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ourcatastrophe:


Wittgenstein was a film fanatic who made regular trips to the cinema.  However, there are no film recordings of the philosopher; the closest we  have is this series of seven photos that he took in a photo booth.

from “the surprising photographic legacy of ludwig wittgenstein”, by emma mustich at salon. 

ourcatastrophe:

Wittgenstein was a film fanatic who made regular trips to the cinema. However, there are no film recordings of the philosopher; the closest we have is this series of seven photos that he took in a photo booth.

from “the surprising photographic legacy of ludwig wittgenstein”, by emma mustich at salon. 

(via browcatastrophe-deactivated2013)

Late Summer

DSCF6850

It’s late summer

you are sick of my cooking.

I am sick of you

being

sick

of my cooking.

One day I take the knife

and incise

my finger.

We’re having soup 

and

despite your complaints

I’m cooking.

You are sick of my meat free diet.

The soup turns scarlet

I pass out

from blood loss

you don’t notice

because

you are out drinking

with

someone else.

You get back

and clear my body away.

You don’t let him in the kitchen

in case he sees the stains.

There are stains on the sheets too

so 

you fuck him in your living room.

J.D.A. Winslow

Drunk on Junk - Shelagh Power-Chopra’s Cluttered Visual-Poetic Backyard

«This is a catalog of my life. All the shit & nostalgia; all the damn junk. I’m just going to throw up random parts of my life with Reggie. All the shit we ever owned, found, lost and the inbetween. It’s over now. He’s gone. Last I heard he was in the remote wilderness, some barren shit piece of land, sucking on wild turkey bones, but who knows, Reggie was always like that, wandering around looking for something. So now I’m just drunk, drunk on all the junk, so to say. Drunk on all the crap he left in our path…and in my house.»

Shelagh Power-Chopra, Drunk on Junk


"Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing." — Georgia O’Keeffe


kvetchlandia:

Carl Van Vechten     Georgia O’Keefe Wearing Calder Brooch      1950

"Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing." 
— Georgia O’Keeffe

kvetchlandia:

Carl Van Vechten     Georgia O’Keefe Wearing Calder Brooch      1950

workspaces:

Milton Glaser | via from the desk of
Are you a creature of habit?  In other words, have you been working the same way at your desk since you started?
Yes, profoundly.  I hate change, except in the work itself. I still work at my desk in the same way as I’ve done for the last 60 years. 

workspaces:

Milton Glaser | via from the desk of

Are you a creature of habit?  In other words, have you been working the same way at your desk since you started?

Yes, profoundly.  I hate change, except in the work itself. I still work at my desk in the same way as I’ve done for the last 60 years. 

Wendy Macnaughton in the NY Times Sunday Book Review:
 
Snacks of the Great Scribblers

Wendy Macnaughton in the NY Times Sunday Book Review:

Snacks of the Great Scribblers


Ecstatic, sexy, poor, decadent, entertaining, real, funny, sad – there are so many adjectives to describe Berlin. But what is life in Berlin really like? Especially when you are from another country? This Berlin Life – the new stage production of the BredemeyerCompany in association with puta madre – takes you on a tour to the Berlin which opens up only to those who came here from abroad. Be it from the United States, Canada, France, England, Paraguay or Passau – we believe that everybody has his own story about life in Berlin which is worth sharing with others. On a regular basis we present the  funniest, saddest and most Berlin stories submitted to us from people all over the world live on stage.
NEXT SHOWS IN BERLIN:
THIS BERLIN LIFE – VOL. 3 – July 29th and 30th / 9 p.m. @ BASE_camp (Unter den Linden 10, Mitte)
Featuring new stories by: Bert Vandecasteele, Nancy Chapple, Marcus Speh, Nathaniel Barron, Melanie Simone, Laurie Taylor and Pete Carvill

You can listen to past stories on our podcast page.
Get the latest news on our blog.

Ecstatic, sexy, poor, decadent, entertaining, real, funny, sad – there are so many adjectives to describe Berlin. But what is life in Berlin really like? Especially when you are from another country? This Berlin Life – the new stage production of the BredemeyerCompany in association with puta madre – takes you on a tour to the Berlin which opens up only to those who came here from abroad. Be it from the United States, Canada, France, England, Paraguay or Passau – we believe that everybody has his own story about life in Berlin which is worth sharing with others. On a regular basis we present the  funniest, saddest and most Berlin stories submitted to us from people all over the world live on stage.

NEXT SHOWS IN BERLIN:

THIS BERLIN LIFE – VOL. 3 – July 29th and 30th / 9 p.m. @ BASE_camp (Unter den Linden 10, Mitte)

Featuring new stories by: Bert Vandecasteele, Nancy Chapple, Marcus Speh, Nathaniel Barron, Melanie Simone, Laurie Taylor and Pete Carvill


You can listen to past stories on our podcast page.

Get the latest news on our blog.

20th Birthday Surprise — by Anna Tesman

I was part of Peter Pans gang war on adulthood because I felt something vile in it I always knew I repeated habitually  “If you ever grow up I’ll hate you” in my head so I’d never forget the years passed it down in a spite-ribboned box of child rage the years shrunk down to a bug butting itself against glass killing itself in thuds which made me forget how deadly serious I was being until lately I’ve noticed I squirm when a boy talks to me in that way that tells you you’re the kind of woman now who should melt, rub, laugh like dinner party tableware and bloom her assets to make him beg but I can’t because there’s this 8 year old is making me feel ridiculous at my side pulling me to go gasping laughter that gets hoarser and hoarser until its manic front teeth pleading stuck-out lip bleeding pulling her jaw down twisting her ankle socks to be spared and I can’t ignore her because its not just me sitting here, having to listen to you (Am I meant to be touching your groin now because you’re not that funny) a child is being solicited because its not just me sitting here having to listen to you, a stinking, rancid relic of a child is also waiting to go home rotting to black come on lets go please you promised

illustration: maurice sendak, where the wild things are (1963)

(via washingtonheightsink, flawnt) — text © marcus speh published in 52|250.

 
Bohemia Lies by the Sea [by Ingeborg Bachmann]
If houses here are green, I’ll step inside a house.If bridges here are sound, I’ll walk on solid ground.If love’s labour’s lost in every age, I’ll gladly lose it here.
If it’s not me, it’s one who is as good as me.
If a word here borders on me, I’ll let it border.If Bohemia still lies by the sea, I’ll believe in the sea again.And believing in the sea, thus I can hope for land.
If it’s me, then it’s anyone, for he’s as worthy as me.I want nothing more for myself. I want to go under.
Under – that means the sea, there I’ll find Bohemia again.From my grave, I wake in peace.From deep down I know now, and I’m not lost.
Come here, all you Bohemians, seafarers, dock whores, and shipsunanchored. Don’t you want to be Bohemians, all you Illyrians,Veronese and Venetians. Play the comedies that make us laugh
until we cry. And err a hundred times,as I erred and never withstood the trials,though I did withstand them time after time.
As Bohemia withstood them and one fine daywas released to the sea and now lies by water.
I still border on a word and on another land,I border, like little else, on everything more and more,
a Bohemian, a wandering minstrel, who has nothing, who is held by nothing,gifted only at seeing, by a doubtful sea, the land of my choice.
* * *
Böhmen liegt am Meer [von Ingeborg Bachmann]
Sind hierorts Häuser grün, tret ich noch in ein Haus.Sind hier die Brücken heil, geh ich auf gutem Grund.Ist Liebesmüh in alle Zeit verloren, verlier ich sie hier gern.
Bin ich’s nicht, ist es einer, der ist so gut wie ich.
Grenz hier ein Wort an mich, so laß ich’s grenzen.Liegt Böhmen am Meer, glaub ich den Meeren wieder.Und glaub ich noch ans Meer, so hoffe ich auf Land.
Bin ich’s, so ist’s ein jeder, der ist soviel wie ich.Ich will nichts mehr für mich. Ich will zugrunde gehn.
Zugrund – das heißt zum Meer, dort find ich Böhmen wieder.Zugrund gerichtet, wach ich ruhig auf.Von Grund auf weiß ich jetzt, und ich bin unverloren.
Kommt her, ihr Böhmen alle, Seefahrer, Hafenhuren und Schiffeunverankert. Wollt ihr nicht böhmisch ein, Illyrer, Veroneser,und Venezianer alle. Spielt die Komödien, die lachen machen.
Und die zum Weinen sind. Und irrt euch hundertmal,wie ich mich irrte und Proben nie bestand,dich hab ich sie bestanden, ein um das andre Mal.
Wie Böhmen sie bestand und eines schönen Tagsans Meer begandigt wurde und jetzt am Wasser liegt.
Ich grenz noch an ein Wort und an ein andres Land,ich grenz, wie wenig auch, an alles immer mehr,
ein Böhme, ein Vagant, der nichts hat, den nichts hält,begabt nur noch, vom Meer, das strittig ist, Land meiner Wahl zu sehen.

Bohemia Lies by the Sea [by Ingeborg Bachmann]

If houses here are green, I’ll step inside a house.
If bridges here are sound, I’ll walk on solid ground.
If love’s labour’s lost in every age, I’ll gladly lose it here.

If it’s not me, it’s one who is as good as me.

If a word here borders on me, I’ll let it border.
If Bohemia still lies by the sea, I’ll believe in the sea again.
And believing in the sea, thus I can hope for land.

If it’s me, then it’s anyone, for he’s as worthy as me.
I want nothing more for myself. I want to go under.

Under – that means the sea, there I’ll find Bohemia again.
From my grave, I wake in peace.
From deep down I know now, and I’m not lost.

Come here, all you Bohemians, seafarers, dock whores, and ships
unanchored. Don’t you want to be Bohemians, all you Illyrians,
Veronese and Venetians. Play the comedies that make us laugh

until we cry. And err a hundred times,
as I erred and never withstood the trials,
though I did withstand them time after time.

As Bohemia withstood them and one fine day
was released to the sea and now lies by water.

I still border on a word and on another land,
I border, like little else, on everything more and more,

a Bohemian, a wandering minstrel, who has nothing, who is held by nothing,
gifted only at seeing, by a doubtful sea, the land of my choice.

* * *

Böhmen liegt am Meer [von Ingeborg Bachmann]

Sind hierorts Häuser grün, tret ich noch in ein Haus.
Sind hier die Brücken heil, geh ich auf gutem Grund.
Ist Liebesmüh in alle Zeit verloren, verlier ich sie hier gern.

Bin ich’s nicht, ist es einer, der ist so gut wie ich.

Grenz hier ein Wort an mich, so laß ich’s grenzen.
Liegt Böhmen am Meer, glaub ich den Meeren wieder.
Und glaub ich noch ans Meer, so hoffe ich auf Land.

Bin ich’s, so ist’s ein jeder, der ist soviel wie ich.
Ich will nichts mehr für mich. Ich will zugrunde gehn.

Zugrund – das heißt zum Meer, dort find ich Böhmen wieder.
Zugrund gerichtet, wach ich ruhig auf.
Von Grund auf weiß ich jetzt, und ich bin unverloren.

Kommt her, ihr Böhmen alle, Seefahrer, Hafenhuren und Schiffe
unverankert. Wollt ihr nicht böhmisch ein, Illyrer, Veroneser,
und Venezianer alle. Spielt die Komödien, die lachen machen.

Und die zum Weinen sind. Und irrt euch hundertmal,
wie ich mich irrte und Proben nie bestand,
dich hab ich sie bestanden, ein um das andre Mal.

Wie Böhmen sie bestand und eines schönen Tags
ans Meer begandigt wurde und jetzt am Wasser liegt.

Ich grenz noch an ein Wort und an ein andres Land,
ich grenz, wie wenig auch, an alles immer mehr,

ein Böhme, ein Vagant, der nichts hat, den nichts hält,
begabt nur noch, vom Meer, das strittig ist, Land meiner Wahl zu sehen.