Ceci n'est pas une barbe

I was just thinking about this… -_-

everettodair:

i got 99 problems and society’s attitudes towards sex and sexuality is like 98 of them

(via behehe)

Caprichosa

“HOW THE HEART LEAPS UP MORE EAGER THAN PLANT OR BEAST”
- Anne Carson, The Beauty of the Husband

I keep mine in a cage.

Silencing the ticking of the clock

Romantics
By Lisel Mueller

Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann 

The modern biographers worry
“how far it went,” their tender friendship.
They wonder just what it means
when he writes he thinks of her constantly,
his guardian angel, beloved friend.
The modern biographers ask
the rude, irrelevant question
of our age, as if the event
of two bodies meshing together
establishes the degree of love,
forgetting how softly Eros walked
in the nineteenth-century, how a hand
held overlong or a gaze anchored
in someone’s eyes could unseat a heart,
and nuances of address not known
in our egalitarian language
could make the redolent air
tremble and shimmer with the heat
of possibility. Each time I hear
the Intermezzi, sad
and lavish in their tenderness,
I imagine the two of them
sitting in a garden
among late-blooming roses
and dark cascades of leaves,
letting the landscape speak for them,
leaving us nothing to overhear.

Notes

His climax

“As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself up to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself - so like a brother, really - I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.”
— Albert Camus (The Stranger)

I mentioned it before, but it’s when the father is handing him a pocket watch
so he’s talking about time
innocence under pressure

“…I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.”
— William Faulkner (The Sound and the Fury)

The arrival

I just got back from the office — a little early, I know. Although I concede that I should probably be worried by my absenteeism, I will uphold that I have made significant progress in other areas. The ride was instrumental in the advancement that occurred, and was carried by the recurring theme of the summer, cinema.

Deviating slightly from the usual route, I stopped at Coupa Café for a grand hazelnut latte. The trio composed of the porcelain cup, saucer, and tea spoon performed a stimulating symphony for the coffee enthusiasts in the terrace. I wrote:

THE ARRIVAL
To begin with a youthful battalion,
and to venture through the unconquered,
not to conquer, but to explore,
with language,
the sword,
the machete,
with precision,
not to kill, but to facilitate
the exploration of this exotic effervescence,
following that which resonates in the thoracic cage.
# s/^/to put an end to the thirst/

After an hour or so of savoring and musing, I was once again on route to the apartment.

The usual absence of clouds and the warm sun was complemented by the cool breeze and the Colombian youth that stopped traffic, seeking directions. The ride was like a reel: frame by frame, my perception of the world produced a sensation that I can only describe by referencing City of Angels, the scene where Meg Ryan rides her bicycle into an instant of perfect bliss. My moment was in no way on par with the idealized portrayal of Meg Ryan’s climax, but it was for me a moment of maximum appreciation of my current state of mind, location, and potential.

And then a strange thing happened…

Woman with a Fan, Picasso, 1908


Portrait of Apollinaire, 1910