A drawing I did of Bowie circa 1997. One of the few drawings I've always been happy about. A few personal favorites: Everyone Says Hi.live // Something In The Air // Bring Me the Disco King.live // Natalie Merchant's Space Oddity
Thinking about how we mourn artists we've never met. We don't cry because we knew them, we cry because they helped us know ourselves.— Juliette (@ElusiveJ) January 11, 2016 via ken
“Please make me empty, if I’m empty then I can receive, if I can receive it means it comes from somewhere outside of me, if it comes from outside of me I’m not alone! I cannot bear this loneliness. Above all it is loneliness.”
Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers
+ Lana Del Rey - Chelsea Hotel No 2
"A lot of it is about suffering and how something always feels not quite right."
- My Muse
My wonderful muse was talking about something else but this line reminded me of The Leftovers. Especially after last night's overachieving and incredible season finale was stuck in my head.
"This, then, is the message of The Leftovers, revealed in the final minute of the final episode of the season. Pain, loss, grief, failure, shame: these things are real, and the damage they do is lasting and debilitating."
- “The Leftovers” finale: Frustrating and painful — but hopeful, too
This instrumental moves me. Everytime it was used in the show it was perfect.
[ Max Richter: November ]
"The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."
F. Scott Fitzgerald
I am selfish, private and easily bored. Will this be a problem?
Avoid the flourish. Do not be afraid to be weak. Do not be ashamed to be tired. You look good when you’re tired.
Please don’t understand me too quickly.
//Nicola Samori, L'Occhio Occidentale
Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces.
Alan Moore, Watchmen
+ Covers by Dave Gibbons for the French edition of Watchmen
+ Rorschach Tattoo
He believed it as if it had been determined by fate.
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
+ Morrissey - My Dearest Love
"One of the seats of emotion and memory in the brain is the amygdala, he explained. When something threatens your life, this area seems to kick into overdrive, recording every last detail of the experience. The more detailed the memory, the longer the moment seems to last. 'This explains why we think that time speeds up when we grow older,' Eagleman said--why childhood summers seem to go on forever, while old age slips by while we’re dozing. The more familiar the world becomes, the less information your brain writes down, and the more quickly time seems to pass."
+ What a brush with death taught David Eagleman about the mysteries of time and the brain.
“I fell for her like a suicide from a bridge.”
“I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.”
Ferdinand de Saussure
"How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?"
Don DeLillo, White Noise
James Kidd, Assassin's Creed 4
“I have no desires, save the desire to express myself in defiance of all the world’s muteness.”
[ Okkervil River: Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe ]
“Friendship is less simple. It is long and hard to obtain but when one has it there's no getting rid of it; one simply has to cope with it. Don't think for a minute that your friends will telephone you every evening, as they ought to, in order to find out if this doesn't happen to be the evening when you are deciding to commit suicide, or simply whether you don't need company, whether you are not in the mood to go out. No, don't worry, they'll ring up the evening you are not alone, when life is beautiful. As for suicide, they would be more likely to push you to it, by virtue of what you owe to yourself, according to them. May heaven protect us, cher Monsieur, from being set upon a pedestal by our friends!”
― Albert Camus, The Fall
There's something wild in the country/that only the night people know
age is no crime
but the shame
of a deliberately
among so many
And I'm working at trying to find a kind of language where I won't be so easily modulated by expectation.
“We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing. ”
I have loved you from the very beginning.
You are priceless above all pearls to me.
All night long I dream of you.
I would gladly go with you to the end of the world.
Each parting is a grief unspeakable.
Another kiss before you go. Let loose your beautiful hair.
He was in a troubled and obscured state of mind which was incomprehensible, from the sky to that yellow tram rumbling along the clear track of the Hohenzollerdamn (along which Yasha had once gone to his death), but gradually his annoyance with himself passed and with a kind of relief–as if the responsibility for his soul belonged not to him but to someone who knew what it all meant–he felt that all this skein of random thoughts, like everything else as well– the seams and sleaziness of the spring day, the ruffle of the air, the coarse, variously intercrossing threads of confused sounds–was but the reverse side of a magnificent fabric, on the front of which there gradually formed and became alive images invisible to him.
Vladimir Nabokov, The Gift
+ The Killers live from the Royal Albert Hall - Losing Touch
“Your handwriting. the way you walk. which china pattern you choose. it’s all giving you away. everything you do shows your hand. everything is a self portrait. everything is a diary.”
“Look at me across the sea, for I go radiant, look at me across the night through which I sail, and sea and night are those eyes of yours. I have not left you when I go away.”
Pablo Neruda, The Captain’s Verses
"I think Prince should be president of the United States....It has been said that Prince presents nothing: he's dead, an image. But who do you think you are? Are you real? Such reality is false. You can only be who you’re taught and shown to be. Those who have and are showing you, most of the controllers, are shits. Despite that, how can you hate you or the image? How can you be who you're not and how can you not be? Prince accepts his falsity. We must be conscious in order to fight outside control. Make Prince, who may be conscious, the next president of the United States."
To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But, then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love, to be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy, therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness...I hope you're getting this down.”
— Woody Allen
“Lo bueno de los años es que curan heridas, lo malo de los besos es que crean adicción.”The good thing about years is that they cure wounds, the bad thing about kisses is that they create addiction
— Joaquín Sabina
“A good reader, a major reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader.”+ “The Art of Translation” BY VLADIMIR NABOKOV: “Mr. Nabokov is in the habit of introducing any job of this kind which he undertakes by an announcement that he is unique and incomparable,” Wilson wrote in a 1965 review of Nabokov’s translation of Eugene Onegin, “and that everybody else who has attempted it is an oaf and an ignoramus.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Lectures on Literature
“Véra has blue eyes and a birdlike profile. Her hair is completely white. They are soon to celebrate a wedding anniversary, “our golden,” Nabokov says. They met in Berlin and married there in 1925, but they might as easily have met in Leningrad. “We went to the same dancing class, didn’t we?” he asks. It has not been an unhappy marriage then? “That is the understatement of the century,” Nabokov smiles.”+ An Old Magician Named Nabokov Writes and Lives in Splendid Exile by James Salter
Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But you’ll never meet them. All right, so we do the best we can. Granted. But we must still realize that love is just the result of a chance encounter. Most people make too much of it. On these grounds a good fuck is not to be entirely scorned. But that’s the result of a chance meeting too. You’re damned right. Drink up. We’ll have another.
bryant eslava, Ada or Ardor, Vladimir Nabokov