bric-a-brac |
this is a living collage of sorts, with occasional musings of my own mixed in. but mostly, odds and ends from here and there will all be compiled and hoarded here as fodder for creativity and springboards for future ideas. the intended purpose of this is to enliven, inspire, jolt, intrigue, and otherwise move myself-- and perhaps anyone who may be looking at this as well. or, on the other hand, some images are simply lovely to look at, and some words resonate in our bones just so. i want to make sure i don't lose or forget them. |
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notes
artist: brian m. viveros.
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artist: rik lee. more here.
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hellovagina:gustav klimt - the virgin (1912-1913)
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notesThe really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day. That is real freedom…The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.
- David Foster Wallace, in a commencement address discussing how to avoid just that kind of life [juvenile, foolish, feeling cornered with limited options, being stuck] and how to think your way out of the mire.
(via printedandbound.tumblr.com)
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(via vishuddhachakra)
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notes"Natalie Portman popped headphones onto Zach Braff’s head and said flatly, “This song will change your life.” The resulting sound was not only that of carefully composed dullness (thank you, Shins), but of a million wealthy white kids investing in dull acoustic music to soundtrack their own romantic melodrama. Youth culture is now practically sponsored by iTunes and Starbucks, and if that’s not a class statement, I don’t know what is."How the Zach Braff Prototype Is Slowly Killing American Music PopMatters (via somethingchanged) (via kathleenjoy) (via poetbabble)
yes, yes, yes. and really, that movie was terrible precisely because it wasn’t markedly so.
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notesI married you
for all the wrong reasons,
charmed by your
dangerous family history,
by the innocent muscles, bulging
like hidden weapons
under your shirt,
by your naive ties, the colors
of painted scraps of sunset.
I was charmed too
by your assumptions
about me: my serenity —
that mirror waiting to be cracked,
my flashy acrobatics with knives
in the kitchen.
How wrong we both were
about each other,
and how happy we have been.“I Married You”, Linda Pastan
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notesThis house is a mess. Full
of solid notions
that keep turning into objects:
this simple sadness
that’s shaped like a fork
and the vague fear that crusts
these dishes. I’m vacuuming
over this grass-like pain.
Emptying pockets for the wash:
such a burden: not just wrappers
but keys and mints, those sticky
and sorrow-coated stones.
And this larger grief
that always needs to be folded.
All day I’ve been chewing
on my own acrid gloom,
trying to put away
the things you keep carrying
home from work: the possessions
of children and women
and drunks, stolen or cheated,
the tasteless unhappiness
of others into jars labeled:
Heartbreak, Injustice,
Just-Plain-Bad-Fucking-Luck.“It’s Shaped Like a Fork”, Olena Kalytiak Davis
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notesdear all: please tell me what you have been listening to in these autumn months?
