Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Love of my life

Oh. My. God. Lucille.

I saw Florence and The Machine this past Sunday night

To say she is unearthly and beautiful and graceful and magical would be trite.

The dog days are over

Teacup Teatimes Fassypeen


Then there was a gap in things and the whole earth tilted.
This is the business.
This, is what we're after.
With you inside me comes the hatch of death.
And perhaps I'll simply never sleep again.
The monster in the pool.

Row after row of heaven

Friday, July 13, 2012

You transfix me, quite

We went to Russian Tea Time in Chicago with V and Mike

Sampling a flight of vodka in classic, black tea and Coriander--with a pickle chaser

"All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other."

Doing my best Lolita pool side.

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta."

― Erica Jong, Fear of Flying

“It took me years to learn to sit at my desk for more than two minutes at a time, to put up with the solitude and the terror of failure, and the godawful silence and the white paper. And now that I can take it . . . now that I can finally do it . . . I'm really raring to go. 

I was in my study writing. I was learning how to go down into myself and salvage bits and pieces of the past. I was learning how to sneak up on the unconscious and how to catch my seemingly random thoughts and fantasies. By closing me out of his world, Bennett had opened all sorts of worlds inside my own head. Gradually I began to realize that none of the subjects I wrote poems about engaged my deepest feelings, that there was a great chasm between what I cared about and what I wrote about. Why? What was I afraid of? Myself, most of all, it seemed.

"Freedom is an illusion," Bennett would have said and, in a way, I too would have agreed. Sanity, moderation, hard work, stability . . . I believed in them too. But what was that other voice inside of me which kept urging me on toward zipless fucks, and speeding cars and endless wet kisses and guts full of danger? What was that other voice which kept calling me coward! and egging me on to burn my bridges, to swallow the poison in one gulp instead of drop by drop, to go down into the bottom of my fear and see if I could pull myself up? Was it a voice? Or was it a thump? Something even more primitive than speech. A kind of pounding in my gut which I had nicknamed my "hunger-thump." It was as if my stomach thought of itself as a heart. And no matter how I filled it—with men, with books, with food—it refused to be still. Unfillable—that's what I was. Nymphomania of the brain. Starvation of the heart.” 

Bomb Prom

You should always have your friends read British history to your dog.

Bed with a view

"I feel like this is where vampires would want to hang out." -Hotel Sax, Chicago, IL

The Strand, NYC

The Book Cellar, Chicago, IL

Why yes, we did see Pulp at Radio City Music Hall

"I've done this before.
And I will do it again.
Come on and kill me baby,
while you smile like a friend.
And I'll come running,
Just to do it again.

You are the last drink I never should drunk.
You are the body hidden in the trunk.
You are the habit I can't seem to kick.
You are my secrets on the front page every week.
You are the car I never should have bought.
You are the train I never should have caught.
You are the cut that makes me hide my face.
You are the party that makes me feel my age.

Like a car crash I can see but I just can't avoid.
Like a plane I've been told I never should board.
Like a film that's so bad but I've gotta stay til the end.
Let me tell you now,
It's lucky for you that we're friends. "


At The Book Cellars, Chicago, IL

Erica Jong

“I stand in the mist and cry, thinking of myself standing in the mist and crying, and wondering if I will ever be able to use this experience in a book.” 

It's Thoreau time!

 Thoreau cabin snoozin'

 Walking with Thoreau

Best Friends

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.” 

Boston Public Library

This was a very powerful art project at the Boston Library where children (and adults!) wrote a thought or feeling on a piece of paper and tied it with string to the skeleton of a boat.

Boris Pasternak

“Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild-- Creation's tears in shoulder blades.” 

Doctor Zhivago

“And now listen carefully. You in others-this is your soul. This is what you are. This is what your consciousness has breathed and lived on and enjoyed throughout your life-your soul, your immortality, your life in others. And what now? You have always been in others and you will remain in others. And what does it matter to you if later on that is called your memory? This will be you-the you that enters the future and becomes a part of it.” 

Upon visiting Death on the moon

Gustave Dore


Of all the Disney villains, Maleficent has been and always will be my favorite.  Potential intricate and expensive Halloween costume is on the horizon....

A Wild Ride Through the Night

Though the 19th century woodcut illustrations by Gustave Dore are more exquisite than the actual story that Walter Moer formed around them, the book is entertaining and fun to read.  I've given up expecting anything from a recent, original YA fairy tale.  They just don't make them like they used to anymore.

-Elie Wiesel

"Sometimes, always unexpectedly, a word vanishes; it's impossible to recapture it, for it has already become a face. And this face, stunningly beautiful and fascinatingly ugly, at once young and decrepit, coarse and majestic, enjoys attracting and repelling me, and I say to myself, laughing and crying: it is the face of a god struck by the madness of demons and the madman is me." - A Mad Desire To Dance