Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Der Himmel über Berlin

Film still: Wim Wenders
"One day.. It must finally become serious.
I’v often been alone…
but i’v never lived alone.
when I was with someone, I was often happy.
But at the time, it all seemed a coincidence.
These people were my parents.
But it could have been others.
Why was this brown-eyed girl my sister…
and not the green-eyed girl on the opposite of the platform?
The taxi drivers’ son was my friend.
But I might as well have put my arm around a dog’s neck.
I was with a woman…
In Love…
and I might as well have left her there…
and gone off with the stranger I met in the street.
Look at me or don’t.
Give me your hand or don’t.
Don’t give me your hand, and look away.
I think tonight is the new moon.
No night more peaceful.
No bloodshed in all the city.
I’v never played with anyone…
and yet i’v never opened my eyes and thought:
Now it’s serious.
At last it’s becoming serious.
So i’v grown older.
Was I the only one who wasn’t serious?
Is it our times that are not serious?
I was never lonely…
Neither when I was alone, nor with others.
But I would have liked to be alone at last.
Loneliness means i’m finally whole.
Now I can say it..
as tonight I’m at last alone.
I must put an end to coincidence.
The new moon of decision.
I don’t know if there’s destiny…
but theres a decision.
We are now the times.
Not only the whole town…
the whole world is taking part in our decision.
We two are now more than us two.
We are Incarnate something.
Were representing the people now…
and the whole place is full of those..
who are dreaming the same dream.
We are deciding everyone’s game.
I am ready.
Its your turn.
You hold the game in your hand.
or Never.
You need me.
You will need me.
There is no greater story than ours…
that of man and woman.
It will be a story of giants…
a story of new ancestors.
My eyes…
they are the picture of necessity…
of the future of everyone in the place.
Last night…
I dreamt of a stranger…
of my woman.
Only with her could I be alone…
Open up to her.
wholly open, wholly for her.
Welcome her wholly into me…
Surrounded by the labyrinth…
of shared happiness.
I know…
It’s you."


Wings of Desire/Der Himmel über Berlin

*** (A must-see)
Directed by Wim Wenders
Written by Wenders and Peter Handke
With Bruno Ganz, Solveig Dommartin, Otto Sander, Curt Bois, and Peter Falk.

They all have weary mouths,

bright souls without a seam,

And a yearning (as for sin)

often haunts their dream.

–Rainer Maria Rilke, “The Angels”

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Cindy Sherman: Transformations

Cindy Sherman

Photography by Cindy Sherman.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Deborah Turbeville - Photographer

"And you know what's so good about the truth? Everyone knows what it is, no matter how long they've lived without it."
- Revolutionary Road

I think she waited a long time.

Photography by Deborah Turbeville.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Louise Beckinsale - Artist

The Moon by Louise Beckinsale

I've often wondered, "do you see me?"  I don't think so.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Tiny Dancer

You move
 from petal to petal.
I am a quiet lyric in your arms,
a ballon in flight
 gently floating down
 through the whisper of your breath,
would you move to embrace
 that charm of unexpectedness?
Does your heart open to the affection of the sun,
a tender release from the brutality
 and viciousness
 of a winters day of the pale sex?

If only you would give my flower a name.

 The columbines cling to my gown and my thighs
 like a child clutching protection
claiming her love.
I am but a fish diving
a less exact poisson
 to a fetal arrangement,
 then new again at the thought of you
 till I awaken
to an adagio
 of alyssa, dahlia and iris of blue.

Written for Vesna's Inspiration project on Migue's Blog.  Thank you for the invitation.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

A Quiet Skin

"Thinking has a quiet skin. But I feel the break and fled of things inside it.
    Blue hills most gentle in calm light, then stretches of assail
And ransack. Such tangles of charred wreckage, shrapnel-bits
    Singling and singeing where they fall. I feel the stumbling gait of what I am,
The quiet uproar of undone, how to be hidden is a tempting, violent thing—
    Each thought breaking always in another.

All the unlawful elsewheres rushing in."

by Laurie Sheck

Photography by, Masao Yamamoto.

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Tuesday, March 15, 2011


You Know What People Say

by James Galvin

"Sulky what-ifs.
Sulky what-ifs.
They bumblefuck the metastuff.
Diffidence their stock in trade.
Cozy hell — cozy, hell.
They make a mockery of irony.
They hold Special Olympics in wit.
What was Shakespeare’s blood pressure?
Vertical river, cloister of thunder,
Bleeds the ship’s fell sail.
God comes in for a landing. He lowers God’s landing gear.
He raises holy spoilers, lowers the sacred ailerons. He imagines

Tried everything in life?
Sulky what-ifs are dumbstruck. Drumsticks.
Their spiritual actuality is empirical.
What if uppity angels?
What if there really were rules?
What if those angels melted in the rain?
If reality is an illusion, wouldn’t it stand to reason
That illusions are real?
A lot of dumb questions.
Impingement of external objects or conditions upon the body
Palpitate apostasy.

The oppressed must free the oppressors to free themselves, see?
The soul is euphemism for the body.
What does willing mean? Do you sense my sense?
Am I fashionable?
Objective as an angel in the rain?
Screaming from a safe place?
Nine smocked doctors, three unmasked.
One has left his face sewn to the pillow.
One holds a lace fan like a hand of cards she studies,
Considering the risks.
She is the loveliest doctor.
Her doctor-father scolds her right there in front of all the other doctors.
They are aghast.
They kneel and don carnival hats with feathers.
I don’t think they are really doctors.
The trees are real. They are green kachinas.
Dark rooms of wind are installed in the house of barbarism.
The norm is always incorrect. If what?"

Photography by LiliROSE Photography.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

they call each other animal or angel before words fail them

"They go heads bowed on their agreement
            they exchange gestures
            press each other's feet in secret
            and sleep for each other
from the height of their tears to their forgiveness
                     they enchant each other
each Tuesday with a path of ivy and slowness
                       barely touching
                       then madly mouth to mouth
pressing her lips he tightens her scarf
             black as sex and blood red
   He already awaits her tomorrow in the shadows
   each morning suits their face
   changing from alarm to whispering
   when she enters his hope
                        She wipes his tears
                        or sings to him at night
          then they call each other animal or angel
          before words fail them
                         long eyelids
          they seek each other beyond the body
          in cries and silences of ecstasy He
          stiffens his soul long in her
                         all hair spilled"

© Jude Stéfan
From: Elégiades
Publisher: Gallimard, 1993

From: Elégiades
Publisher: Gallimard, 1993

Friday, March 4, 2011


"in each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain,
choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice.
we’re each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion
fighting to emerge into something solid, something real.
we’ve got to forgive ourselves that.
i must remember to forgive myself.
because there is a lot of grey to work with.
no one can live in the light all the time."


libba bray,
gemma doyle trilogy