Notting Hill, West London, summer of 2012
Corporal Edward Burckhardt, of Yonkers, New York, holding a kitten that he found at the base of Suribachi Yama on the battlefield at Iwo Jima when he came ashore with the 5th Marine Division, 1945.
“You know, how a kiss dissolves to nothing.”
— Kim Bridgford, from “Before Jumping off the Bridge”. (via the-final-sentence)
(via the-final-sentence)
In the early eighties, the Brooklyn-born photographer Marc Asnin started taking photographs of his uncle and godfather, Charles Henschke, for an art-school assignment. Now complete in the form of a book and gallery show, Asnin’s series of gritty, black-and-white photographs offer a intimate look at Charlie’s life and struggles, and also chronicle Asnin’s evolving perceptions over three decades, from his boyhood admiration of a man he viewed as his street-savvy, gun-wielding uncle to the reality of an aging man man tormented by mental illness, drug addiction, and strained relationships. Click-through for a slideshow: http://nyr.kr/Uqh7Xk
W. W. Norton: Bill's Hangover
First thing in the morning first things: first light,
first sober notes of pigeons and some traffic, first
grays and pinnate shadows, first last blossoms of
ice just visible on glass, the window somehow open:
first voice in the head, clearing its throat, first
growl, first purgatorial pain, first one foot then
the other, debt paid out to debt, the body the money.
But first things first: a quantum taste of ash, a
thickness of the tongue too thick to swallow, first
breath almost warm enough to blur the first accounting
in the mirror: milk and honey of the eyes the wine
back into water, winter scouring of the skin pockmarked
with pimento, dizzy heights of childhood drawing blood,
the dark cardinal weight of the light heart doubled—Stanley Plumly, from Old Heart: Poems
Reader's Bill of Rights
- The right to not read
- The right to skip pages
- The right to not finish
- The right to reread
- The right to read anything
- The right to escapism
- The right to read anywhere
- The right to browse
- The right to read out loud
- The right to not defend your tastes
Poetry
Since the dawn of the century
we’ve argued whether poetry is inward or outward.
At first inward triumphed, then outward
counter-attacked fiercely, and years later
they struck a truce which won’t last long since outward
is armed to the teeth.—from Eugenio Montale’s Poetic Notebook 1974 - 1977
“The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.”
— Carl Sandburg, from “Autumn Movement” (via the-final-sentence)
(via the-final-sentence)
So a few weeks ago I came home from the bar pretty hammered and I decided it would be awesome to play Minecraft and discover what sort of moronic quasi-artistic endeavours I had gotten up to once I had slept all of it off
I promptly forgot I had done this until today when I discovered a new title in the collection of written books I’m slowly but surely amassing
It sounded roughly as stupid as I imagined it would but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious so I went out back and did as instructed
I think I’m gonna stop playing this game for a little while
(Source: confusedtree, via phasmidhugs)
