Dream Kingdom

new era

2010-12-31T12:28:00.000-08:00

inside

2010-12-24T14:36:00.000-08:00

(well done naomi alessandra)

too much too much

2010-12-05T19:10:00.000-08:00

i carry your heart

2010-11-07T10:31:00.000-08:00

common thief

2010-10-11T11:07:00.000-07:00

Warpaint - Elephants from PuddingPop on Vimeo.

ernst and fall inspiration

2010-10-05T21:16:00.000-07:00

translucence

2010-08-04T20:16:00.000-07:00

power power

2010-07-09T09:18:00.000-07:00

pretend

2010-07-08T21:05:00.000-07:00

(lover)

(anthropologie)

suede denim secret police

2010-07-04T01:21:00.000-07:00

his eyes

2010-07-01T22:56:00.000-07:00

whim

2010-06-29T22:20:00.000-07:00

enamored

2010-06-18T23:30:00.000-07:00

a few current obsessions:

http://www.myspace.com/fangisland

jamie isaia and anthony malat's home on the selby- http://www.theselby.com/3_23_10_JamieAnthony/

(dream library)

seeing Sedmikrásky, or Daisies
thanks to http://www.somuchtotellyou.co.nz/

Marina Abramovic
http://marinaabramovicmademecry.tumblr.com/

video for m crafts 'sweets'

starlight

2010-06-16T18:22:00.000-07:00

sacred trickster

2010-06-14T18:07:00.000-07:00

Le bel été

2010-06-12T16:10:00.000-07:00

lou doillon

owl-light

2010-06-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

dusk

2010-06-09T18:59:00.000-07:00

(uo cat.)

canopy

2010-06-08T19:19:00.000-07:00

flight

2010-06-05T15:51:00.000-07:00

aspire

2010-06-04T18:08:00.000-07:00

leith clark

2010-06-04T17:11:00.000-07:00

surreal

2010-06-04T15:26:00.000-07:00

quite funny
Salvador Dali on What's My Line

belle

2010-06-03T21:04:00.000-07:00

lineage

2010-06-02T18:03:00.000-07:00

my great great grandparents and great great aunt

louise bourgeois

2010-06-01T19:32:00.000-07:00

1911-2010

thank you, thank you

fancy free

2010-06-01T19:12:00.000-07:00

the red book

2010-06-01T18:55:00.000-07:00

the "holy grail of the unconcious"

Carl Jung's Red Book

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/20/magazine/20jung-t.html

Sailing to Byzantium

2010-06-01T17:08:00.000-07:00

THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

-William Butler Yeats

euphoria

2010-06-01T15:02:00.000-07:00

http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/yourgallery/artist_profile/Rachel+Eshet/12724.html

son of man

2010-05-31T14:57:00.000-07:00

Rene Magritte

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu.
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
'They called me the hyacinth girl.'
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od' und leer das Meer.

-from the wasteland, t.s. eliot

sentimental heart

2010-05-31T14:30:00.000-07:00

moon and moon

2010-05-29T22:26:00.001-07:00

i am light

2010-05-29T14:53:00.000-07:00

all islands of every sea

2010-05-29T12:03:00.000-07:00

nancy spero

'Goddess Nut II'

henry darger

aurel schmidt
'minotaur'

francis bacon
'painting'

miguel calderan

tennessee

2010-05-29T11:56:00.000-07:00

o' sailor

2010-05-29T11:30:00.000-07:00

my baby, my darling

2010-05-28T11:28:00.000-07:00

She & Him - In The Sun from Merge Records on Vimeo.

SHE & HIM - "WHY DO YOU LET ME STAY HERE?" from Diaspro on Vimeo.

girl of my dreams

2010-05-27T15:21:00.000-07:00

lula

Follow my blog with bloglovin

initiation

2010-05-27T14:49:00.000-07:00

The Hollow Men
T. S. Eliot
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

welcome to my new blog