Rojak: “This is Major Tom to Ground Control.”

Rojak is a regular collection of assorted links as well as a bulletin summarising the week (or thereabouts) on this blog.

Assorted

By now, surely you’ve heard Colonel Chris Hadfield’s great cover of David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” on the International Space Station. [via YouTube]

On Witold Gombrowicz’s Kronos. [via culture.pl]

Pitchfork interviews Four Tet. [via Pitchfork]

Sigur Rós will be appearing on The Simpsons really, really soon. Here’s a poster. [via Pitchfork]

Paul Wright’s For Those in Peril sounds like an interesting film. [via The Telegraph]

Lionel Shriver and food. [via The Guardian]

A poem or two. “Valerie Seegers is a writer, illustrator and filmmaker based in Singapore. Her poetry fuses nature, with women in order to produce a tranquil, and somber mood. She usually focuses her efforts in enforcing the sexual energy from women, and compliments this with the beauty and cyclic life of nature.” [via Metazen]

Bulletin

This past week:

• Brian Eno.
• Daft Punk.
• More Daft Punk.
• Sjón x Björk.
• Jeremias Gotthelf.

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Excerpt from Witold Gombrowicz’s Diary.

At four I left, extremely tired, and there were trees, leaves, houses—mixed, perhaps somewhat too tidy, and, I would say, not much to the point. Never mind. Leaving the subway, I was on my way to the Café Rex when out of the Café Paris (nor do I know why one café got mixed up with the other) some of my lady friends, who were supposed to be sitting at a table and eating ladyfingers and dipping them in cream, began to beckon (?) to me. The mystification appeared right away because, actually, they were sitting at an enamel tabletop set on four bent prongs, and the eating consisted of sticking this or that thing through the opening in the face during which the ears and noses stuck out and the heels, too, stuck out from under the table, that is, out from under the tabletop. Yak, yak, about this and that but I see that this or that sticks out (?) and protrudes (??) from this or that woman, therefore, I finally excuse myself and leave, pleading lack of time.

Sociologically.

[More at the Paris Review, as translated by Lillian Vallee in an edition forthcoming from Yale University Press]

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