This is the last day I'm going to use words

Well alright, no stars tonight

2011-09-10T22:49:00.002+02:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOnS9uKESBk

There is a prediction that I now will make
And I’m sure it will be right:
When the next millennium finally comes
The god most worshiped in this world
Will be the god of appetite

2010-11-24T21:04:00.003+01:00

"I hate the truth. In fact, I hate the truth so much, I'd prefer a giant dose of bullshit every day."

Hell Yes

2010-07-03T18:17:00.000+02:00

Pomegranate

2010-04-28T08:12:00.003+02:00

Philippe Petit

2010-04-11T18:17:00.002+02:00

"I started as a self-taught wire walker to dream of, not so much conquering the universe, but as a poet, conquering beautiful stages"

Susan

2010-03-21T22:04:00.009+01:00

Paris, Dec 31, 1958
"Nothing prevents me from being a writer except laziness. A good writer.
Why is writing important? Mainly, out of egotism, I suppose. Because I want to be that persona, a writer, and not because there is something I must say. Yet why not that too? With a little ego-building — I shall win through to the confidence that I (I) have something to say, that should be said."

New York City, Nov 19, 1959
"I lust to write. The coming of the orgasm is not the salvation but, more, the birth of my ego. I cannot write until I find my ego. The only kind of writer I could be is the kind who exposes himself.. . .To write is to spend oneself, to gamble oneself. But up to now I have not even liked the sound of my own name. To write, I must love my name. The writer is in love with himself. . .and makes his books out of that meeting and that violence."

New York City, Mar 12, 1961
"The writer must be four people:

1) the nut, the obsédé

2) the moron

3) the stylist

4) the critic

1) supplies the material

2) lets it come out

3) is taste

4) is intelligence

a great writer has all 4 — but you can still be

a good writer with only 1) and 2); they’re most important."

New York City, Aug 8, 1960
"It hurts then to love. It’s like giving yourself
to be flayed and knowing that at any moment the other person may just walk off with your skin."

- New York Times archives

2010-03-15T20:18:00.003+01:00

I am much too alone in this world,

yet not alone enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world,

yet not small enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Dream of Life

2010-01-03T16:46:00.003+01:00

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep -

He hath awakened from the dream of life -

'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep

With phantoms an unfrofitable strife,

And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife

Invulnerable nothings. - We decay

Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief

Convulse us and consume us day by day,

And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

Jean Cocteau

2009-12-18T15:00:00.002+01:00

"Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live"

Mary Wigman

2009-11-24T16:27:00.002+01:00

An innovator of expressionist dance and a pioneer in modern dance in Germany

The Witch Dance

Bacon

2009-11-20T07:55:00.003+01:00

"Ham, pigs, tongues, sides of beef seen in the butcher's window, all that death, I find it very beautiful. And it's all for sale - how unbelievably surrealistic!"

art must be beautiful artist must be beautiful

2009-11-13T12:26:00.004+01:00

Marina Abramovic

I love you

2009-10-13T22:19:00.002+02:00

Butoh

2009-10-11T11:41:00.004+02:00

2009-09-21T20:37:00.002+02:00

Philip Glass: Symphony No. 5: Requiem, Bardo, Nirmanakaya -sleeve

Notes to the future

2009-09-20T20:26:00.006+02:00

Listen my children and you shall hear the sound of your own steps, the sound of your hereafter.
Memory awaits and turns to greet you, draping its banner across your wrists.
Wake up arms, delicate feet, for as one to march the streets, each alone, each part of another,
your steps shall ring shall raise the cloud and they that will hear, will hear, will hear, voice of the one and the one and the one, as it has never been uttered before. For something greater yet to come, then the hour of the prophets and their great cities, for the people of Ninevah fell to their knees heeding the cry of Jonah, united, covering themselves in sackcloth and ashes and called to their god, and all their hearts were as one heart and all their voices were as one voice.
God heard them and his mind was moved, yet something greater will come to pass, and who will call? and what will they call? will they call to God? the air? the fowl? it will not matter, if the call is true, they shall call and this is known, one voice and each another shall enter the dead, the living flower, enter forms that we know not, to be felt by sea by air by earth and this shall be an elemental pledge, this is our birthright, this is our charge and we have given over to others and they have not done well, and the forests mourn, the leaves fall, swaddling babes watch and wonder as the fathers of our spirit nations dance in the street in celebration as the mountains turn pale from their nuclear hand and they have not done well.
Now my children, you must overturn the tables, deliver the future from material rule, for only one rule should be considered: the eleventh commandment, to love one another, and this is our covenant across your wrist, this offering is yours to adorn, adore, to bury, to burn upon a mound, to hail, to set away, it is merely a cloth, merely our colors, invested with the blood of the people, all their hopes and dreams, our flag, it has its excellence, yet it is nothing, it shall not be a tyranny above us, nor should god nor love nor nature, yet we hold as our pleasure this tender honor, that we acknowledge the individual and the common ground formed and if our cloth be raised and lowered half mast, what does it tell us? that an individual has passed, is saluted and mourned by his countrymen. This ritual extends to us all for we are all the individual. No unknown, no insignificant one nor insignificant labor nor insignificant act of charity, each has a story to be told and retold which shall be a glowing thread in the fabric of Man, and the children shall march and bring the colors forward, investing within them the redeeming blood of their revolutionary hearts.

-Patti Smith

Grey Gardens

2009-09-12T20:35:00.003+02:00

Edith "Big Edie" Ewing Bouvier Beale and her daughter Edith "Little Edie" Bouvier Beale were the aunt and first cousin of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis. The two women lived together at Grey Gardens for decades with limited funds, resulting in squalor and almost total isolation.

In the fall of 1971 and throughout 1972, their living conditions (their house was flea-infested, inhabited by innumerable cats and raccoons, lacked running water, and was full of garbage and decay) were exposed as the result of an article in the National Enquirer and a cover story in New York Magazine after a series of inspections (which the Beales called "raids") by the Suffolk County Health Department.

Albert and David Maysles became interested in their story and received permission to film a documentary about the women, which was released in 1976 to wide critical acclaim.

- Wikipedia

I'll pass through the deserts and wastelands once more

2009-09-04T12:37:00.006+02:00

Holder of the Heel

An orient prince sleeps, dreams burning cities

A choir lets out a hymnful cry as he walks the streets in the western night, a jewel in his forehead

I walk home and dream the warm desert that is him

August Sander

2009-09-02T15:35:00.004+02:00

art/rat

2009-08-23T16:35:00.004+02:00

the sound track: 14 movements/ a riot of radios
the hero: the runner
heroine: the artist. the premier mistress writhing in a garden graced w/ highly polished blades of grass... release (ethiopium) is the drug... an animal howl says it all... notes pour into the caste of freedom... the freedom to be intense... to defy social order and break the slow kill monotony of censorship... to break from the long bonds of servitude - ruthless adoration of the celestial shepherd. let us celebrate our own flesh - to embrace not ones race mais the marathon - to never let go of this fiery sadness called desire.

all honor goes to the runner who would still seek glory in the heart of failure.
all honor goes to the guardian of ritual as he caresses the land with the entrails of language:
witness the birth of eve - she is rising she was sleeping she is fading in a naked field sweating the precious blood of nodding blooms... in the eye of the arena she bends in half in service - the anarchy that exudes from the pours of her guitar are the cries of the people wailing in the rushes... a riot of ray/dios...

ahhh let us go our seperate ways together... let us gather on the summit of a cool volcano... plunge into the infinite pit in a jet spitting an ec-static dialogue of sound until the attar of our being permeates the red field... blood, tongue and new noise - a sonic dart - from deep in the heart of...

- Patti Smith

Our Lady of Sorrows

2009-08-23T10:41:00.001+02:00

Koyaanisqatsi (Life Out of Balance)

2009-08-01T11:46:00.003+02:00

Dead Man

2009-07-21T13:11:00.008+02:00

"If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thru' narrow chinks of his cavern."

Patti Smith by Robert Mapplethorpe

2009-07-13T16:38:00.005+02:00

Louis Wain (1860-1939)

2009-07-12T20:44:00.007+02:00

"Louis Wain was an English artist best known for his drawings, which consistently featured anthropomorphised large-eyed cats and kittens. In his later years he suffered from schizophrenia, which, according to some psychologists, can be seen in his works."
-Wikipedia

"He invented a cat style, a cat society, a whole cat world. English cats that do not look like Louis Wain cats are ashamed of themselves."
-H.G.Wells

Anger

2009-02-03T19:05:00.001+01:00

Bobby & John

2009-01-23T19:29:00.012+01:00

Dylan: Oh God, I don't wanna get sick here. (Head in hands) What if I vomit into the camera? I've done just about everything else into that camera, man, I might just vomit into it.
Pennebaker: It'd make a nice ending, wouldn't it? Cooking With Dylan we'll call it.

Lennon: Do you suffer from sore eyes, groovy forehead, or curly hair? Take Zimdon!
Dylan: Aw, no, man.
Lennon: Come, come, boy, it's only a film. Come, come, pull yourself together. Another few dollars, eh? That'll get your head up. Come on, come on, money, money!

from Bob Dylans' Eat the Document

Welcome Change

2009-01-20T20:55:00.001+01:00

O

2009-01-15T14:26:00.007+01:00

Jack

2009-01-13T18:17:00.003+01:00

“...and everything is going to the beat - It's the beat generation, it's be-at, it's the beat to keep, it's the beat of the heart, it's being beat and down in the world and like oldtime lowdown and like
in ancient civilizations the slave boatmen rowing galleys to a beat and servants spinning pottery
to a beat...”

RIGA

2008-10-18T11:46:00.003+02:00

Your Meat is Sweet

2008-10-16T18:20:00.002+02:00

Fire

2008-09-06T09:51:00.005+02:00

Mary Woronov

2008-08-06T13:37:00.002+02:00

"I let her huddle near me, but when she tried to clutch my hand I had to recoil. I hated being touched by anything in the human skin package."

G

2008-07-12T17:25:00.001+02:00