(Source: you1anna, via fridafernanda)
I wrote something. It’s about Coffee. (Isn’t it always?)
http://gemma-correll.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/coffee-love-letter.html
I could never write female characters when I started out. And when I met Diane Keaton, and got friendly with her, and lived with her for a few years, I became so enamoured of her, I just fell in love with her. I became so enamoured of her as a human being, so in awe of her, that I started to write for her. I wrote Annie Hall for her, and then after that I could almost only write for women characters. They were cardboard figures before her, and I made no effort to change it, but after I met Keaton I could write women, and only write women, that was all that interested me.
Woody Allen, 2011 (x)
(Source: carygrantism, via soficaat)
The Blackbird: A Diptych
An experimental collaboration with Wordlings, using the Half and Half method with the same seed text.
-
you proud men of mercury
idyllic filled the long window
and glosses loaded
on long mercury walks
inflections of innuendos
shadow of the umbrage
the rage of the blackbird
the painted pantomime
of whirled mercy, and god,
a flow of gold, and good
and lucid, inseparable rhythms
oh you proud men of Mercury
and the thin men of Haddam
I know the blackbird is involved
glosses loaded
with thin inseparable sheets
long rod of barbaric glass
one of seven circles crowded with loaded glass
seasons of engines change
blackbirds of euphony must be flying-
Three Minds
Uut
Jesuits are part of three minds
wearing evening all afternoon
not tampons. But I know too
a fear sleek as a kite
whirled in the restaurant—
the one that orphic pull-ups
dutifully drowned
by the eye
increasing on its own weight
among twenty snowy mountains.
All of us are catalysts
traced in the shadow,
a satin couch
amazed by barbaric glass.Sing freely with tortoise breath,
oh bawds of euphony,
snag your goads
on the little rhythms
you do not see.seed text: “Thirteen Ways of a Looking at a Blackbird,” by Wallace Stevens
art by Eugenia Loli
Tanto cansancioy desgaste.
Tanto hastío y enojo.
Tan poco tiempo.
Tantas las vertientes.
Tanto el conocimiento.
Tantas las opciones.
Tanta la incertidumbre.
Tan poca seguridad y certeza sobre tantos temas y tantas situaciones.
Tan poca vergüenza, poca y muchísima seriedad.
Tanto aburrimiento.
Tantos tontos.
Tontos tantos tan inexactos.
Tantos los pretextos, tantos las justificaciones y tantos los dioses, tantos como las estrellas, que son poco menos (o más) que los granos de arena en tantas playas tan ultrajadas.
Por tantos amaneceres y ocasos. Tanto tiempo caminando.
Tanto camino caminado.
Tantas vidas caminadas.
Millones de oportunidades presentadas.
Tantas caminatas contempladas.
Tantos maratones perdidos, tan poca velocidad, tantos caminos y tantos caminantes.
Tantas vendas, en los ojos, en las manos, en la boca, en el cuello.
Tan poco papel y tan poca tinta.
Tan poca la proyección.
she will be mine oh yes she will be mine… some day
(via strengththruwounding)
What I need is a good old fashioned western fist fight.