Virgile

Leslie

Mon, 11 Jun 2007 14:15:11 -0700

'TwoDreams'

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:48:36 -0700

Sham

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:44:16 -0700

Virginie

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:41:53 -0700

Sofie

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:39:10 -0700

Katrien in my loft

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:34:36 -0700

Katrien

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:29:35 -0700

Céline and Chris

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:22:33 -0700

Céline

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:17:52 -0700

Melis

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:15:38 -0700

Sofie and Antygone

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:12:47 -0700

An

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 12:08:26 -0700

virgil-726972

Wed, 06 Jun 2007 10:10:16 -0700

« I don't know, so maybe I'm not »

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 21:31:38 -0700

« I don't know, so maybe I'm not » the T-shirst said. Had it been another time or place, I probably would've chuckled and moved on. But I was on Bourbon Street when this postmodern homage to Descartes's proclamation, "I think, therefore I am" appeared on a young man weaving toward me. I had just had dinner in the French Quarter after a long day of data digestion and schmoozing at the Society of Neuroscience Conference, an annual get-together of thirty thousand or so brain researchers from around the world. The sound of Dixieland tunes, the aroma of stale beer, and the sight of scantily clad women dancing on runways inside dark bars had me contemplating the years and life changes that had come and gone since I myself had weaved down Bourbon Sreet during my college days in Louisiana. I headed back to my hotel, reflecting on my past and present life and wondering about what, all of a sudden, seemed to me to be the big question brain researchers should be asking: "What makes us who we are?" - Joseph LeDoux, from The Synaptic Self

No method

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 06:34:51 -0700

There is no method, except to be very intelligent. -- T.S. Eliot

Sarasate

Fri, 29 Jun 2007 17:40:16 -0700

The Song of Wandering Aengus

Tue, 26 Jun 2007 15:26:09 -0700

I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun. -- William Butler Yeats

A monster made of eyes

Sat, 16 Jun 2007 18:21:07 -0700

« But I shall not grow too old to see enormous night arise, A cloud that is larger than the world And a monster made of eyes. » - G. K. Chesterton

Heliocentrism is Devil

Fri, 15 Jun 2007 07:48:49 -0700

This is a fantastic satire about creationism : heliocentrism-is-an-atheist-doctrine I just love this.

Elegance, perversity and formal perfection

Thu, 14 Jun 2007 06:51:18 -0700

Erwin Olaf will be exposed in 2008 in FotoMuseum Antwerp.