orange appreciation club @splitt-seams - Tumblr Blog

sobcat

tomorrow I'll do the possible

kurhanchyk

are you okay i noticed you reblogging "a raven with a damaged wing. it can still fly with ease" again

ironmaidenhead

F FOR FAKE (1973) — Dir. Orson Welles

kyotoprotocols

nobrashfestivity

Joan Mitchell, Ode to Joy (A Poem by Frank O’Hara), 1970. Oil on canvas, 110 1/2 x 197 1/4 inches (280.7 x 501 cm). Collection of UB Art Galleries, Buffalo, New York. © Estate of Joan Mitchell.

Frank O'Hara, Ode to Joy

We shall have everything we want and there’ll be no more dying on the pretty plains or in the supper clubs for our symbol we’ll acknowledge vulgar materialistic laughter over an insatiable sexual appetite and the streets will be filled with racing forms and the photographs of murderers and narcissists and movie stars will swell from the walls and books alive in steaming rooms to press against our burning flesh not once but interminably as water flows down hill into the full-lipped basin and the adder dives for the ultimate ostrich egg and the feather cushion preens beneath a reclining monolith that’s sweating with post-exertion visibility and sweetness near the grave of love No more dying

We shall see the grave of love as a lovely sight and temporary near the elm that spells the lovers’ names in roots and there’ll be no more music but the ears in lips and no more wit but tongues in ears and no more drums but ears to thighs as evening signals nudities unknown to ancestors’ imaginations and the imagination itself will stagger like a tired paramour of ivory under the sculptural necessities of lust that never falters like a six-mile runner from Sweden or Liberia covered with gold as lava flows up and over the far-down somnolent city’s abdication and the hermit always wanting to be lone is lone at last and the weight of external heat crushes the heat-hating Puritan whose self-defeating vice becomes a proper sepulcher at last that love may live

Buildings will go up into the dizzy air as love itself goes in and up the reeling life that it has chosen for once or all while in the sky a feeling of intemperate fondness will excite the birds to swoop and veer like flies crawling across absorbed limbs that weep a pearly perspiration on the sheets of brief attention and the hairs dry out that summon anxious declaration of the organs as they rise like buildings to the needs of temporary neighbors pouring hunger through the heart to feed desire in intravenous ways like the ways of gods with humans in the innocent combination of light and flesh or as the legends ride their heroes through the dark to found great cities where all life is possible to maintain as long as time which wants us to remain for cocktails in a bar and after dinner lets us live with it No more dying

dailyrothko

DAILY ROTHKO BONUS: Detail from Mark Rothko, No. 6 (Violet, Green and Red), 1951

This lovely bleed may be pushed a bit orange but is one of the few clear shots we have of this magnificent painting. You often lose details in full scans and here we can see the blue purple modeling and black details on the green.