macklin celebrini has autism
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
No title available
Color Me Curious
★
gracie abrams
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
YOU ARE THE REASON
art blog(derogatory)
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Show & Tell
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
almost home
The Bowery Presents
Claire Keane
Love Begins
#extradirty
untitled
Cosimo Galluzzi
No title available
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from Philippines
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Jamaica
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from India
seen from Venezuela
seen from United States
seen from Kazakhstan
@richard-baroin
“That’s not some place high on my list of places to be but I can make an exception for good art. I’ll have to stop by when I’m not busy.”
“Do you have more art that you want to show? Perhaps i would see something that one of my buyers is interested to get.”
“You could say that. I work here.”
“Oh really.” he smiled at this revelation from the stranger he just met. “Then i understand why you didn’t want this venue next on the burning list.”
Thank you for all of this, I will keep it all in mind, you’ll see, I won’t disappoint you. Why Bros though? I’m curious. I see you’re not mad anymore either.
“Don’t expect the others be that merciful like i do. It doesn’t need an explanation. Being a bro includes a lifestyle that you be blessed to be living. Why should i be mad, Porter? Should i be mad at you right now? Or are you just a person that i don’t want to waste my breath on to be mad at? You decide or accept the blessing that you got from Aurélie st. Clair to join the French Organization and shut your mouth.”
Guinevere | Elle & Richard
Her hands gently pressed against the door before they slid down it. One lock and then two. With each passing day, she stared at her door and wondered if it would all be enough. Wood could bend and it could break. It could shatter with enough force if one tried hard enough. She had to glance back at Richard rather than to her left or right. “Richard, you can come inside. I don’t limit all my guests to just the entry way when I invite them in.” Her voice was light as she teased him for still standing so close to the door. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him as if that would coax him to take another step. “If this is because I did not greet you by your las-”
Exquisite pain. Had she heard him right? Her feet that had taken her away from him suddenly stopped as if a wall had been placed in front of her path. Her arms hung loosely down her sides and her head was cocked to the side as she turned around to look at him. She wanted to ask what such a statement meant but his words were quicker out of his mouth than her’s. There was sincerity in every word that he spoke made her listen. His pain was one that she knew so well that they were on a first name basis. Le cœur plein, the full heart, that is what she called it. When she cared so deeply for another it would sing as hearts do when they beat in steady and then erratic rhythms that can be heard in one’s inner ear.
He spoke of Ethan in so few words but it was enough to avert her gaze from him. That had the potential to be more than what it was. Everyone saw him as Richard plainly stated but she had seen past it. It was merely a facade, a window dressing really, in her eyes. It was just another thing painted by the perceptions of others from a distance. She had held onto that belief but like so many things in her life there comes a time when she must let go of it. So like the string of a balloon, she let go and watched as it ascended higher and higher towards the sun before the atmosphere made it pop and descend quickly and ungracefully back down to the ground.
Had Richard never seen it? Long before she was entangled with Ethan and only a short time after her arrival in Launceston she had met him and smiled. One of the first genuine smiles she had that were not caused by anything doing with Montmartre. He was charming and kind. He was French and described his art in such a manner that she would swear that what he created was ripped from her memory. She found him easy to converse with and even easier to smile at. He was that much-needed rainstorm that made your toes curl and smell the air like it is the first time you have ever been in the rain. He was all of these things and nothing happened. She was too new, too immersed in her work, and too subtle at that time for him to see it. Richard, it seemed to her, never saw her smile like Leonardo da Vinci saw the Mona Lisa’s.
There was so much to say to him. So many words strung into sentences that had been trapped inside of her head as she listened to him. Every single thing wanted to get out in one long reply but instead, she shook her head. None of her words would top his. None of her gestures would seem right. So, she did what she always did, she smiled and hoped to God that this smile, this one that was just as genuine as the first smile she ever gave to him would be enough for him to see. Her smile could be as bright as the sun but she still spoke the only words that mattered.
“Ne pas obtenir plus de moi..” Don’t get over me. “Pas pour tout instant de chaque jour,” Not for any single moment of every single day. “Je te veuxaussi.” I want you too.
He took one step closer towards her direction as it felt like the biggest step he ever made. He could hear those words lingering towards him like they put a spell on him. Ne pas obtenir plus de moi. He took one step closer. Je te veux aussi. The words were gentle to him. The sound of nightingale could describe the sweet, gentle, melodic feeling he got for the woman that enchanted with her body and soul. He took one step closer as he stood face to face to her. He craved for the gentle, intimacy and soft kiss. He stared in those blue ocean eyes, as he cupped his hands around her cheeks and gazed into her eyes. Resting his forehead against Elle’s, he planted a soft but passionated kiss on those red lips. When Richard touched Elle. At first it felt like fireworks, but the kiss was more than passionate and satisfying. It was a kiss he longed for, he knew he couldn’t have, a kiss that would bring to severe heights of emotions. Most of all the kiss gave him the calmness and gentleness he needed. He knew this felt right. The cold numbness and loneliness that he always treasured as a good company in the good and bad times. Left. It felt so good.
This kiss was different than others. It never felt like those rendez-vous he shared with many women that wanted a French bro around her arms or the one that he would strip down from his Vixen Bingo. As he would scream at Oliver, Laurent and Gustave that he conquered another one. They would laugh together and continue with what they are doing. This is something else. This was special for the man that easily couldn’t open his heart after Camille. Now he was ready. He closed his eyes, a took small breath. His face inches from hers. “Toi et moi. Nous allons comprendre cela.” You and me we will figure this out. He nodded to confirm his own answer. “ Nous apprécions ces moments ensemble. Je veux vous assurer que nous pouvons passer du temps ensemble. Elle, nous trouverons le bon moment pour dire Laurent. Nous avons tous deux soin beaucoup sur lui. Je veux qu'il revienne, parce qu'il est mon frère. Il est important pour lui. Très important.” he once nodded again, as he kissed those soft lips again that everything will be fine.
“Deuxièmement je ne fais pas ce que nous avions auparavant à changer. La facilité et la compréhension , nous avons eu pour l'autre. Voilà une des raisons pour lesquelles je suis tombé pour vous. Comprenez vous?” Mon Dieu. He loved the easiness in their way they talked and shared the interest they have together.
The events were astounding, inspiring, unbelievably dramatic, and sometimes fascinatingly horrific. So much happened in so short a time that the great writer Chateaubriand later claimed that many centuries had crammed themselves into a quarter century. The personalities were no less absorbing: the tortured, repressed Maximilien Robespierre; the flamboyant, careless, but ultimately heroic Georges Danton; the fanatically determined Jean-Paul Marat.
Bastille Day, July 14th, celebrates the storming of the royal fortress that indicated the beginning of the French Revolution. David A. Bell’s Shadows of Revolution reflects on the French Revolution and how it continues to affect France and the rest of the world.
Image Credit: : “Prise de la Bastille, by Houel, 1789” by Jean-Pierre Houël. Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France. Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.
Written on white stationary in cursive (1st ed.)
Le rire, c’est le soleil; il chasse l’hiver du visage humain.
Bon anniversaire, Richard.
x Elle
July 4th
Joyeux anniversaire, Richard.
Nous espérons que vous aimez ce que nous avons en magasin pour vous plus tard . Je sais que cette année les anniversaires seront un peu moins sur l'attente ; nous avons perdu certaines personnes le long du chemin , Camille et maintenant nous manque Laurent . Je ne sais pas comment faire mieux à côté de faire ce qu'ils voudraient , et qu'ils voudraient vous faire la fête .
Pour de nombreuses années avec vous .
Oliver P.
I’m not a fucking mind reader Richard. If someone was willing to let me know all those stuff, I would have known them. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know. Write me a list of rules and I’ll learn that like the lyrics of my favorite song. I will speak French when I’ve learned how to speak French. I’ve literally no knowledge of any French word expect for bonjour. Thank you, also happy late birthday.
You don’t even have to be a mind reader or a fucking genie, Dean. If you are smart enough you would understand that you are used to at your previous employer and your current employer. No, i am not trying to lecture you, but a good advice to earn the respect of the Bro’s is needed. We speak French, so started learning. Next we worship Vixen like it’s a church that we pray to God. Second you get a golden ticket pay check, dress and live like it.
Merci, i appreciate it.
Guinevere | Elle & Richard
There is a child that sleeps more soundly than you do. She stares up at the world with her big blue eyes and sucks on her lower lip. Her legs are strong as the hold her up while you hold her back in case she falls. You are always there for her that when you are not with her you feel it. It is a holiness you never knew could exist. She fills up every fiber of your being and has made you know that love is always there. It is her clenched fists when she holds onto your hair a little too tight or in her eyes as she stares at the bracelets on your wrist that jangle whenever your hand shakes for her amusement.
Her name is a lullaby that is hummed when you rock her gently to sleep. You could almost forget about your troubles if you stared at her long enough. Maybe you could forget about yourself, your life, and your choices. Would it not be easier to forget? There are individuals who ask if you could start over, would you? Your mother, your father, and even your sisters ask if you would take back anything that got you here. That gave you Isabel. For once in your life you are certain. You would never change a thing in your past because it was your past that gave you your present. Without Elle’s missteps, she would have never left France. Okay, one day she would have left France to build her business but that one day was just a one day in the future, not the next day.
Elle would never have made it to this city where there was more than meets the eye. She would have never been tied to the French but sometimes ties can turn to bonds that may lead to a friendship. From day one she had a purpose, a driving force, that never made her stop. It was always to fix things. Fix him. Take back a mess instead of accepting that messes happen and mistakes that can be made. She had wanted so badly to right a wrong for so long that she would have almost broken into two if she had not stopped to assess her life. Had not stopped putting others before herself. She was not the same young woman she was eight years ago nor was she the same woman she was a year ago, hell, even a month ago. She grew and she changed. Like so many things in her life she adapted and moved on.
She whispered ma chérie to the child so pure and unaffected by the world around her. Her red lips left a mark on her daughter’s closed fist as she pulled away. She could leave that mark there if she wished. She could continue to back up quietly and let the stars, the moon, and the sun that dangled over daughter’s crib see the love that she had for Isabel, but those things already knew of her love. Love no longer in her eyes had to be a permanent mark. Her home was peaceful Clair de Lune played softly in the background as she stood in her kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.
All of it could have been a dream if it was not for the bell that pulled her away and to her front door. Her face lit up when she saw him. Her lips upturned into a smile, the only thing she could do before he spoke. “Of course, Richard,” she said his given name instead of his last as she allowed him into her home. It was always harder for her to follow the set ways that he once spoke of.
He walked into her house. Her house smelt like the familiar perfume that Elle always wears. Especially for a French woman, their perfume is a part of their identity. His mother constantly would quote the famous Christian Dior, while the young Richard Baroin listened at every word she said. “A woman’s perfume tells more about her than her handwriting.” He politely smiled as he tried to hide his nerves to say something that would effect everything for him. Mon Dieu, he needed a cigarette right now. His brain was over exploding about the scenario’s that can happen if he tells the truth.
He stood there, as he stared the woman with those blue ocean eyes, those eyes that could drift him away. It remind him of the different blue patterns of the Mediterranean sea back in France. His hometown Nice, where the sea gave him the calmness and rest as the sunset collided with the darkness of the night. He waited, as he tried to find to the right words to speak the exact feelings he felt. “La douleur exquise.” The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have. He tried to make sense to her out of it. It felt a relief to throw the feeling that he longed for so long, but was in the conflict between friendship and love. The tragedy that a painter could use as inspiration for his painting, a writer could use for his book, a poet could use for his poem and Richard could only be conflicted about.
“I tried to deny those feelings that i am feeling for you, Elle. But i can’t.” he continued to speak in French, with his mother tongue he could better express himself more than anything. English was the language that he learned when he arrived in Launceston, to adapt and to get used to everything. “I want you.” he admitted as he tried to stay distanced from her, so he could exactly say what he wanted to say to her. “I have seen you fall for such an asshole. I let you slip away, because i was a foolish coward to let him have you.” Ethan fucking Hathaway, the biggest douchbag almost got her. He didn’t want to be that guy, that didn’t treasure what he exactly had and screw it up like he did. Elle made feel like he wants to be a greater person, set high goals in his life to succeed so he could be worthy of the woman in front of him.
“I don’t expect anything from you, Elle. I don’t expect you to feel like i feel about you, but if you do. Let’s enjoy every single moment together. If you don’t give me some time to get over you.” he gently smiled as this was his way of reassuring to her that which feeling she felt he would accept it no matter. Richard Baroin surrendered to the woman that makes him feel alive again.
@Richard
Adrienne: Joyeux anniversaire Baroin
Adrienne: Pass by the Estate I have a thing for you.
Adrienne: Quick before the smell attracts wolves.
Richard: Thank you, madame.
Richard: Now i'm intrigued. I will stop by after i stopped the art gallery.
“Ah, well, that is very lucky. Where is it you work?”
“I don’t work for somebody. I have my own business, own two art galleries in Anderson Island.”
French Text
Oliver: Dean Porter jumped Russian ship. Our boss invited him over. Feel free to introduce yourselves again.
Richard: I hope he speaks some decent French for his own sake.
Buddy, I love you and all, but I have yet to start my French classes, and English is still a thing around here, so if you would be so kind, please be understanding and talk in a language I can actually understand, thank you. It’s good to see you too, though.
“Buddy? Comment? First of all, we use the word ‘bro’. Second of all if you are fully committed to the French Organization, you will speak French. No expectations.” he answered back with a serious tone in his voice. The ‘newcomer’ needs to understand the rules. “Welcome.”
“You sound like a artist yourself. Do you paint? Draw perhaps?”
“Yes, i am lucky guy when it comes to combining my job and passion together. I deal and make art.”
French
If looks could kill.
“Quelqu'un a été perdu.” He pronounced while he took a drag from his cigarette as he smiled at the unfamiliar stranger in their French venue.
Garrett Hedlund for Flaunt Magazine
Guinevere | Elle & Richard
@penelopedusautoir
He paints you the color blue, red, perhaps the color yellow would suit you. The color that reflects the brightness of your soul. He dips his brush in your own soul, and paints your own nature into his art. Once upon a time he hated the loneliness. Art was his refuge. He could crawl back into his space between the colors of art and turn his back on loneliness. He dreamed of a world far removed from his own, maybe a world of different levels, each level you could hide away and seek for another adventure. A world without a care, he could fly away, forget everything and just live. Sometimes he would seek a little help from his friends that would drift him away to that perfect world that he liked to seek comfort to.
He has been times that he would spend his days in different clubs in Anderson Island. The music that would buzz through his ears that he wanted to swat away like annoying insect. The sound didn’t full propose, but only kept the many women lingering at the French crew seeking for their attention. He rather prefers the classics songs from Jacques Brel, Charles Aznavour, Edit Piaf or Jean-Jacques Goldman. They would splash the cash, buy the most expensive bottle and sniffed the white lines of pure Columbian cocaine.
It is what the young French men from the cities of France look for as they would join the glorious French Organization seek that lifestyle they are dreaming of. They would hear the many stories of people seeking that idealistic American dream of living the lifestyle of gods and angels. But every beautiful story doesn’t tell the heavy price of seeing your friend getting a bullet through his forehead. Where are the stories of the mighty beautiful friendships that you formed? Where is that story that your best friend begged you not jump from that apartment complex as you thought that you lived the lifestyle of an angel and could fly like them as well? Where is that story that your mighty soul and mind conquered your lowest of the low of depression? Where is that story that you are head over heels for one of your best friend’s ex?
Conflicted. Confused as he denied those irresistible feelings towards that person that infatuated him, his soul and heart. Feeling his heartbeat under his chest as he stood there in front of the door of the woman reanimated and brought him back to life. His world spun as his blue eyes met hers. His heart trembled through his whole body as he came to that point to tell what he felt. He recognized the color of the finest red wine of her lipstick, the hazel color of her hair and the ivory of her skin and that exact heartbeat didn’t came short how he felt at this exact moment. “I need to talk to you.” where the first words that he proclaimed to her.
