That man is peer of the gods, who
face to face sits listening
to your sweet speech and lovely
laughter.
It is this that rouses a tumult
in my breast. At mere sight of you
my voice falters, my tongue
is broken.
Straightway, a delicate fire runs in
my limbs; my eyes
are blinded and my ears
thunder.
Sweat pours out: a trembling hunts
me down. I grow
paler than grass and lack little
of dying.
Jackie McLean and Bill Clinton at the Artists Collective in Hartford, CT circa late 1990s (photo by Stephanie Long)
Two saxophone players. One was for a brief moment the leader of the free world. The other guy lived in the White House for a few years.*
(*The moment I’m referring to occurs at approximately 1:01 in this clip.)
(Source: monbeaudesordre)
—Did You Hear Me Mommy?
I can’t find a picture to go with this.
Whatever happened to Apache Bley, anyway?
(Source: habeebullah, via ffunkkkya)
Henry Miller
12. Don’t be afraid to contradict yourself, as Miller does under point 4 and 9. Inconsistency is inevitable and should be embraced.
gaws:
Beckett
Reblogged from a tumblr which, in a different post, (re-)recommends that one “Decorate with books, stacks of books. They serve as a window into your personality.”
As the technocratic mystic Luhmann might say, “The system produces and reacts to an unclear picture of itself.”
(via bloodandconsequences)
—Green Valentine Blues
