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(Source: smallest-of-infinities, via therapsida)
I Remember Learning How to Dive by Animal Collective
Live at Other Music: 08/16/2004
(Source: hideway, via imthebuttlord)
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Prufrock and Other Observations,
T.S. Eliot. The Egoist Press, 1917.First Edition, limited to 500 copies. Some spotting, from the Library of Henry Graham Dakyns, publisher’s wrappers (detached), spine a little browned and rubbed [Gallup A1], 8vo, T
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10. Hysteria
T.S. Eliot
“As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: “If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden…” I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.”
Songwriting is something that happens if you let it. There is little correlation between writing prose and writing songs for me. A song is a bed sheet used as a sail, prose is a barquentine fully-rigged.
I’m not a poetry guy. I don’t understand most of it. I like the plain spoken stuff OK, like the “Land of the White Donkeys” guy. Is that Tate? His stuff is more along the lines of Mitch Hedburg though. Emily Dickinson I like. She was a rare seed with a rampant flaring core. I’m surprised no one has founded a religion in her honor. Or maybe they have. All these poetry readings attended by poets. But mostly I find that poetry doesn’t suit my speed. Mostly I cannot understand what is being said. I don’t want to be teased with feathers by someone tittering in a harlequin mask hiding behind a pillar—I want to be high-fived or hugged by a blinged out mothereffer. Hug a thug!
I remember as a small child thinking that the fiddle in bluegrass music was a baby crying and singing. So I liked it. I thought they just brought their baby on stage with them. Bluegrass was what I first saw as a three-dimensional music—the skeleton and the organs and the skin and face. That is the first thing I remember about music, that bluegrass is like a body with joints that move and smiles, stretches, etc.
(excerpted from an interview with Bill Callahan on The Rumpus)
I really love Bill Callahan but I also hate him, but I love him.
our creative director, Jenna Lyons, shares the inspiration behind her
outfit for the 2012 Costume Institute Gala at the Metropolitan MuseumJenna and head women’s designer Tom Mora walk the red carpetPink Lady: “I felt I had to do something in shocking pink because that’s what Schiaparelli is known for. I sketched the design for this skirt on the back of a piece of paper during a meeting one day about two weeks before the ball. Honda, our patternmaker, draped and stitched the satin right here in the office.”
Shock Factor: “There’s a peplum underneath because I wanted that articulated silhouette I had seen on the pages of Schiaparelli’s Shocking Life. The bow at the waist has wire in it to hold its shape and keep it nice and stiff.”Above: Jenna’s design sketch; Shocking Life by Italian designer Elsa Schiaparelli.
Below: details from a Schiaparelli design from spring 1947.Denim Diehard: “I didn’t want to wear duchesse silk satin with something sparkly or pearls. I am who I am—so I took it down a notch with denim. We pulled a J.Crew jean jacket and then had it fit and re-tailored to raise the waistband. I’m also not really wearing a shirt underneath—the collar and cuffs were custom-made by my custom shirtmaker and were stitched into the jacket.”
Fuck a Met gala but this is a really solid example of inspired personal style. A+
(Source: femaled, via imthebuttlord)