Thompson

literarystarbucks:

Hunter S. Thompson goes up to the counter and orders a small, dark-roast coffee. He dissolves a little something extra in it— and you can read all about his trip in his soon-to-be published travelogue.

My love for Literary Starbucks increases every day…

THe Wind of Autumn
Lucien Levy-Dhurmer
ellenkushner:

leprincelointain:

Lucien Lévy-Dhurmer (1865-1953),  Vent d’Automne, Portrait de Mademoiselle Suzanne S.

I am an October baby and I approve this message, too.

THe Wind of Autumn

Lucien Levy-Dhurmer

ellenkushner:

leprincelointain:

Lucien Lévy-Dhurmer (1865-1953),  Vent d’Automne, Portrait de Mademoiselle Suzanne S.

I am an October baby and I approve this message, too.

saltycornchip:

best-of-memes:

Someone took a candid photo of a fight in Ukranian Parliament that is as well-composed as the best renaissance art

this is currently my favorite thing on the entire internet

(via toobusytoread)

Beowulf essay title extraordinaire

"Ms. Healey wears heelies while reading Beowulf"

Notice that expert use of alliteration. Luckily, the essay is not actually about me.

Titus Andronicus, Act IV scene ii

  • Demetrius: Villain, what hast thou done?
  • Aaron: That which thou canst not undo.
  • Chiron: Thou hast undone our mother.
  • Aaron: Villain, I have done thy mother.

Wishing I was outside today. Grading 192 papers instead. Not kidding. Why did I count?

DAM, Toshio Shibata, 2004 

via http://likeafieldmouse.com/po/100287126266/toshio-shibata-dam-published-2004

austinkleon:

I wrote a little something about reading here.

edwardspoonhands:

gamzee-thehonk-makara:

zidajane777:

Parents repeating themselves

.I feel this on a spiritual level.

Seriously…why do they do this? Is it generational? Or am I gonna start doing it someday?

yes, you will all start doing it. And you will also sound exactly like your mother when you do.

edwardspoonhands:

gamzee-thehonk-makara:

zidajane777:

Parents repeating themselves

.I feel this on a spiritual level.

Seriously…why do they do this? Is it generational? Or am I gonna start doing it someday?

yes, you will all start doing it. And you will also sound exactly like your mother when you do.

Je Suis Le Cahier
Today in class we talked about a Jackson Pollock poster on the wall behind my desk, and of course some of the discussion was about how un-artistic it was. And then the conversation shifted to… who thinks this is art?
And every eye turned to the person who hung the poster, me. I tried to explain my reaction to it. I like it, the layers in it, the chaos,  the order, the idea that something struck him so hard that immense, powerful splatters of paint flew off the ends of his fingers over and over again. I do not know what the idea was.
And then I saw Austin Kleon’s post about Picasso, Je Suis Le Cahier: The Sketchbooks of Picasso and I recognized that what I saw in Pollock’s painting had something to do with Picasso’s belief that he WAS the sketchbook. I cannot put words to exactly why and what  Pollock’s painting does to me, but i sense its power for me and for him.  It IS Pollock on canvas. Everything I need to know about him is here, a gift so personal that I can’t stop looking at it. Every minute of every day, he was the sketchbook. 
Every day, what I do, what I feel IS my sketchbook (or the notebook in my case). Doing it is real, talking about it not so real.


Je Suis Le Cahier

Today in class we talked about a Jackson Pollock poster on the wall behind my desk, and of course some of the discussion was about how un-artistic it was. And then the conversation shifted to… who thinks this is art?

And every eye turned to the person who hung the poster, me. I tried to explain my reaction to it. I like it, the layers in it, the chaos,  the order, the idea that something struck him so hard that immense, powerful splatters of paint flew off the ends of his fingers over and over again. I do not know what the idea was.

And then I saw Austin Kleon’s post about Picasso, Je Suis Le Cahier: The Sketchbooks of Picasso and I recognized that what I saw in Pollock’s painting had something to do with Picasso’s belief that he WAS the sketchbook. I cannot put words to exactly why and what  Pollock’s painting does to me, but i sense its power for me and for him.  It IS Pollock on canvas. Everything I need to know about him is here, a gift so personal that I can’t stop looking at it. Every minute of every day, he was the sketchbook.

Every day, what I do, what I feel IS my sketchbook (or the notebook in my case). Doing it is real, talking about it not so real.

Earth’s the right place for love: I don’t know where it’s likely to go better…
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
                               ~from “Birches”  Robert Frost.

aleyma:

John Fabian Carlson, Autumn Beeches, c.1908-15 (source).