in Russian it sounds like - PIZDEC!
28/09/2010
27/09/2010
everything happens in an irreversible manner
tomorrow always becomes yesterday. future is always becomes the past. All that we call the past - creating the future. And on this, what would not be confusing, the most important thing - to realize the future. Every second of life
 |
| Richard Phillips Feynman |
such an important chat
Scary moments touched only emotional perception. and it is not deep. It could touched even dog.
Certainly topic is relevant for today. Since Now we all live more in internet than in reality. But I am concerned about another problem, that showed in film. teenager can not survive transition age. in the outside world he can not settle down, and finds a way to express themselves and solve their problems through murder. Oh yes, there is also another kind of guys - I know how I decide problem of my lack of demand for the world! I know how to stop the pain, wrongs and loneliness! I will go and kill myself all the evil! Is it not past stage? Or is it fashion? But fashion also has ability to change, so what's the problem? Rather, where is answer to the question? cause film opened a lot of questions but no answers. and I think that all those guys for whose was this movie is targeted, understood only that cool to be cool killer and filmed in the movies.
26/09/2010
I love you Jim Carrey! I love you Ewan McGregor!
Acting - aerobatics!
When I watch movies with actors kind of this, I get not only the emotional and mental pleasure.
Also, I'm learn acting. Because there is something to learn and from whom to take an example
I am sure that during filming, actors get great fun. Seriously. Because it is really hard role's, but made it - perfectly!
When I watch movies with actors kind of this, I get not only the emotional and mental pleasure.
Also, I'm learn acting. Because there is something to learn and from whom to take an example
I am sure that during filming, actors get great fun. Seriously. Because it is really hard role's, but made it - perfectly!
25/09/2010
Some of my options for "How to use a phone booth"
And then begin!
- The first and easiest option in the phone booth, you can change clothes (Very practical)
- phone booth can be used as a torture chamber
- In the phone booth, you can hide (and sit there all day, if this time someone will look you in the city)
- In the phone booth, you can live (Just in case)
- In a phone booth could have a party (but roominess phone booth it will be very lonely party...but who knows, maybe you are very self-sufficient person)
- In a phone booth can be make movie (yeah. In 2002, Joel Schumacher has proved this)
- In the phone booth, you can provoke claustrophobic for yourself (who knows, maybe you like experiments)
- In the phone booth, you can redraw some classic work of art and (in our century) earn a lot of money
- phone booth can be used as a toilet (of course if you are deprived of any moral and aesthetic using it, or if you just cute vandal)
- In the phone booth, you can commit suicide
- In the phone booth could have sex (onanism also count)
- In the phone booth could have sex and then commit suicide (this is if sex means a onanism)
- In the phone booth, you can leave some of your thing, if on the road this thing a burden to you (And importantly - don't forget to leave a note "please do not touch, it's my x o x" and then, when you come back, thing will be waiting for you safely and unharmed)
Well, I think that's all.
Oh yeah, I forgot, in a telephone booth, you can call
P.S. If you have some other options, please let me know.
- The first and easiest option in the phone booth, you can change clothes (Very practical)
- phone booth can be used as a torture chamber
- In the phone booth, you can hide (and sit there all day, if this time someone will look you in the city)
- In the phone booth, you can live (Just in case)
- In a phone booth could have a party (but roominess phone booth it will be very lonely party...but who knows, maybe you are very self-sufficient person)
- In a phone booth can be make movie (yeah. In 2002, Joel Schumacher has proved this)
- In the phone booth, you can provoke claustrophobic for yourself (who knows, maybe you like experiments)
- In the phone booth, you can redraw some classic work of art and (in our century) earn a lot of money
- phone booth can be used as a toilet (of course if you are deprived of any moral and aesthetic using it, or if you just cute vandal)
- In the phone booth, you can commit suicide
- In the phone booth could have sex (onanism also count)
- In the phone booth could have sex and then commit suicide (this is if sex means a onanism)
- In the phone booth, you can leave some of your thing, if on the road this thing a burden to you (And importantly - don't forget to leave a note "please do not touch, it's my x o x" and then, when you come back, thing will be waiting for you safely and unharmed)
Well, I think that's all.
Oh yeah, I forgot, in a telephone booth, you can call
P.S. If you have some other options, please let me know.
24/09/2010
Light film
This film is not bad. Simple truths in modern processing, etc. But I watch movies of this type only for relaxation.And to take from there interesting outfit)
Oh yes, I'm so selfish! (Actually like you all)
:) i like this girls.
they remind me myself)
p.s. if you're vegan, you're coolest!(c) XD
Oh yes, I'm so selfish! (Actually like you all)
:) i like this girls.
they remind me myself)
23/09/2010
deftones 2010
ingeniously simple and profound lyrics, lyrics, what is so close to me.
Light hardness and heavy lightness
I like you when,
When you take off your face.Put away all your teeth,And take us way underneath, Cause you could die if you take it alone.
I watch you taste it
I see your face, And I know I'm alive, You're shooting stars, From the barrel of your eyes, And it drives me crazy.
Just drives me wild.
I kinda of like you when, When you make up the rules. Take the phone in your room,
Stop the tape always soon.
You could die if you take it alone.
I watch you taste it, I see your face,
And I know I'm alive
You're shooting stars
From the barrel of your eyes
And it drives me crazy
It drives me wild.
Everytime. Everytime you try
Ride
It's a beautiful ride
Why
Its a beautiful ride
Light hardness and heavy lightness
I like you when,
When you take off your face.Put away all your teeth,And take us way underneath, Cause you could die if you take it alone.
I watch you taste it
I see your face, And I know I'm alive, You're shooting stars, From the barrel of your eyes, And it drives me crazy.
Just drives me wild.
I kinda of like you when, When you make up the rules. Take the phone in your room,
Stop the tape always soon.
You could die if you take it alone.
I watch you taste it, I see your face,
And I know I'm alive
You're shooting stars
From the barrel of your eyes
And it drives me crazy
It drives me wild.
Everytime. Everytime you try
Ride
It's a beautiful ride
Why
Its a beautiful ride
21/09/2010
Haruki Murakami: On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
20/09/2010
more alive portraits I've never seen in my life
Long Portrait: Noah Kalina from Clayton Cubitt on Vimeo.
Long portrait of Noah Kalina, photographer, at his Brooklyn studio, February 2009.
Long Portrait: Debauchette from Clayton Cubitt on Vimeo.
Long portrait of Debauchette, sex writer and courtesan, photographed in my studio, Brooklyn, April 2009
Long Portrait: Adam Fuss from Clayton Cubitt on Vimeo.
Long portrait of artist/photographer Adam Fuss. Photographed in his studio, Chelsea, April 2009.
Long Portrait: Graciella Longoria from Clayton Cubitt on Vimeo.
Long portrait of Graciella Longoria, on the first anniversary of her father's death in a car accident. Photographed on my terrace, Brooklyn. June 2009
19/09/2010
18/09/2010
I really don't kno what to do with myself COZ you don't kno what love Is
white stripes said instead of me
Kiev rain
I was walking and it started to rain, but I even liked it. this is so sobering off muddy thinking. Especially with such a song
and at home I got my surprise. Confusion. I don't know what to do. It's anchor! from which I tried to get rid of such a long time. I became more distrustful and self-sufficient! I resigned. and here we go again. gentlemen's don't allow themselves do so.
p.s. I cannot save anyone any more. I need my salvation. always. again and again.
and at home I got my surprise. Confusion. I don't know what to do. It's anchor! from which I tried to get rid of such a long time. I became more distrustful and self-sufficient! I resigned. and here we go again. gentlemen's don't allow themselves do so.
p.s. I cannot save anyone any more. I need my salvation. always. again and again.
17/09/2010
Fish. Drugs. Horse
fish called Liza. Liza was brutally murdered!
directorial work by Rachkova Valerie
actress Karina Aslanova
16/09/2010
15/09/2010
Good night Morning
I think you know that the brain works best when the brain of other people is off. I mean the perfect time of day between 2 am and to 7 am. Something like this.
And here is living proof:
7 am
more: http://www.myspace.com/popkornostar666/photos/albums/thank-you-stinking-samsung/1583833
And here is living proof:
7 am
14/09/2010
Very angry girl
Tomorrow I again have nothing to do.I was kicked out of the academy)
And basically I'm or killing time or idle. anyway this is the same things. Yes, yes, I create videos, trying to steer, but all this is not so! Just don't know how to begin to move. My brokenness head ... here only questions and no one answer.
One old saying - "When you don't know what to do, don't do anything, life itself would provide a solution".
what nonsense?I cannot like this. inaction - is tantamount to death! I'm stuck!
I am lost in time.
6 months. It's so much! And you can remember one second. 6 months drove me out from life lived for 20 years! oh sorry, 21. And I, for the first time in my life regret about all that happened. About my biggest mistake. This - not fate. All this-randomness. Randomness! One of biggest random creepy error. for what such an experience? I'm a clever girl. I don't need it! damn! All upside! tainted! In real, if you could look at my inner world, he would look like post-war period. Nothing grows and nothing prospers. And I do not know where I get power to create. It is simply my real air and part of me as an arm or leg. Some say to me: "Find work! Any! What ever!" But I cannot. I'm not lazy, but I cannot. Then, I just put up with gray weekdays. Will live with everyday living. Work will take all my strength and I'll forget about my "air". And I will live in vacuum.
Like all the others. Like all, those who give me advice "Don't worry and find a job."
All those who say "Don't exaggerate, don't be anxious"
All those who love television and spend holidays in Turkey or Bulgaria.
All those who live up to his neck in the credits!
All those who believe that marriage - this is happiness.
All those who agree with weakness, instead of being strong!
All those who sleep at night!
All those who reject what can not understand!
All those who barter their dreams on a chair in the office. This is so sad!
All those who are tired all the time!
All those who are afraid to live!
fuck off you all!
And you might ask "So what, you're so brave and greyhound sitting in a loser?"
And I respond: "Maybe I sit in the losers, but look at yourself, what you represent? Are you happy? No! You not! You don't understand anything" shit. my cigarettes ended.
And basically I'm or killing time or idle. anyway this is the same things. Yes, yes, I create videos, trying to steer, but all this is not so! Just don't know how to begin to move. My brokenness head ... here only questions and no one answer.
One old saying - "When you don't know what to do, don't do anything, life itself would provide a solution".
what nonsense?I cannot like this. inaction - is tantamount to death! I'm stuck!
I am lost in time.
6 months. It's so much! And you can remember one second. 6 months drove me out from life lived for 20 years! oh sorry, 21. And I, for the first time in my life regret about all that happened. About my biggest mistake. This - not fate. All this-randomness. Randomness! One of biggest random creepy error. for what such an experience? I'm a clever girl. I don't need it! damn! All upside! tainted! In real, if you could look at my inner world, he would look like post-war period. Nothing grows and nothing prospers. And I do not know where I get power to create. It is simply my real air and part of me as an arm or leg. Some say to me: "Find work! Any! What ever!" But I cannot. I'm not lazy, but I cannot. Then, I just put up with gray weekdays. Will live with everyday living. Work will take all my strength and I'll forget about my "air". And I will live in vacuum.
Like all the others. Like all, those who give me advice "Don't worry and find a job."
All those who say "Don't exaggerate, don't be anxious"
All those who love television and spend holidays in Turkey or Bulgaria.
All those who live up to his neck in the credits!
All those who believe that marriage - this is happiness.
All those who agree with weakness, instead of being strong!
All those who sleep at night!
All those who reject what can not understand!
All those who barter their dreams on a chair in the office. This is so sad!
All those who are tired all the time!
All those who are afraid to live!
fuck off you all!
And you might ask "So what, you're so brave and greyhound sitting in a loser?"
And I respond: "Maybe I sit in the losers, but look at yourself, what you represent? Are you happy? No! You not! You don't understand anything" shit. my cigarettes ended.
13/09/2010
Red-haired BITCH!
This video made for one of my friend. But others, too, can watch and raise my rating internet stars)
Little, preview story:
I had a purpose - to meet my friend at the airport BUT, due to unforeseen circumstances I could not do it.
By this, I found another way out and shot this Russian-English video about an imaginary meeting)))
12/09/2010
before episode with a cross, I doubt, I like this video or not... I like it!
slowly and beautifully. and most importantly - quality!
Röyksopp - The Drug music video
Directed by that go (Noel Paul & Stefan Moore)
Producer: Richard Hutchins
DP: Michael Ragen
HMU+Style: Shawn Lovejoy
UPM: Doug McCafferty
Featuring: Amanda Bauer, Jessie Vanatta, Jenna Lammert
Voices: Traci Eggleston, Jennifer Newberry
Production Company: Rokkit
Label: Astralwerks/Wall of Sound
Commissioner: John Moule
Short film with accompanying music from Röyksopp's album Senior coming soon!
Special thanks: Mike Prevette, Melody Roscher, Traci Eggleston, Erin Thompson, David Robert Mitchell
11/09/2010
lovely
really great job!
TiM from Ken Turner on Vimeo.
Timothy Gray wants to be just like Tim Burton when he grows up.
09/09/2010
my veeeeeeery hard child !
I was a little tired.
Each part in the creation of the clip was very long and painful! Been spent so much energy, money, and soul. So much time! Still not completed yet. remains finish quite a bit.
Again reminded that you can watch a teaser here:
08/09/2010
Greedy pays twice
Yesterday ( all my troubles seemed so far awayyyyy)ha, no. Yesterday I found a cheap shop, was very surprised at the prices and of course quickly bought leggings there. I took a size "L", that is biggest, but because the label says "Made in China", they were small on my ass.
Conclusion: I need to lose weight to fit under China- size or don't be so greedy.
p.s. Moreover, thanks to my greed, my dear, lovely Chinese eat more rice!
Conclusion: I need to lose weight to fit under China- size or don't be so greedy.
p.s. Moreover, thanks to my greed, my dear, lovely Chinese eat more rice!
UNKLE - Heaven
And now try to tell me that you don't like vodka
Absolut - Directors Cut - from DIKKE DINGEN on Vimeo.
Viral for Absolut Vodka.
Originally to support the Dutch premiere of the new short by Spike Jonze 'I'm Here'.
Directed by Lars Siemens
Produced by State 31
Edited by Erik Verhulst
Music by Screeming Screen
Artists: Snar, Judith Veenendaal, DJ Oslo, Alek
Gondry my king (and example of role model)
What do not say, but it is one of the best work by Michel Gondry
radiohead - knives out from amnesiac on Vimeo.
radiohead - knives out from amnesiac on Vimeo.
07/09/2010
Old new or new old
We listen to old music, watch films about life in the 60th, 70th and so often want to be in those years. In this fashion always comes back. As if all that was before - original, but all that is now - a fake. Bad copy. All around circle, or all of the sign of infinity. I would gladly have exchanged 21 century on 60th. But you know, it's not so bad. Thanks to guys like this:
Express Yourself! (Yes it is old, smelly cliché, but it is true)
06/09/2010
This is Outrage!
How?
Thanks to whom, returns the Gothic style?
My guess is that thanks to fucking Twilight, and fucking Lady Gaga. In truth, I'm not shocked, I like this style.
+The end justifies the means. BUT!!! not in this shit-case, when the means are - Lady Gaga and Twilight! This is Outrage! Yeah, yeah! This is a challenging and highly eccentric, but no! Not true!
hallelujah and cheers!
05/09/2010
Popkorno's LOGO!!! (initial version)
My new, personal, and very cool logo)) Special biggest thanks to my lovely artist - Sasha Pushkina
http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=100000694906622
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