26 ноември 2009, четвъртък
11 ноември 2009, сряда
"Народно дело" ме уволни от варненския театър, от "Дарик" отричат
Днес от страниците на вестник "Народно дело" научих, че вече не съм член на трупата на Драматичен Театър "Стоян Бъчваров", в електронната публикация на "Дарик" относно 50-тото представление на "Крум" научавам, че все още крепя щата. Къде е истината!? Честито 50-то, колеги ;)
29 октомври 2009, четвъртък
27 октомври 2009, вторник
13 октомври 2009, вторник
08 октомври 2009, четвъртък
"Още нещо за любовта"
Калин Врачански, Симеон Лютаков, Сепиде Далфоруз, Велко Кънев, Мария Статулова и Йосиф Шамли са актьорския екип във филма "Още нещо за любовта" на режисьорката Магдалена Ралчева. Сценарият е на Георги Данаилов а продуцент Филмова Студия "Време".В киноисторията през 1945г. младия хирург д-р Руменов (Калин Врачански) е интерниран във Варна. Там той се сприятелява с любимеца на града - арменеца фотограф Дикран (Симеон Лютаков). За беда Дикран претърпява злополука в морето и състоянието му става критично. Медицината е безсилна, но любовта на една жена успява да победи смъртта...
Филмът е подкрепен от Националния Филмов Център. Снимките ще продължат 5 седмици в София, Варна, Пловдив и Искрец. Оператор е Александър Лазаров, композитор - Божидар Петков, художник - Владимир Лекарски.
(по материал от пресата)
16 септември 2009, сряда
24 август 2009, понеделник
Sting "Windmills of your mind"
Видеото което намерих от филма "Thomas Crown affair" не впечатлява с нищо, по-приятно е да слушам само гласа му. Песента разбива. Пуснете си я в HQ
Round, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel.
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnaval balloon
Like a carousell that's turning
Running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of it's own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream.
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle your head
Why did summer go so quickly
Was it something that I said
Lovers walking allong the shore,
Leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand
Pictures hanging in a hallway
And a fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circle that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Pictures hanging in a hallway
And the fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Round, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel.
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnaval balloon
Like a carousell that's turning
Running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of it's own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream.
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle your head
Why did summer go so quickly
Was it something that I said
Lovers walking allong the shore,
Leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand
Pictures hanging in a hallway
And a fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circle that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Pictures hanging in a hallway
And the fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
"Кадри отвътре"
"Аз не снимам нещата които ме оставят безмълвен, има такива и ако ги заснема мисля, че бих опорочил собствения си свят. Аз вярвам в чудеса и уважавам красотата."Едно интервю на Георги Иванов, повече подробности тук.
18 август 2009, вторник
96 часа
Тази нощ подобрих собственият си рекорд по безсъние от 72 на 96 часа! Изумително усещане, като в роман на Кастанеда;)
17 август 2009, понеделник
16 август 2009, неделя
И стана тихо...
Писмо от дъщеря ми на сбогуване:"Обичам те тате и ще те обичам до краят на животът ми. Винаги гогато патувам ми става мъчно за теп обичам те тате много те обичам. Днес гогато ходихме на делфинариум казвах че си искам стутинката зажтото исках да си купия нещо от там но ти не ми я даде. Беше ме срам да кажа че искам да си купя нещо. Но нищо пак мога да си купия не от там. Е това е всичко. Целувки на всички. От: Лиа."
12 август 2009, сряда
Derek William Dick - "I've played this scene before"
Дерек Уилям Дик... звучи завършено! Не знам дали съм фен на групи и музиканти, но знам, че се храня от душите на някой от тях. Какво би станало ако Уотърс не бе напуснал Флойд или Фиш Мерилиън... Може би щяха да се разкапят като Стоунс или Пърпъл или да куцат по сцената като Джетро Тъл. Все пак, добре е някой неща да са история. Е, не като Кърт Кобейн...Фиш отдавна спря да пее, в буквалния смисъл, остана без глас, на концертите му пее само публиката под съпровода на бенда а той говори между песните. Поет е все пак, никога не е казвал че е певец. Дай боже на всеки такъв поет такива песни и такава публика.
Днес, за пръв път през живота си се качих на влакче на ужасите и за пореден път се почувствах дискриминиран. Защитният механизъм който трябваше да сваля над раменете си не беше по размера ми и изглеждах нелепо, казах си – “Мамка им, лилипути!”. Пуснах се, нека съм смешен, но как крещяяяях!!!
О, мой двуметров братко, о, плешиви шуте с омазан потник, изпей Incubus и реабилитирай душата ми която кой ли не се е опитвал да натика в малкия си калъп, аз ще пея с теб и ще крещя както днес ... нелепо;)
Лорелай, Германия, 1986, Incubus.
Днес, за пръв път през живота си се качих на влакче на ужасите и за пореден път се почувствах дискриминиран. Защитният механизъм който трябваше да сваля над раменете си не беше по размера ми и изглеждах нелепо, казах си – “Мамка им, лилипути!”. Пуснах се, нека съм смешен, но как крещяяяях!!!
О, мой двуметров братко, о, плешиви шуте с омазан потник, изпей Incubus и реабилитирай душата ми която кой ли не се е опитвал да натика в малкия си калъп, аз ще пея с теб и ще крещя както днес ... нелепо;)
Лорелай, Германия, 1986, Incubus.
Отворете си речниците.
When footlights dim in reverence to prescient passion
Forwarned my audience leaves the stage, floating ahead
Perfumed shift within the stammering silence, the face
That launched a thousand frames betrayed by a porcelain tear, a stained career, career
You played this scene before, you played this scene before
I the mote in your eye, eye, eye, eye
I the mote in your eye
A misplaced reaction, reaction
The darkroom unleashes imagination in pornographic images
In which you will always be the star, always be the star
Untouchable, unapproachable, constant in the darkness, in the darkness, in the darkness
Nursing an erection, a misplaced reaction, with no flower to place before this gravestone
And the walls become enticingly newspaper thin
But that would be developing the negative view
And you have to be exposed in voyeuristic colour
The public act, let you model your shame on the mannequin catwalk, catwalk
Let the cats walk, and the cat walks
Ive played this scene before
Ive played this scene before
I the mote in your eye, eye, eye, eye
I the mote in your eye
A misplaced reaction, satisfaction
A irritating speck of dust that came from absolutely nowhere
You cant brush me under the carpet, you cant hide me under the stairs
The custodian of your private fears, your leading actor of yesteryear
Who as you crawled out of the alleys of obscurity
Sentenced to rejection in the morass of anonymity
You who I directed with lovers will
You who I let hypnotise the lens
You who I let bathe in the spotlights glare
You who wiped me from your memory like a greasepaint mask
Just like a greasepaint mask
But now Im the snake in the grass, the ghost of filmreels past
Im the producer of your nightmare and the performance has just begun
Its just begun, its just begun
Your perimeter of courtiers jerk like celluloid puppets
As you stutter paralysed with rabbits eyes, searing the shadows
Flooding the wings, to pluck elusive salvation from the understudys lips
Retrieve the soliloque, maintain the obituary
My cue line in the last act and you wait in silent solitude
Waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt
Youve played this scene before
When footlights dim in reverence to prescient passion
Forwarned my audience leaves the stage, floating ahead
Perfumed shift within the stammering silence, the face
That launched a thousand frames betrayed by a porcelain tear, a stained career, career
You played this scene before, you played this scene before
I the mote in your eye, eye, eye, eye
I the mote in your eye
A misplaced reaction, reaction
The darkroom unleashes imagination in pornographic images
In which you will always be the star, always be the star
Untouchable, unapproachable, constant in the darkness, in the darkness, in the darkness
Nursing an erection, a misplaced reaction, with no flower to place before this gravestone
And the walls become enticingly newspaper thin
But that would be developing the negative view
And you have to be exposed in voyeuristic colour
The public act, let you model your shame on the mannequin catwalk, catwalk
Let the cats walk, and the cat walks
Ive played this scene before
Ive played this scene before
I the mote in your eye, eye, eye, eye
I the mote in your eye
A misplaced reaction, satisfaction
A irritating speck of dust that came from absolutely nowhere
You cant brush me under the carpet, you cant hide me under the stairs
The custodian of your private fears, your leading actor of yesteryear
Who as you crawled out of the alleys of obscurity
Sentenced to rejection in the morass of anonymity
You who I directed with lovers will
You who I let hypnotise the lens
You who I let bathe in the spotlights glare
You who wiped me from your memory like a greasepaint mask
Just like a greasepaint mask
But now Im the snake in the grass, the ghost of filmreels past
Im the producer of your nightmare and the performance has just begun
Its just begun, its just begun
Your perimeter of courtiers jerk like celluloid puppets
As you stutter paralysed with rabbits eyes, searing the shadows
Flooding the wings, to pluck elusive salvation from the understudys lips
Retrieve the soliloque, maintain the obituary
My cue line in the last act and you wait in silent solitude
Waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt
Youve played this scene before
08 август 2009, събота
Пустинната роза с нов стар блог !?
Почти като заглавие на български ежедневник;)
Кристина Диманова премести блога си на нов адрес - http://www.christinadimanova.blogspot.com/ Съдържанието остава същото, има промяна само в URL-а. Точните причинно-следствени връзки ще откриете в последната й публикация. Пускам това съобщение тук, защото знам, че голяма част от моите читатели отскачат или по-точно казано прескачат между моя и нейния блог. Ако някой открие себе си като изпаднал последовател, моля веднага да поправи грешката. Блогът е мъртъв, да живее блогът!
Кристина Диманова премести блога си на нов адрес - http://www.christinadimanova.blogspot.com/ Съдържанието остава същото, има промяна само в URL-а. Точните причинно-следствени връзки ще откриете в последната й публикация. Пускам това съобщение тук, защото знам, че голяма част от моите читатели отскачат или по-точно казано прескачат между моя и нейния блог. Ако някой открие себе си като изпаднал последовател, моля веднага да поправи грешката. Блогът е мъртъв, да живее блогът!
21 юли 2009, вторник
Fish&Sam Brown "Just Good Friends"
There's something I want to ask you
Before it's too late,
It's been on my mind since the first time we met
It scares me now more, now there's more at stake,
It seems we're so close yet so far away.
What would you do if I got down
On my knees to you
Would you hold it against me,
Would you stand in line?
What would you do if I
Opened my heart to you,
Would I be another who's wasting his time,
Darling are we just good friends?
Could you turn me down gently would I
Be out of order,
If I declared my true feelings or do I
Act out the part,
Of the father confessor of the shoulder to cry on
We're always so close yet so far away
What would you do if I got down
On my knees to you
Would you hold it against me,
Would you stand in line?
What would you do if I
Opened my heart to you,
Would I be another who's wasting his time,
Darling are we just good friends?
What would you do if I got down
On my knees to you
Would you hold it against me,
Would you stand in line?
What would you do if I
Opened my heart to you,
Would I be another who's wasting his time,
Darling are we just good friends?
Do I really need to ask you
I'm sure that you know by now,
Do we just play a game where we try to pretend,
That all that's between us is all that's between us,
And all we can rely on is just being good friends.
What would you do if I got down
On my knees to you
Would you hold it against me,
Would you stand in line?
What would you do if I
Opened my heart to you,
Would I be another who's wasting his time,
Darling are we just good friends?
So are we left to chance meetings,
Is that all we can depend on?
Resigned to raise glasses in anonymous cafes,
Reciting our failures as if we needed
Proof or regret,
Over what might have
And what should have been, Darling, are we just good friends?
18 юли 2009, събота
17 юли 2009, петък
16 юли 2009, четвъртък
Roger Waters "Each small candle"
Not the torturer will scare me
Nor the body's final fall
Nor the barrels of death's rifles
Nor the shadows on the wall
Nor the night when to the ground
The last dim star of pain, is hurled
But the blind indifference
Of a merciless, unfeeling world
Lying in the burnt out shell
Of some Albanian farm
An old Babushka
Holds a crying baby in her arms
A soldier from the other side
A man of heart and pride
Breaks ranks, lays down his rifle
To kneel by her side
He gives her water
Binds her wounds
And calms the crying child
A touch gives absolution then
Across the great divide
He picks his way back through the broken
China of her life
And there at the curb
The samaritan Serb turns and waves ... goodbye
And each small candle
Lights a corner of the dark
Each small candle
Lights a corner of the dark
Each small candle lights a corner of the dark
When the wheel of pain stops turning
And the branding iron stops burning
When the children can be children
When the desperados weaken
When the tide rolls into greet them
And the natural law of science
Greets the humble and the mighty
And the billion candles burning
Lights the dark side of every human mind
Each small candle
Each small candle (repeated)
Each small candles lights the dark side of every human mind
And each small candle
Lights a corner of the dark
13 юли 2009, понеделник
11 юли 2009, събота
Абонамент за:
Публикации (Atom)
