last chance

http://www.josefhoflehner.com/index.html

...this place

Samuel Beckett
April 13, 1906 - December 22, 1989
(Photo by John Minihan)

...this place, if I could describe this place, portray it, I've tried, I feel no place, no place around me, there's no end to me, I don't know what it is, it isn't flesh, it doesn't end, it's like air... -

Beckett, The Unnamable

The light

Illilluminations

Magnolia

The Ecstasy of St. Francis

L'Origine du Monde

"The classicists who write photography textbooks dutifully translate "photography" from the Greek as "light writing." It was Cervantes who saw translation as “the back side of a tapestry,” and in the case of photography’s many translators, most have been staring at the wall. In photographic language, light is read as grammar; as an aesthetic tool, helping the artist describe an apprehended visual world. I am pursuing a visual world where light is syntactic; light veering close to content. In all my work light is cultural and political. It is put there by someone, for a purpose: to invite citizens to share their money with corporations, to keep workers working, to describe democracy, to allow paintings in museums to be seen in one particular way..." http://www.davistim.com/

I like this lady - II

The Wife of this Gentleman : http://www.wim-wenders.com/

http://www.donatawenders.com/ photographed

the Wife

of this Gentleman : Balthus (1908-2001), peintre français

I like this lady - I

This is my favourite Eunice de Souza poem (REPRIEVE)
Short and sweet! Like a knife in the heart that cools the burn and lights a level of understanding...a breath of fresh air, an air of understanding.
For those that follow him, beware!

Reprieve

This poem is for you

It's a reprieve

It says

Nothing in your little black heart

can frighten me,

I've looked too long

into my own.

Thank you for the gift

of your uncertainties.

poem by Eunice de Souza

Gregory Crewdson

I love these darkly beautiful photographs
by Gregory Crewdson , having more in
common with cinematic epics than anything else.

Hidden Cities II

http://petermilton.com/

The best soundtrack of the month

Lynch

the new documentary Lynch

Autumm Comes

Photos: Byung Hun Min

Wind in the plane tree startles the heart: a grown man's grief.

By dying lamplight, crickets are weeping cold threads.

Who will ever read the green bamboo slips of this book?

Or stop the ornate worms from gnawing powdery holes?

Such thoughts tonight must disentangle in my gut.

In the humming rain, a fragrant spirit consoles this poet.

On an autumn grave, a ghost chants Pao Chao's poem,

and his spiteful blood, buried a thousand years, is now green jade.

Autumn Comes

Li Ho (790-816)

Translated by Arthur Sze

In memory

"I am interested in what lies beneath the surface of the skin. It is not the physical structures that concern me – ligaments, organs, bones. Rather it is the emotions and experiences that are imprinted on our bodies – the places we travel, the music we listen to, the letters we read and write. Our past informs our cells. "...

http://www.marydanielhobson.com/

The Divine Visions

http://www.rajnaik.com/

No one can truly write a book

http://www.thesecretbooks.com/

SIMPLE VERSES

I have seen the sprouting of wings
From the shoulders of beautiful women
And the coming forth of butterflies
From piles of rubble.


.............


Well do I know that when the world,
Pale with exhaustion, gives over
To rest, the murmur of a tranquil brook
Floats above the deep silence.

I have dared to stretch my hand,
Stiff with horror and joy,
To the extinguished star
That fell at my door.

from
Simple Verses
José Martí
translated by Mark Weiss