this almost becomes that

Hello. My name is Brian...At this moment (as you read this), I'm probably somewhere in the world wondering/wandering...reading a book

[euliss]

From “Jack Whitten: Notes from the Woodshed” (Image courtesy The Estate of Jack Whitten and Hauser & Wirth Publishers)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

WILDNESS Tomas Tranströmer

[lovestereo]

Visit Original Link

[lumpy-pudding]

Letter from Guy Davenport to Marjorie Perloff, author of Wittgenstein’s Ladder

[jowcol]

Visit Original Link

gratitude // don pullen // plays monk

[terminusantequem]

Howard Hodgkin (British, 1932-2017), Writing, 1991-93. Oil on wood, 115.6 x 138.4cm

[jerilene]

Visit Original Link

Kick Out Of You || Dwele

[underthechinaberrytree]

To say that we become different people, that we "remake" ourselves as we read more, talk more, and write more, is simply a dramatic way of saying that the sentences which become true of us by virtue of such activities are often more important to us than the sentences which become true of us when we drink more, earn more, and so on. The events which make us able to say new and interesting things about ourselves are, in this nonmetaphysical sense, more "essential" to us (at least to us relatively leisured intellectuals, inhabiting a stable and prosperous part of the world) than the events which change our shapes or our standards of living ("remaking" us in less "spiritual" ways).

-- Richard Rorty, from Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1979)

[through-my-memoirs]

Visit Original Link

Audra McDonald and Brandon Victor Dixon sing You’re Lucky To Me from Shuffle Along, or the Making of the Musical Sensation of 1921 and All That Followed [Broadway, April 2016]

[xaymacans]

Léon G. Damas (1994), Dir Sarah Maldoror

Leon G. Damas (1912–1978) was the first poet to “live Négritude”, according to the Senegalese poet, politician and cultural theorist Léopold Sédar Senghor. Cosmopolitan and always in transit, his writing is a chorus of melodies and imagery imbued with angst and melancholy and strongly influenced by jazz and blues. Punctuated by images of the landscapes of Guyana and the voice of the artist, the film exemplifies the poetic documentary form to which Maldoror frequently returned.

[booksandbuttonups]

Visit Original Link

I’d Do It All Again-Corinne Bailey Rae

[caille]

“Louvre, Paris, 1987”

Copyright Barbara Klemm

[muhammadgiovanni]

Visit Original Link

Nina Simone “Who Knows Where The Time Goes” October 25, 1969.

[underthechinaberrytree]

"To My Wife" by Jaroslaw Iwaszkiewicz, translated by Czeslaw Milosz

Found in The History of Polish Literature by Czeslaw Milosz (1969, 1983).

[jareckiworld]

Reiji Hiramatsu — Spring Wind on the Way to Mount Fuji [traditional nihonga technique, 1997]

[theherocomplex]

Visit Original Link

[underthechinaberrytree]

i12bent:

Fairport Convention: Autopsy (Sandy Denny) - from the album Unhalfbricking, 1969

(via theherocomplex)

[lumpy-pudding]

Salt by Eugenio Montale (translated by Jamie McKendrick) We don’t know if tomorrow has green pastures in mind for us to lie down in beside the ever-youthful patter of fresh water or if it means to plant us in some arid outback ugly valley of the shadow where dayspring’s lost for good, interred beneath a lifetime of mistakes. We’ll maybe wake up in foreign cities where the sun’s a ghost, a figment of itself and angular starched consonants braid the tongue at its root so all sense of who we are is lost to words, and nothing that we know can be unravelled. Even then, some vestige of the sea, its plosive tide, its fretwork crests will surge inside our syllables, bronze like the chant of bees. However far we’ve stumbled from the source a trace of the sea’s voice will lodge in us as the sunlight somehow still abides in faded tufts that cling to bricks and kerbstones on half-cleared slums or bomb-sites left unbuilt. Then out of nowhere after years of silence the words we used, our unobstructed accents, will well up from the dark of childhood, and once more on our lips we’ll taste Greek salt.