this blog is a visual notebook of inspirations for a group of bandit bloggers. we post things we see and like. our lives don’t revolve around singular topics and neither does our blog. sorry! nothing is in-or-out of context here. enjoy xx
“weakness is great, strength is insignificant. when man is born he is weak and malleable. when he dies he is strong and callused. when a tree is still growing it is flexible and tender, and when its dry and hard it dies. the inability to learn and strength are the companions of death. what has grown hard will therefore never triumph.”
directed in 1964 by alfred leslie featuring the landscape and encompassing surroundings of new york city, the last clean shirt is a beautiful short film. broken finnish overrode by the quaint subtitles penned by no other than frank o’hara. the moma featured this film back in 2009, honoring leslie and o’hara as well, who used to be employed there in his heyday. this film transcends many barriers, most of which you can read about here. it irks me a bit that leslie does not give o’hara credit; perhaps a lapsed jealousy but nevertheless, this is worth a watch. i threw in the eliot shout-out for good measure. by sv
“as i sat there at my ease, cross-legged on the deck; after the bitter exertion at the windlass; under a blue tranquil sky; the ship under indolent sail, and gliding so serenely along; as i bathed my hands among those soft, gentle globules of infiltrated tissues, woven almost within the hour; as they richly broke to my fingers, and discharged all their opulence, like fully ripe grapes their wine; as i snuffed up that uncontaminated aroma, – literally and truly, like the smell of spring violets; i declare to you, that for the time i lived as in a musky meadow; i forgot all about our horrible oath; in that inexpressible sperm, i washed my hands and my heart of it; i almost began to credit the old paracelsan superstition that sperm is of rare virtue in allaying the heat of anger: while bathing in that bath, i felt divinely free from all ill-will, or petulance, or malice, of any sort whatsoever. amen.” – herman melville. by cm
leave it to handsome chap nathan bogle to dream up jardine’s upcoming line, a cross between manly sailor attire and gentleman’s cashmere spliffs. i’ll take the hand-knit scarf, and the thick crew neck sweater for starters. the fingerless gloves that cm made his signature, years ago still works too. now all i need is a ship to man across the open seas. captain ahab here i come. line available in july – sept 2013. by xy
ok, i know the picture and the lyrics don’t match up on dates, but hell, it’s the best of the batch and my two favorites. i mean we’re indeed just a microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan, lyrics to the red right hand by nick cave:
“take a little walk to the edge of town, go across the tracks where the viaduct looms like a bird of doom, as it shifts and cracks where secrets lie in the border fires, in the humming wires, hey man you know you’re never coming back past the square, past the bridge, past the mills past the stacks on a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man in a dusty black coat with a red right hand.
he’ll wrap you in his arms tell you that you’ve been a good boy he’ll rekindle all the dreams it took you a lifetime to destroy. he’ll reach deep into your soul, steal your shrinking soul but there wont be a single thing that you can do he’s a god, he’s a man, he’s a ghost, he’s a guru they’re whispering his name though this disappearing land but hidden in his coat is a red right hand
you don’t own no money? he’ll get you some you don’t have no car? he’ll get you one you don’t have no self respect you feel like an insect, well don’t you worry buddy cuz’ here he comes through the ghettos and the barrio and the bowery and the slums a shadow is cast where ever he stands stacks of green paper in his red right hand
you’ll see him in your nightmares, you’ll see him in your dreams he’ll appear out of no where but he ‘aint what he seems you’ll see him in your head, on the tv screen and hey buddy, i’m warning you to turn it off he’s a ghost, he’s a god, he’s a man, he’s a guru you’re one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan designed and directed by his red right hand.”
by dd
“i think what kanye west is going to mean is something similar to what steve jobs means. i am undoubtedly, you know, steve of internet, downtown, fashion, culture. period. by a long jump. i honestly feel that because steve has passed, you know, it’s like when biggie passed and jay-z was allowed to become jay-z.”
yeah right kanye…. be careful, ego-licious interview hereby pp.
take a stroll on the cliffs thinking about paul bowls after watching a movie at the cinematheque and ending on the terrasse of the nord pinus sounds like a good day. great pics of tangier by salva lopez. by pp.