small Hallmark towns, was truly taking me into foreign depths. For most of the ride there were English translations. But when I transferred at Lausanne, the pretensions dropped away and there was only French. I have spent almost as much time away from my family in the past year as I've spent with them. Is this how it's supposed to be? Is learning forever winding through these strange and foreign places? Is study the opposite of home?

In Vevey, I was met at the station by a mother and her daughter. They gave me the layout of the town. They showed me how to catch the train to school. They told me how to lock up their house. They poured me red wine, served bread and cheese. This was immersion. I was given a room. I called my wife then went to bed. That night everyone in my dreams spoke French.  I could not understand a word they said."
paris  switzerland  language  learning  ta-nehisicoates  2013  dreams  dreaming  french  france  languagelearning  languageacquisition  solitude  cultureclash  loneliness  belonging  safety  risk 
march 2013 by robertogreco
Charlie Kaufman: Screenwriters Lecture | BAFTA Guru
"we try to be experts because we’re scared; we don’t want to feel foolish or worthless; we want power because power is a great disguise."

"Don’t allow yourself to be tricked into thinking that the way things are is the way the world must work and that in the end selling is what everyone must do. Try not to."

"This is from E. E. Cummings: ‘To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting.’ The world needs you. It doesn’t need you at a party having read a book about how to appear smart at parties – these books exist, and they’re tempting – but resist falling into that trap. The world needs you at the party starting real conversations, saying, ‘I don’t know,’ and being kind."

[Giving up, too much to quote.]
danger  risktaking  risk  failure  simplification  fear  fearmongering  materialism  consumerism  culture  marketing  humannature  character  bullying  cv  meaningmaking  meaning  filmmaking  creating  creativity  dreaming  dreams  judgement  assessment  interpretation  religion  fanaticism  johngarvey  deschooling  unschooling  unlearning  relearning  perpetualchange  change  flux  insight  manifestos  art  truth  haroldpinter  paradox  uncertainty  certainty  wonder  bullies  intentions  salesmanship  corporatism  corporations  politics  humans  communication  procrastination  timeusage  wisdom  philosophy  ignorance  knowing  learning  life  time  adamresnick  human  transparency  vulnerability  honesty  loneliness  emptiness  capitalism  relationships  manipulation  distraction  kindness  howwework  howwethink  knowledge  specialists  attention  media  purpose  bafta  film  storytelling  writing  screenwriting  charliekaufman  self  eecummings  2011  canon 
august 2012 by robertogreco
portland: projections
"For two months in a basement, I lived in Portland. With me, I had my camera, a slide projector, and hundreds of found transparencies of people and homes, decades old, and blue with age. I spent my days in darkness illuminated by children and families, interiors and landscapes, events and narratives (patterns and densities) automatically processed, cast out and lined across the cracks and textures of foundational walls. Daydreaming, repeatedly, in passing, these photographic remnants — summer vacations, birthday parties, holiday dinners, reunions — I sensed my memory shift upward, flatten out and onto my eyes. Like this, I watched, in time, my camera, recollect everything."
recollection  oregon  portland  memory  jamesluckett  dreaming  seeing  photography 
february 2012 by robertogreco
Urban Dictionary: Fhtagn
"Word which roughly translates to waits/dreams/sleeps in a long forgotten tongue."

[via: http://twitter.com/agpublic/status/101644269621747712 ]
fhtagn  cthulhu  hplovecraft  dreams  sleeping  sleep  waiting  dreaming  language  words  definitions 
august 2011 by robertogreco
In your dreams | COSMOS magazine
"Rather than meaningless nocturnal frolics, dreams may be key to emotional well-being and memory function. And what you dream may be just as significant."
dreaming  neuroscience  psychology  dreams  sleep  memory  well-being 
october 2010 by robertogreco
Sleep paralysis - Wikipedia [AKA kanashibari, old hag, etc. Take a look at the folklore section of the article.]
"Physiologically, it is closely related to the paralysis that occurs as a natural part of REM (rapid eye movement) sleep, which is known as REM atonia. Sleep paralysis occurs when the brain awakes from a REM state, but the bodily paralysis persists. This leaves the person fully conscious, but unable to move. In addition, the state may be accompanied by terrifying hallucinations (hypnopompic or hypnagogic) and an acute sense of danger."

[Update 7 July 2013: Just tracked down the first reference I saw to this: James Luckett's blog, July 8, 2003: http://web.archive.org/web/20030806102151/http://consumptive.org/weblog/blog.html ]
sleepparalysis  sleep  dreaming  dreams  consciousness  psychology  sleepdisorder  srg  kanashibari  oldhag  glvo 
september 2008 by robertogreco
Rapid eye movement (sleep) - Wikipedia
"The function of REM sleep is not well understood; several theories have been advanced...Memory-related theories...Stimulation in CNS development as a primary function" ... "REM sleep occurs in all mammals (excluding the Bottlenose Dolphin and the Echidna). It appears that the amount of REM sleep per night in a species is closely correlated with the developmental stage of newborns. The platypus for example, whose newborns are completely helpless and undeveloped, has more than seven hours of REM sleep per night.[citation needed] Newborn dolphins and their mothers sleep very little or not at all the first month.
sleep  rem  srg  dreams  dreaming  animals  mammals  glvo 
september 2008 by robertogreco
Lucid dream - Wikipedia
"A lucid dream is a dream in which the person is aware that he or she is dreaming while the dream is in progress, also known as a conscious dream. When the dreamer is lucid, he or she can actively participate in the dream environment without any of the limitations that otherwise would feel natural to persons who incorrectly believe they are in the "real" waking world. Lucid dreams can be extremely real and vivid depending on a person's level of self-awareness during the lucid dream."
luciddreaming  dreams  dreaming  sleep  srg  consciousness  psychology  neuroscience  glvo 
september 2008 by robertogreco
Important work can be done while daydreaming - The Boston Globe
"Although there are many anecdotal stories of breakthroughs resulting from daydreams...Children in school are encouraged to stop daydreaming and "focus," and wandering minds are often cited as a leading cause of traffic accidents...In recent years, however, scientists have begun to see the act of daydreaming very differently. They've demonstrated that daydreaming is a fundamental feature of the human mind - so fundamental, in fact, that it's often referred to as our "default" mode of thought. Many scientists argue that daydreaming is a crucial tool for creativity, a thought process that allows the brain to make new associations and connections. Instead of focusing on our immediate surroundings - such as the message of a church sermon - the daydreaming mind is free to engage in abstract thought and imaginative ramblings. As a result, we're able to imagine things that don't actually exist, like sticky yellow bookmarks."
dreams  daydreaming  serendipity  imagination  messiness  creativity  brain  neuroscience  dreaming  intelligence  psychology  research  innovation  education  learning  children  behavior  mind  science 
september 2008 by robertogreco
Edge 250 - ENGINEERS' DREAMS By George Dyson
"Data that are associated frequently by search requests are locally replicated—establishing physical proximity, in the real universe, that is manifested computationally as proximity in time. Google was more than a map. Google was becoming something else
georgedyson  sciencefiction  scifi  singularity  google  intelligence  artificial  ai  dreaming  science  programming  fiction  internet  literature 
july 2008 by robertogreco
Sleeping and Dreaming
"Why are scientists still perplexed by sleep? What do the insights that our dreams bring us mean? And is a life without sleep conceivable? Sleeping and dreaming is a nightly (or daily) occurrence for us all, yet we still know relatively little about this
art  dreams  dreaming  sleep  exhibits 
december 2007 by robertogreco
To sleep, perchance to dream | Commentary | Features | Fortean Times UK
"FT visits the Wellcome Collection's new exhibition, 'Sleeping and Dreaming'."
dreaming  dreams  sleep  art  exhibits 
december 2007 by robertogreco
An Active, Purposeful Machine That Comes Out at Night to Play - New York Times
"Some neuroscientists say that at least one vital function of sleep is tied to learning and memory, and new findings suggest that sleep plays a crucial role in flagging and storing important memories."
neuroscience  brain  sleep  learning  science  research  memory  health  medicine  dreams  dreaming  rem  psychology  psychiatry 
october 2007 by robertogreco

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