Keni
untitled
Mike Driver
Show & Tell
blake kathryn
Cosimo Galluzzi
shark vs the universe
Misplaced Lens Cap
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
Xuebing Du
PR's Tumblrdome
Claire Keane
cherry valley forever
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
bliss lane
Game of Thrones Daily
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Today's Document
Doug Jones
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@gavinthomson
ON BATHING YOUR LOVER
Ilya Kaminsky, “While the Child Sleeps Sonya Undresses” / Joni Mitchell, All I Want / John Edmonds, “Men Like Us,” New York Times Style Magazine / u/expensivetill9 on Reddit / Mitski, I Will / Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe / David Hockney, Domestic Scene / Elizabeth Bishop, “The Shampoo” / Homer, The Odyssey
I loathe the thought of annihilating myself quite as much now as I ever did. I think with sadness of all the books I’ve read, all the places I’ve seen, all the knowledge I’ve amassed and that will be no more. All the music, all the paintings, all the culture, so many places: and suddenly nothing. They made no honey, those things, they can provide no one with any nourishment. At the most, if my books are still read, the reader will think: There wasn’t much she didn’t see! But that unique sum of things, the experience that I lived, with all its order and all its randomness – the Opera of Peking, the arena of Huelva, the candomblé in Bahia, the dunes of El-Oued, Wabansia Avenue, the dawns in Provence, Tiryns, Castro talking to five thousand Cubans, a sulphur sky over a sea of clouds, the purple holly, the white nights of Leningrad, the bells of the Liberation, an orange moon over Piraeus, a red sun rising over the desert, Torcello, Rome, all the things I’ve talked about, others I have left unspoken – there is no place where it will all live again.
The last paragraph of Simone de Beauvoir’s ‘Force of Circumstance’. As quoted in Joanna Biggs’ LRB article on Simone. https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v42/n08/joanna-biggs/the-earth-had-need-of-me This para was read at Simone’s funeral. Joanne goes on to say, “From the grave, Beauvoir clinches the argument. Life isn’t supposed to be lived as some kind of example to others; all it is, all it can be, is a crashing together of moments.”
While I let myself into the apartment I thought about Nick entering the room while everybody applauded. This now felt perfect to me, so perfect that I was glad he had missed the performance. Maybe having him witness how much others approved of me, without taking any of the risks necessary to earn Nick's personal approval, made me feel capable of speaking to him again, as if I also was an important person with lots of admirers like he was, as if there was nothing inferior about me. But the acclaim also felt like part of the performance itself, the best part, and the most pure expression of what I was trying to do, which was to make myself into this kind of person: someone worthy of praise, worthy of love.
Billy Crystal's Test Screen for Toy Story
The sea was of lead and the gulf clasped it like the rim of a crucible. A dense churning mass of black clouds was rolling toward us. But in the distance, between sea and clouds, there was a long gash that collided with the violet shadow of Vesuvius, a wound from which a dazzling whiteness dripped. We stood looking at it for a long time, our clothes pasted to us by the wind. I was as if hypnotized by the beauty of Naples; not even from the terrace of the Galianis, years before, had I seen it like this. The defacement of the city provided high-cost observatories of concrete from which to view an extraordinary landscape; Michele had acquired a memorable one.
Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay: Neapolitan Novels, Book 3 of 4. by Elena Ferrante (Author), Ann Goldstein (Translator)
I want to live where the traffic controllers Are ballet dancers, And billboards painted over with colours; Where unkindness is fined In numbers of roses, And nobody feels like taking the commons. Nobody feels like taking the commons.
Great longread on how marriage could affect your health.
It horrifies me to realize how many people feel that it is incumbent on them to have something because their neighbors have it. They make their lives miserable until they get it, and often at the cost of some sacrifice. The worst of this is that, as frequently as not they don't really want what the Joneses wanted; they are different people with different tastes and values. Now and then, people tell me that there is a lot of good in this pressure to live up to the Joneses. It provokes incentive, they say; it is a goad to ambition. But surely this is the wrong reason for ambition unless one wants to be Mr. Jones, which is ridiculous. Your ambition should be to get as much life out of living as you possibly can, as much enjoyment, as much interest, as much experience, as much understanding . Not simply to be what is generally called "a success".
Eleanor Roosevelt. ‘You Learn By Living’.
I found a piece of history
Tiny darling ghost holder Tiny darling ghost holder You our soft spirit breather and You our bark skinned weaver Remember you could weep fire Remember you could weep fire with wild eyes With wild eyes, oh those wild eyes If you ring your cells like bells in a garden that You plant your burdens way deep down in And water them daily from wells of salty Guilt for sons who pollinate the deadly That wild eye, oh that wild eye Papa my pine whistler sparrow-eyed sun misser Papa my pine whistler sparrow-eyed moon blisser Mama my jaw clincher spirit mouthed ghost dancer Mama my vein braider thousand year bone burner Mama my tongue twister thousand pronged antlers Mama my tongue twister thousand pronged antlers Mama my vein braider thousand pronged antlers, antlers And oh her wild eyes, oh her wild eyes So I will ring my cells like bells as you Bind your father's molecules with roots of silver Pierce him cedars with eyes like fingers Picking bloody flowers His wild eyes, oh his wild eyes Papa my pine whistler sparrow-eyed sun misser Papa my pine whistler sparrow-eyed moon blisser Mama my jaw clincher spirit mouthed ghost dancer Mama my vein braider thousand year bone burner Mama my tongue twister thousand pronged antlers Mama my tongue twister thousand pronged antlers Mama my vein braider thousand pronged antlers, antlers And oh her wild eyes, oh her wild eyes Tiny green moss collector Sweet tiny green moss collector Remember you could catch fire Remember you could catch fire with wild eyes With wild eyes, oh with those wild eyes And once the river is rolling lower We'll gather lichen from the boulders We'll keep it dry inside our lockets We'll put this town down into our pockets We'll try... To leave these branch arms behind The swaying hands of pines Their needles tugging at your skin Trying to pull you back deep in their wooden womb Of a hundred hearts hanging suspended, moth-eaten Those muscles the size of your fist All floating around your head Not knowing who they're a loving Not knowing how fast they're a pumping Not knowing how hard they're a beating Not knowing who they're a punching Those muscles the size of your fist All floating around your head And throwing punches like we throw the stones to The bottom of river beds Who knows whose next To watch from under the currents The rapids rapidly raging while rapid While we're rapidly blinking our wild Our wild eyes
I am afraid of getting older. I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day. Spare me relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free… I want, I think, to be omniscient… I think I would like to call myself ‘The girl who wanted to be God.’ Yet if I were not in this body, where would I be—perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But, oh, I cry out against it. I am I—I am powerful—but to what extent? I am I.
Sylvia Plath in her diary, aged 17.
I have lived in the pursuit of a vision, both personal and social. Personal: to care for what is noble, for what is beautiful, for what is gentle; to allow moments of insight to give wisdom at more mundane times. Social: to see in imagination the society that is to be created, where individuals grow freely, and where hate and greed and envy die because there is nothing to nourish them. These things I believe, and the world, for all its horrors, has left me unshaken
Bertrand Russell, Reflections on My Eightieth Birthday
Vintage Everyday tumblr.
When they got out of the carriage at Oreanda they sat down on a bench not far from the church, and looked down at the sea, without talking. Yalta could be dimly discerned through the morning mist, and white clouds rested motionless on the summits of the mountains. Not a leaf stirred, the grasshoppers chirruped, and the monotonous hollow roar of the sea came up to them, speaking of peace, of the eternal sleep lying in wait for us all. The sea had roared like this long before there was any Yalta or Oreanda, it was roaring now, and it would go on roaring, just as indifferently and hollowly, when we had passed away. And it may be that in this continuity, this utter indifference to the life and death of each of us lies hidden the pledge of our eternal salvation, of the continuous movement of life on earth, of the continuous movement toward perfection. Side by side with a young woman, who looked so exquisite in the early light, soothed and enchanted by the sight of all this magical beauty - sea, mountains, clouds and the vast expanse of the sky - Gurov told himself that, when you came to think of it, everything in the world is beautiful really, everything but our own thoughts and actions, when we lose sight of the higher aims of life, and of our dignity as human beings.
The Lady with the Dog, by Anton Chekhov, 1899
lots of links
12 Dozen Places To Educate Yourself Online For Free
Mark Owen reads WH Auden's 'Funeral Blues'.
I love charts. tumblr.
Images from google street view.
150 things you can do to build social capital.
Literary Mothers tumblr - writers on the women writers who inspire them.
Documentaries about JG Ballard.
Radical Glasgow directory.
Gene Sharp's 198 methods of non-violent action.
Beatles infographics.
Free PDF Books on race, gender, sexuality, class, and culture.
'Round Ma Bit: The Gallowgate Twins'. Excellent documentary on social housing in Glasgow.
F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Guide to the Good Life
Please Help Me Beyonce.
'An analysis of the Alinsky model'. Hillary Clinton's undergrad thesis, 1969.
Grammatolatry. A poetry blog
1959 novelty record that inspired Richard Hell's Blank Generation.
Anti-alcohol posters from soviet propaganda era.
'This charming charlie'. Charlie Brown comics with Smiths lyrics.
Some Supposedly Gender Neutral Words that Are Only Ever Used To Describe Women.
Radical Statistics Group. Using statistics to support progressive social change.
African newspapers.
Pixar's rules of storytelling.
Documentaries. Lots of them.
Google search techniques.
This Is Water - David Foster Wallace Commencement Speech
The Beatles Anomalies List.
Fuck Yeah Anarchist Banners.
The Robert Frank Collection
Don Paterson's 'some aphorisms' pdf.
Best German Novels of the Twentieth Century.
Hear Hemingway Read Hemingway, and Faulkner Read Faulkner. A spotify playlist.
Manic Street Preachers t-shirt slogans.
The back catalogue of Obscure Records, Eno's label from late 70s.
The sound of heaven: isolated vocals tracks from The Ronettes’ ‘Baby I Love You’
Longreads
The girl in the window.
The body on Somerton Beach.
The 10 greatest lists in the history of Western civilisation.
Your Friends and Rapists: How dick culture permits the crime.
10 Amazing Women Who Led Rebellions.
Man Making Ireland Tax Avoidance Hub Proves Local Hero.
Jean-Paul Sartre 1961. Preface to Frantz Fanon’s “Wretched of the Earth.
bell hooks, 'Feminism is for Everybody'.
15 great essays by Joan Didion.
'Alms Dealers': Can you provide humanitarian aid without facilitating conflicts?
The Percentages: A Biography of Class.
Black Panther Party Platform, Program, and Rules, from the amazing History is a Weapon site.
Social inequality working papers.
The Killing of Blair Peach.
All of Oxfam's reports and case studies going back to the 1970s.
Nabokov's interview. (06) Wisconsin Studies [1967].
Orwell's proposed Preface to ‘Animal Farm
'Me, myself and I': Loneliness can be a shameful hunger, a shell, a dangerous landscape of shadowy figures. But it is also a gift
13 January. A call from Barry Cryer, who claims to have heard a woman outside Liberty’s saying to her husband: ‘Remind me to tell Austin that there is no main verb in that sentence.’
Alan Bennett's LRB end of year diary, from 1997.
