“the wolves are coming”
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruiséd arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged War hath smooth’d his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbéd steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp’d, and want love’s majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail’d of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature,
Deformed, unfinish’d, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity.” Richard III - William Shakespeare
I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was but I just stared. I sat behind the wheel and watched the raindrops as they gathered on the windshield and raced down into the humming motor and she folded up her fears like paper airplanes and lost them in the trees and I know I don’t deserve this: the capacity to feel (to laugh and to cry and to praise) for that I live and breathe and wake each day clean is nothing less than your grace (in awkward and glorious movement.)” If I Could. - Mineral
- Octave Mirbeau, The Torture Garden
Treat your ears right: Listen to this album. I contributed the artwork and it was an absolute pleasure!
They were your eyes
in the back of the room
The only ones shining,
the only ones I’d met in years.
It’s not because I always look down
It might be I always look out
I’m biting my lip
as confidence is speaking to me.
I loosen my grip from my palm
and put it on your knee.
In my way, I say
You’re the reason why I’ll move to the city
you’re why I’ll need to leave
You’re the reason why I’ll move to the city
you’re why I’ll need to leave
There was your breath
on the back of my neck.
The only one holding
the only one I had felt in years
It’s not because I always hold out
it might be I always hold on.
it might be I always hold on.
I’m biting my lip
as confidence is speaking to me.
I loosen my grip from my palm
and put it on your knee.
In my way, I say
You’re the reason why I’ll move to the city
you’re why I’ll need to leave.
You’re the reason why I’ll move to the city
you’re why I’ll need to leave.
So what’s with the eyes in the back of the room?
The only ones trying
the only ones I have let in years.
It’s not because I always give up
It might be I always give out
It might be I always give out
It might be I always give out
It might be I always give out
Spectacular Abandoned Theatres and Cinemas of the Northeastern United States
Any venue designed for the entertainment of hundreds, or even thousands, of people in a single viewing is bound feel rather spooky once the crowds have despersed. Disused theatres and movie palaces are among the most mysterious abandoned buildings, and thanks to the advent of television and multiplexes, they exist in abundance. While their faded elegance makes for a melancholy scene, their vibrant colours and peeling grandeur offer a spectacular subject for photographers like Matt Lambros who captured these stunning images.
Abandoned architecture has fascinated me since I was five years old. My grandmother used to take my brother and I in to investigate any old barn she happened to drive past. She was curious about what was left behind, and her inquisitive nature made a lasting impression on me.I grew up in Dutchess County, New York, and like most places there were quite a few supposedly “haunted” buildings begging for a closer look. Hudson River State hospital, one of the first places I went to on my own, was one of them. My friends and I used to drive around the campus late at night trying to scare each other. It was then that my interest in abandoned buildings evolved into a vehicle for artistic expression.
I’ve spent ten years composing photographic obituaries for once-thriving buildings that are now crumbled and forgotten. My hope for my work is that it will shine light on beautiful, dated architecture and on the equal yet sinister beauty in decay.
when comparing yourself to the greats
or the creator of something incredibly special
THEN failure doesn’t seem so bad
and pathetic self-validation becomes less of a necessity
and more of a modus operandi
having said that, I’ve spent many, many hours
weeping over the brilliance of an album I wish I’d recorded
or a book I wish I’d written
not so, a portrait I wish I’d painted though
as drawing was never my strong point
and painting a complete mystery
whether by numbers or a with a roller and a tin of Dulux from B&Q
the interesting thing about history is that it creates a future
following on from what has occurred.
so in the aftermath of the great war,
knowing what had gone before
we subdued the Germans out of fear of what they might do again
and look where that got us…
so in essence, history sets us up for a fall before we’ve even
got off of our arses and had a good look at the world
because what has gone before is always weighing us down.
But this is the really awful bit
because it’s not MY view of my history that is weighing me down
but rather other peoples’ view of my history.
working a shit job is ok as long as you don’t do it in your home town
and no one knows you or your mam and dad
or your grandmother or used to teach you
or saw you doing a gig once and thought ‘wow he’s going places with talent like that’
but as soon as you bump into someone who knew what kind of
potential you had as a kid and they see how you’ve wasted it
then the shame of your failure and inadequacies hit you
like a boot to the balls,
damaging your current and future prospects
(much like an actual boot to the balls).
I will be free of the shame of my failure
when everyone I have ever known is dead
and I can live exiled in a peaceful world of isolation
a world of my own making where I have no history
and no one has ever made plans for my future or had even
speculated on them
and the only people who know me
are the ones I let in
the people who sell the beer
the people handing out the pay slips
the few friends I have who love me for who I am
and my lioness who will forever roar her approval
as long as I make an effort to be happy.
the stars came out to send you off,
a long walk and a short conversation.
one last chance to admit that our something
was really more than nothing.
and with a glance, this is the last time
for you to see how much this meant to me.
say goodbye.
you never would, you never did.
I never could, I never said.
are you listening now,
because you never did before.
should I forget you now
because I never could before.
Castevet - Stranger You Know
German artist Martin Klimas uses splatters of paint positioned on a scrim over a speaker. By turning up the volume, the vibration of the speaker sends the paint dancing as he shoots it through the lens of his Hasselblad camera.
Buzzfeed, thank you again.
[via: arthistoryx]
