for my photographs:
http://snatchofthesunrise.tumblr.com/
for general musings:
http://mrsrosecottageseldest.tumblr.com/
http://mrsrosecottageseldest.tumblr.com/
Sunday, April 11, 2010
we together make a limb
i've moved. sort of. to tumblr. i'm sorry first blog, but i like the format better, and it feels much more communal. i may come back and visit sometimes.
for my photographs:
http://snatchofthesunrise.tumblr.com/
for my photographs:
http://snatchofthesunrise.tumblr.com/
Sunday, April 4, 2010
dear prudence
i stumbled upon/like this band:
Girls Names - When You Cry (Ad Hoc Version) from CASS/FLICK on Vimeo.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
if there was one thing that i regret at all, it's not doing more sex and drugs before i was 64
saw black lips for the second time last night. glad to see the bassist still has is grillz. it was fucking mental. got knocked onto the floor of the pit several times and waited like a little turtle to be rescued/stomped to death. i took a picture of all the gross bruises on my legs, but it's better to just take my word for it. the crowd ended up spilling out onto the stage... during the last song, i fell directly on top of a complete stranger, and feeling bold, proceeded to make out with him. he didn't seem to mind. great show
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
well, it happens all the time
How could I have written this absurd, pompous sentence yesterday:
'I was alone, but I walked like a band of soldiers descending on a town.'
I have no need to speak in flowery language. I am writing to understand certain circumstances. I must beware of literature. I must let my pen run on, without searching for words.
What really disgusts me is having been sublime yesterday evening. When I was twenty I used to get drunk and then explain that I was a fellow in the style of Descartes. I knew very well that I was puffing myself up with heroism, but I let myself go, enjoyed it. After that, the next day I felt as disgusted as if I had awoken in a bed full of vomit. I don't vomit when I'm drunk, but it would be better if I did. Yesterday I didn't even have the excuse of drunkenness. I got worked up like a fool. I need to clean myself up with abstract thoughts, as transparent as water.
from Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre
'I was alone, but I walked like a band of soldiers descending on a town.'
I have no need to speak in flowery language. I am writing to understand certain circumstances. I must beware of literature. I must let my pen run on, without searching for words.
What really disgusts me is having been sublime yesterday evening. When I was twenty I used to get drunk and then explain that I was a fellow in the style of Descartes. I knew very well that I was puffing myself up with heroism, but I let myself go, enjoyed it. After that, the next day I felt as disgusted as if I had awoken in a bed full of vomit. I don't vomit when I'm drunk, but it would be better if I did. Yesterday I didn't even have the excuse of drunkenness. I got worked up like a fool. I need to clean myself up with abstract thoughts, as transparent as water.
from Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
people might say that i should strive for more
saw a really cool band for the first time tonight, which has become a lamentably infrequent event for me:
http://www.myspace.com/cloudnothings
and incidentally, while searching for the ubiquitous lyric title for this post, i read the lyrics to The Jam's That's Entertainment, and was struck by their poignance. (it probably doesn't interest the reader to know, but i have recently begun re-invigorating my record collection, and just bought that particular jam album, as well as the cloud nothings album at the show... there's nothing quite like the satisfaction of a new great vinyl.) anyway, on to more important things:
A police car and a screaming siren
A pneumatic drill and ripped up concrete
A baby wailing and stray dog howling
The screech of brakes and lamp light blinking
That's entertainment.
A smash of glass and a rumble of boots
An electric train and a ripped up phone booth
Paint splattered walls and the cry of a tomcat
Lights going out and a kick in the balls
That's entertainment.
Days of speed and slow time Mondays
Pissing down with rain on a boring Wednesday
Watching the news and not eating your tea
A freezing cold flat and damp on the walls
That's entertainment.
Waking up at 6 a.m. on a cool warm morning
Opening the windows and breathing in petrol
An amateur band rehearsing in a nearby yard
Watching the telly and thinking about your holidays
That's entertainment.
Waking up from bad dreams and smoking cigarettes
Cuddling a warm girl and smelling stale perfume
A hot summer's day and sticky black tarmac
Feeding ducks in the park and wishing you were far away
That's entertainment.
Two lovers kissing amongst the scream of midnight
Two lovers missing the tranquility of solitude
Getting a cab and travelling on buses
Reading the graffiti about slashed seat affair
That's entertainment.
http://www.myspace.com/cloudnothings
and incidentally, while searching for the ubiquitous lyric title for this post, i read the lyrics to The Jam's That's Entertainment, and was struck by their poignance. (it probably doesn't interest the reader to know, but i have recently begun re-invigorating my record collection, and just bought that particular jam album, as well as the cloud nothings album at the show... there's nothing quite like the satisfaction of a new great vinyl.) anyway, on to more important things:
A police car and a screaming siren
A pneumatic drill and ripped up concrete
A baby wailing and stray dog howling
The screech of brakes and lamp light blinking
That's entertainment.
A smash of glass and a rumble of boots
An electric train and a ripped up phone booth
Paint splattered walls and the cry of a tomcat
Lights going out and a kick in the balls
That's entertainment.
Days of speed and slow time Mondays
Pissing down with rain on a boring Wednesday
Watching the news and not eating your tea
A freezing cold flat and damp on the walls
That's entertainment.
Waking up at 6 a.m. on a cool warm morning
Opening the windows and breathing in petrol
An amateur band rehearsing in a nearby yard
Watching the telly and thinking about your holidays
That's entertainment.
Waking up from bad dreams and smoking cigarettes
Cuddling a warm girl and smelling stale perfume
A hot summer's day and sticky black tarmac
Feeding ducks in the park and wishing you were far away
That's entertainment.
Two lovers kissing amongst the scream of midnight
Two lovers missing the tranquility of solitude
Getting a cab and travelling on buses
Reading the graffiti about slashed seat affair
That's entertainment.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
for halloween, buy her a trumpet
do you ever have a day that's so good, so wholly satisfying, it becomes inconceivable to do anything besides exactly what you wish to do? needless to say, class was cancelled.
a few credits:
to the rather attractive barista at jet fuel: your passionate duets with ray davies meant infinitely more to me than you will ever know.
to my poor, abandoned bicycle: you are a true and steadfast friend. i promise to return one day soon and release you; at the very least, i will grant you last rites deserving of your loyalty.
to the residents of st. james cemetary: thankyou for letting me tread through your midst with such light-hearted ease. it occurred to me that perhaps to be dead is to possess a sense of acceptance and understanding that in life, we cannot fathom.
to the concerned employee at kodak camera: i apologize for my carelessness in neglecting to properly close the tabs of my exposed film. i now know that this may have been a fatal mistake for my negatives. perhaps it would comfort you to know that the photographs themselves are likely all either poorly composed or exposed; at any rate, i have a tendency to bumble my way through all things, which i can only hope (but often doubt) is more endearing than frustrating to the outside observer.
to the decidedly gritty man who requested to "touch my hair": i chose to smile at you, rather than react with disgust, as you caught me in a rare mood in which i felt an upwelling of love for all things, even the most grotesque.
to mr. salinger: you played no small role in my dream-like wanderings through the city today, and i admit that the current tone of my prose is severely indebted to you. for some time now, i have come to accept that i am much more of a consumer than a creator, and have always had the habit of adopting the mannerisms of those around me, even as a child-- but please rely on the fact that my imitations are a sincere, if deft, form of flattery.
a few credits:
to the rather attractive barista at jet fuel: your passionate duets with ray davies meant infinitely more to me than you will ever know.
to my poor, abandoned bicycle: you are a true and steadfast friend. i promise to return one day soon and release you; at the very least, i will grant you last rites deserving of your loyalty.
to the residents of st. james cemetary: thankyou for letting me tread through your midst with such light-hearted ease. it occurred to me that perhaps to be dead is to possess a sense of acceptance and understanding that in life, we cannot fathom.
to the concerned employee at kodak camera: i apologize for my carelessness in neglecting to properly close the tabs of my exposed film. i now know that this may have been a fatal mistake for my negatives. perhaps it would comfort you to know that the photographs themselves are likely all either poorly composed or exposed; at any rate, i have a tendency to bumble my way through all things, which i can only hope (but often doubt) is more endearing than frustrating to the outside observer.
to the decidedly gritty man who requested to "touch my hair": i chose to smile at you, rather than react with disgust, as you caught me in a rare mood in which i felt an upwelling of love for all things, even the most grotesque.
to mr. salinger: you played no small role in my dream-like wanderings through the city today, and i admit that the current tone of my prose is severely indebted to you. for some time now, i have come to accept that i am much more of a consumer than a creator, and have always had the habit of adopting the mannerisms of those around me, even as a child-- but please rely on the fact that my imitations are a sincere, if deft, form of flattery.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
sugar never tasted so good
This film was incredible.
The footage of Jolene made my whole body radiate with warm shivers. That's how you know a good song. Here is a no less chilling version from Under Blackpool Lights:
The footage of Jolene made my whole body radiate with warm shivers. That's how you know a good song. Here is a no less chilling version from Under Blackpool Lights:
Monday, March 1, 2010
we share the same skies
new york in november...my final destination in a banner year of travel.
punting in central park
brooklyn bridge walks
a run-in with the johnny marr and the brothers jarman
war wounds
rooftop camel crushes
i would have tried to find an appropriately new york passage from tropic of capricorn, but alas, i lent it out. instead i`ll let mr. miller tell it himself:
punting in central park
brooklyn bridge walks
a run-in with the johnny marr and the brothers jarman
war wounds
rooftop camel crushes
Friday, February 26, 2010
everything's so easy for pauline
I realize I have not posted since I returned from England... not that anyone is concerned i'm sure, but I plan to rectify that with future photographs, passages, and musings. For now, I leave my favourite Cindy Sherman piece, Untitled Film Still #66, an original print of which I saw today in the AGO print archives. A reproduction simply cannot do justice to its subtely and beauty, but alas-- this rings true for many things.
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