Over Here

Over Here from Jasmina Tesanovic on Vimeo.

Pacifist remake of the song “Over There”

Yankee wants some fun
with a gun wants some fun
always on the run
on the run with a gun

Hear your heart and try to be
A true son of liberty
Hurry, go right home
right away, no delay

Make your daddy glad
To have had such a lad
Now your sweetheart will not pine
‘Cause her boy’s not in the line

Over here, over here
They’re going over here from over there
And the world is humming, The world is drumming
No Yankees fighting over there

So beware, don’t despair
Send the word, send the Yankees over here
The war is over, they’re coming over
And they won’t go back cause it’s over, over there.

Yankee drop your gun
drop your drone stop your run
Yankee show the world
that you’re not such a bum

Let somebody else’s flag go fly
yankee doodle doesn’t have to die
Once again be sane,
Show your brain, stop your pain

Yankee leave your tanks
no more tents, no more ranks
Make the whole world proud of you
and the old red white and blue

Over here, over here
They’re coming over here from over there
For the yanks are going, the yanks are going,
No yankees fighting over there

So beware, don’t despair
Send the word, send the yanks over here
The terror’s over, they’re coming overAnd they won’t go back ’cause it’s over, over there.

Austin Music

Austin SXSW 2012

Japan at SXSW 2011

This year Hugh Forest the executive director of SXSW Interactive opened the first session March 11th with the words “Solidarity for Japan”. During the recent earthquake catastrophe everything failed except for the Internet. Aki Kodama was at the airport of Tokyo blocked for 24 hours by the tsunami earthquake. His group of Augmented Reality Tonchidot Corporation. made it to Austin to do their work and spread their word.

Bruce Sterling reads his poem for Rasha Livada


Bruce Sterling recites a poem dedicated to the late Serbian poet Raša Livada at the Austin Museum of Digital Art’s 2011 digital showcase.

Pismo
by Bruce Sterling

for Rasa Livada (1948-2007)

Damp streets, a dark alley outside the garage,
How many poets can one city bury?
The full moon over Belgrade expects an eclipse.

Gritty, dear old Beograd, she’s strewn with Xmas decorations,
Tourist-luring tinsel for the graveyard of empires.

Selling dead dad’s dead car, dressed in dead dad’s overcoat and hat,
I’m the silent gunsel here, I’m the diesel-punk Communist assassin;
Lady, what on Earth are you doin’, letting this cheap hood in your garage,
With that gat hangin’ out of his overcoat? More

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