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izzy's playlists!
One Nice Bug Per Day
taylor price
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
trying on a metaphor
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Discoholic 🪩
Game of Thrones Daily
@theartofmadeline
NASA
ellievsbear
oozey mess
hello vonnie
Origami Around
Kaledo Art
$LAYYYTER
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
RMH
seen from Spain
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seen from United States
seen from Italy
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seen from Finland
seen from Türkiye
seen from Finland
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@antonio-gregorio
«... Además me presentaron a X. Es idealista. Ibamos por un camino de árboles. Hacía viento. Al idealista se le voló su sombrero verde que se le confundía con el pasto. Corrió tras él, y al final lo pisó...»
— Felisberto Hernández, Diario.
«— Soy como un jugador de tercera división — se queja Luder —. Mis mejores goles los metí en una cancha polvorienta de los suburbios, ante cuatro hinchas borrachos que no se acuerdan de nada.»
— Julio Ramón Ribeyro, Dichos de Luder.
Ron Galella: Sean Penn, 1986.
«[...] what appears to be popularity is often just saturation.»
— Tony Price, Getting Shilled.
ARS POETICA #3
«To act within the marketplace, but not to be governed by the values of the market-place, is a considerable personal discipline. To see the audient as consumer denies them their humanity. They become a purchasing unit. Our human interaction ends with the completion of the transaction.»
— Do substack de Robert Fripp.
Herbert Bayer, Olhos de Vidro,1928.
A CERTAIN DISCIPLINE OF ATTENTION
«[...] his 1964 interview with David Smith on the TV series Art: New York, in which he reflects on the sculptor’s wrought iron and stainless steel works. For O’Hara, they were not merely objects to be admired but occasions for a certain discipline of attention — a reminder that the seriousness of art lies in the alertness it demands from those who encounter it. As he commented: “They present a total attention, and they are telling you that that is the way to be: on guard. In a sense, they are benign, because they offer themselves for your pleasure. But beneath that kindness is a warning: don’t be bored, don’t be lazy, don’t be trivial, and don’t be proud. The slightest loss of attention leads to death.”»
— Matthew Holman, Frank O’Hara and the end of the ‘American Century’.
ARS POETICA #2
«Il existe des artistes qui croient que l’originalité est fonction de la brutalité avec laquelle ils brisent les règles. Je ne pense pas que cela soit vrai, mais bien plutôt que l’originalité est fonction de la subtilité avec laquelle vous adhérez à des prémisses légèrement différentes de celles qu’on attend de vous.»
— Glenn Gould, Le Dernier Puritain (Tome I); tradução de Bruno Monsaingeon.
Peter Orlovsky, Jack Kerouac e William Burroughs em Tânger, em 1957. Fotografia de Allen Ginsberg.
«[...] eliminado el enemigo y su manera móvil y nómada de existencia, se requería, en el marco de este proyecto civilizador agroexportador [...], cercar las nuevas extensiones vacías de tierra, y así convertirlas en propiedades privadas y en recursos útiles. Esta necesidad fue contemporánea a la invención en el Oeste norteamericano del alambre de púas. La enorme extensión ganada a los indios explica que, a fines del siglo XIX, Argentina se volviera el mayor importador del mundo de alambre de púas. Entre 1878 y 1904 compró la increíble suma de 1.800 millones de kilos, cantidad que hubiera alcanzado, calcula Noel Sbarra en su Historia del alambrado en Argentina, para alambrar 140 veces todo el perímetro del país y 47 veces la circunferencia del planeta Tierra. Es notable que, al mismo tiempo que la literatura creaba la figura del gaucho y exaltaba su cabalgar indefinido por la llanura (la ida y la vuelta del Martín Fierro son, respectivamente, de 1872 y 1879), el alambre de púas terminara para siempre con esta forma de vida. En Las víboras, obra de teatro ya de 1916 del dramaturgo Rodolfo González Pacheco, un gaucho se lamenta: ¡Qué curioso! Un alambre, un hilo ¡un hilo! Ha bastado un hilo de alambre para matar el lirismo de esta tierra ¿No le parece a usted, Padre, que ahora el gaucho tiene la tristeza de un bicho enjaulado?»
— Michel Nieva, Tecnología y Barbarie.
SO I SANG ALONG
«This desire to conform sits deep in the psyche. [...] A journalist named Charlotte Beradt wrote down the dreams of her friends and neighbors in Berlin as the Nazis consolidated power [...]. But the most telling of the dreams in her collection are those that express not so much the pressures of the new, oppressive reality as the comfort that could come from bending to it. These were fantasies of conformity. A business school student dreams she’s on a train where a group of passengers are singing political songs. Annoyed, she keeps moving seats. But then she has a thought: “Maybe if you’re singing along it isn’t so silly, so I sang along.” An older man dreams he is at the movies when Hermann Göring, Hitler’s second-in-command, shows up wearing a brown leather vest and firing arrows from a crossbow. At first, the man laughs at the ridiculous get-up. But then he looks down and sees he’s wearing the same outfit. A housewife dreams that she is kicked out of her friend’s home for criticizing people who perform the Hitler salute. When she boards a bus to leave, she faces the silently staring passengers, extends her arm, and says, “Heil Hitler!” One of Beradt’s subjects offered just a single sentence: “I dreamed I said: ‘I don’t have to always say No anymore.’ ” These people are not Nazi supporters. Even in their sleep they start off mocking the salutes, the songs, the uniforms, all of it. But a deeper wish reveals itself, to be released from responsibility. Analyzing these dreams led Beradt to one, unsettling conclusion: “Freedom is a burden, unfreedom comes as a relief.”»
— Gal Beckerman, How to Be a Dissident.
«He asks your attention. That is all any composer should do, ask your attention. You may not like what he does, but it is you who do not like it: it is not for your entertainment. That's the fun in it. "Composing's one thing, performing's another, listening's a third. What can they have to do with one another?" The book is dedicated "To Whom It May Concern". That leaves you out or in.»
— De uma recensão de Peter Yates a Silence, de John Cage.
«[...] Lately I spend most of my time up on the roof. When I wake up I take my coffee there while I smoke and talk to friends on the phone, and throughout the day, after every attack, I go back up to see where the missiles hit. Neighbors have also started showing up on the rooftops nearby, and now I have developed "rooftop relations" with them, these people whom I rarely met during the many years I have lived in this neighborhood. Now I know that the man living to our right has a brother who works at a factory in a particular province, and every time we hear news from that region our hearts sink. Now we all know that the tall, quiet old man on our block—who can look at the flames rising from oil refineries and depots and immediately recognize which materials are burning—used to work on oil rigs in the Persian Gulf forty years ago, during the Iran-Iraq War. Today, on the ninth day of the war, the rooftop is not as busy as it used to be. Most of the neighbors have either left the city or lost interest in coming up to check things out, or perhaps they are hiding in their apartments out of fear. But the auburn-haired young woman a few buildings away still shows up on the rooftop whenever a missile falls, wearing an orange hoodie, holding a coffee cup and a cigarette that looks slim and long from this distance, asking me where it hit. I try to guess the location of every explosion, calculating its distance and position relative to one identifiable high-rise or another, the lights of the highways, the city billboards, and public or government buildings. With every explosion in every neighborhood, I wonder: Is the smoke coming from the Sattar Khan area? Oh yes, T. lives there. I call T. and ask after him, N., and their old cat. When they hit the Shahran oil depot I call D. to make sure the flames have not reached their house. When Enghelab Street is hit I call an old artisan who keeps a workshop near there, because I fear those dilapidated buildings will not hold up against the force of the explosions. When B-2s drop heavy bombs on the military base downtown, I call the old poet who lives close by, a man so skinny and fragile that even his frail penciled handwriting seems to be disappearing from the page with every moment. It is the same whenever news arrives from any other corner of Iran. When they hit Shiraz, close to Hafez’s Mausoleum, I call the family friend who is lucky enough to live near the beautiful gardens of the tomb of our beloved poet. In the port of Bushehr many have already left town, so expansive have the attacks become, except for one friend who loves the city with all his heart, who wanders the streets in the morning and recounts to me what he has seen when I call at night. On the fourth night of the war the largest explosions to date erupted there. That night he told me about going out to check on the city after the bombardments and seeing a lonely man in the airport square, carrying to his car only a backpack and a Nowruz water bowl with a goldfish swimming inside. [...]»
— From the Rooftops of Tehran (na New York Review of Books).
Fotografia de Molly Matalon.
«[...] the maxim attributed to Napoleon Bonaparte, supposedly uttered as his foes were abandoning high ground in Austerlitz: "Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake".»
— De um artigo da Economist.
BESIDE THE DEAD MAN
«[...] until the November day in 1922 when he was admitted to Proust's bedroom to see his corpse. In his account of that visit he included a now famous mention of the manuscript of À la Recherche du Temps Perdu, which he saw piled up on the mantelpiece beside the dead man: "That pile of paper on his left was still alive, like watches ticking on the wrists of dead soldiers".»
— Francis Steegmuller, Cocteau.
TRÊS AFORISMOS DE JAMES RICHARDSON
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ You have two kinds of secrets. The ones only you know. The ones only you don't. Don't touch, don't stare. But no one minds how hard you listen. It is the empty seats that listen most raptly. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
— The Literary Review, Verão de 2010.