"Disintegration is the best album EVER."
That's all.
"This is what you should do; love the Earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labour to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence towards the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any many or number of men... re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss what insults your soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body..." - Walt Whitman.
Roger, my alien counterpart.
MAE WEST
'Among the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child,
any nearer than I am;
Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.
Ah, lover and perfect equal!
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.'
Walt Whitman - Among The Multitude.
What is this 'music' you speak of? I only listen to Radio 4.
'Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd': Deborah Harry, Siouxsie Sioux, Marianne Faithful. These three weird sisters, and all the bastard offspring that sprang from them.
^^^ If Marianne was born a man she'd show y'all.
Sag mir wo die Blumen sind?
Abbot and Portillo, with Neil as referee.
How can a fictional cartoon about four kids in a American mountain town say more about the state of the world than the rest of the media output combined? Balls, lots and lots of balls.
Yes please.
I imagine the feelings of two people meeting again after many years. In the past they spend some time together and therefore they think they are linked by the same experience, the same recollections. The same recollections? That's where the misunderstanding starts: they don't have the same recollections; each of them retains two or three small scenes from the past, but each has his own; their recollections are not similar; they don't intersect; and even in terms of quantity they are not comparable: one person remembers the other more than he is remembered; first because memory capacity varies among individuals (an explanation that each of them would at least find acceptable), but also (and this is more painful to admit) because they don't hold the same importance for each other. When Irena saw Josef at the airport, she remembered every detail of their long-ago adventure; Josef remembered nothing. From the very first moment their encounter was based on an unjust and revolting inequality.
Milan Kundera - Ignorance
For Beauty dear Phaedrus, only Beauty is at one and the same time divinely desirable and visible: it is mark well, the only form of the spiritual we can receive with our senses and endure with our senses. For what would become of us if other divine things, if Reason and Virtue and Truth were to appear to us sensuously? Should we not perish in a conflagration of love, as once upon a time Semele did before Zeus? Thus beauty is the lover’s path to the spirit – only the path, only a means little Phaedrus… And then he uttered the subtlest thing of all, that sly wooer: he who loves, he said, is more divine than the beloved, because the god is in the former, but not in the latter – this, the tenderest perhaps the most mocking thought ever formulated, a thought alive with all the mischievousness and most secret voluptuousness of the heart.
Thomas Mann - Death In Venice.
'Six months ago, Stalin was Bad with a big B. Now he is Good with a big G. A year ago the Finns were Good. Now they are Bad. Mussolini is Bad at this moment, but it would not particularly surprise me to see him Good within a year... Literature as we know it is inseparable from the sanctity of the individual, and therefore it is absolutely incompatible with the totalitarian way of life.'
George Orwell.
'Trout, incidentally, had written a book about a money tree. It had twenty-dollar bills for leaves. Its flowers were government bonds. Its fruit was diamonds. It attracted human beings who killed each other around the roots and made very good fertilizer.
So it goes.'
Kurt Vonnegut - Slaughterhouse 5
'He wanted to tell her that he was inspired and vigilant and recklessly alone, that his body contained his unsteady heart and something else, something he felt but could not describe: porous and spiky, shifting with flecks of thought, with urge and memory; salted with brightness, flickerings of white and green and pale gold, like stars; something that loved stars because it was made of the same substance. He needed to tell her it was impossible, it was unbearable, to be so continually mistaken for a misshapen boy with a walleye and a pumpkin head and a habit of speaking in fits.'
Michael Cunningham - Specimen Days.
And Truman Capote
The faithless heroines of tragedy
Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Miss Bette Davis
Deborah Ann Harry
And that k-k-k-krazy Kraut, Lili Marlene.