Miranda July reads Janet Frame

(Source: sylfki / The New Yorker)

@3 months ago with 2 notes

"Capitalism is all the time in crisis, this is precisely why it appears almost indestructible. Crisis is not its obstacle, it’s what pushes it forwards towards permanent self-revolutionizing, permanent extended self-reproduction, always new products. The other side of it (capitalism) is waste."

Great Pacific garbage patch
@3 months ago
#slavoj zizek #capitalism #waste 
@7 months ago

"A man has to construct, invent his freedom. Immigration helps"

Bernard Malamud, the prominent American Jewish novelist of the 20th century. 
@8 months ago
#Malamud #Immigration #Freedom 

Both Sides Now

Bows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way

But now it’s just another show
You leave ‘em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away

I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say “I love you” right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I’ve looked at life that way

Oh but now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed
Well something’s lost but something’s gained
In living every day

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From WIN and LOSE and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all

        Joni Mitchell

@1 year ago with 6 notes
#joni mitchell #both sides now 

I cannot quite articulate why I keep coming back to this piece, Gnossienne No. 1 (Lent), by Erik Satie. Describing it as hauntingly beautiful or mysterious would be technically true, I suppose, but it’d also be an utter cliche that doesn’t even begin to describe the worlds to which I am transported the second the first notes start playing.

@3 months ago with 12115 plays
#gnossienne no. 1 #Erik satie 

The sparse electronic composition melds so beautifully with the crisp, pure vocals

@3 months ago
#sylvan esso #coffee 

You’ve seen it all and all you have seen

You can always review on your own little screen

The light and the dark, the big and the small

Just keep in mind - you need no more at all

You’ve seen what you were and know what you’ll be

You’ve seen it all - there is no more to see!

Disillusionment never sounded this crushingly beautiful before. The incomparable Bjork and Thom Yorke from Lars von Trier’s masterpiece: “Dancer in The Dark”

@8 months ago with 5 notes
#dancer in the dark #bjork #thom yorke #Lars von Trier 
RIP Dorothy Parker.

RIP Dorothy Parker.

@8 months ago with 2 notes
#Dorothy parker #beauty #shallowness 

THE AFTERLIFE - Billy Collins

While you are preparing for sleep, brushing your teeth,

or riffling through a magazine in bed,

the dead of the day are setting out on their journey.

They’re moving off in all imaginable directions,

each according to his own private belief,

and this is the secret that silent Lazarus would not reveal:

that everyone is right, as it turns out.

you go to the place you always thought you would go,

The place you kept lit in an alcove in your head.

Some are being shot into a funnel of flashing colors

into a zone of light, white as a January sun.

Others are standing naked before a forbidding judge who sits

with a golden ladder on one side, a coal chute on the other.

Some have already joined the celestial choir

and are singing as if they have been doing this forever,

while the less inventive find themselves stuck

in a big air conditioned room full of food and chorus girls.

Some are approaching the apartment of the female God,

a woman in her forties with short wiry hair

and glasses hanging from her neck by a string.

With one eye she regards the dead through a hole in her door.

There are those who are squeezing into the bodies

of animals—eagles and leopards—and one trying on

the skin of a monkey like a tight suit,

ready to begin another life in a more simple key,

while others float off into some benign vagueness,

little units of energy heading for the ultimate elsewhere.

There are even a few classicists being led to an underworld

by a mythological creature with a beard and hooves.

He will bring them to the mouth of the furious cave

guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.

The rest just lie on their backs in their coffins

wishing they could return so they could learn Italian

or see the pyramids, or play some golf in a light rain.

They wish they could wake in the morning like you

and stand at a window examining the winter trees,

every branch traced with the ghost writing of snow.

@1 year ago