an oldie
“The book will be another huge success, for reasons not mistaken but insufficient. Certainly as a testament of suffering nobly borne, which is what it will be generally taken for, it is exemplary. However, it is most profound, and most provocative, at another level, the level at which the author comes fully to realize, and to face squarely, the dismaying fact that against life’s worst onslaughts nothing avails, not even art; especially not art.” — John Banville reviews Joan Didion’s Blue Nights (via ofravens, reblogging because it’s still true)
(Source: fuckyeahsteveross, via justacoupleofmycravings)
There’s one trick to getting what you want and it is avoidance. I mean, getting what you want from people. First you avoid. And then you ask. Real blunt-deep. No quaver. Hold the gaze.
Knead deep into the ankle bones, the neck, the ribs. All the spots in need of other peoples’ hands. Vicious-love. Pop this out and put it back, the way you see fit. I could tell you about California. I could tell you about Oakland, about San Francisco, about Berkeley and Los Angeles, about the Central Coast (Santa Cruz, San Luis, Santa Barbara, Carmel, I could tell you about the goddamn 101), but mostly about Sacramento, and what it did to me. I could tell you about California, and how it is a dream and how we all need it to stay that way. Everything you want it to be is a drug, and you have to stay with that. Even those of us born there. Sometimes: one day you wake up and realize you really are a dream child, and that you have no home only because what you have called ‘home’ must exist as an icon, a myth, for everyone else. This means you are a myth, too. California girls. That is what you are, baby. I have been nearly a year outside of California and I am thinking about this because I do not have friends here. I can’t make friends outside of California, or the Internet, which is like California but with artificial sun. In the place where I live now, people make friends like adults. I, however, make friends like California.
Where do the dream girls go when they leave the dream scape? Someone kneading my ribs, my neck, says these parts are sloping, the bones are wrong, and I think to myself, ‘It’s because I’ve left the cell of the film.’ As long as someone was watching my bones would stay in place. And now I am alone the way I have always hoped to be, and I am beginning to die.
Sophie Tæuber-Arp
(via deepwater)
(Source: fishshadows)
I have been furiously working on a book with Chloe for the Bureau of Self-Recognition exhibit. We are in our FINAL countdown to fund this project and have $450 left to go. We have perks starting at as little as $5; thank you for taking a look and please consider supporting this important project!
(Source: racheljenkins, via deepwater)
gina pane
(via fuaire)
by Sabbrica
(via fuaire)