FRAGMENTS

[prima]

[Killiana]

odlepila sam http://www.mitchdobrowner.com/trebalo je da budem storm chaser...

[hefestus]

http://www.nowness.com/day/2012/11/5/2569/the-painted-lady--jena-malonehttp://www.nowness.com/day/2012/11/5/2569/the-painted-lady--jena-malone Edited November 8, 2012 by hefestus

[Barsa]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRmbwczTC6E

[Caligula]

http://pleasebequietplease.tumblr.com/post/35272997539/the-call-of-neptune-kittehkats-misao-and

[Indy]

Everything comes to an endOn November 9th of 2004, Stieg Larsson — journalist and author of the posthumously published Millennium series of novels, the first of which was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo — passed away after suffering a heart attack. He was 50-years-old. The next month, Stieg's long-term partner, Eva Gabrielsson, found the following letter amongst his belongings, marked "To be opened only after my death," and written prior to a trip to Africa in 1977 when he was just 22.Eva read extracts of the letter at Stieg's funeral, the day after its discovery.(Source: "There Are Things I Want You to Know" About Stieg Larsson and Me; Image: Stieg & Eva in 1980, via.)Stockholm, February 9, 1977 Eva, my love, It's over. One way or another, everything comes to an end. It's all over some day. That's perhaps one of the most fascinating truths we know about the entire universe. The stars die, the galaxies die, the planets die. And people die too. I've never been a believer, but the day I became interested in astronomy, I think I put aside all that was left of my fear of death. I'd realized that in comparison to the universe, a human being, a single human being, me...is infinitely small. Well, I'm not writing this letter to deliver a profound religious or philosophical lecture. I'm writing it to tell you "farewell." I was just talking to you on the phone. I can still hear the sound of your voice. I imagine you, before my eyes...a beautiful image, a lovely memory I will keep until the end. At this very moment, reading this letter, you know that I am dead.There are things I want you to know. As I leave for Africa, I'm aware of what's waiting for me. I even have the feeling that this trip could bring about my death, but it's something that I have to experience, in spite of everything. I wasn't born to sit in an armchair. I'm not like that. Correction: I wasn't like that...I'm not going to Africa just as a journalist, I'm going above all on a political mission, and that's why I think this trip might lead to my death. This is the first time I've written to you knowing exactly what to say: I love you, I love you, love you, love you. I want you to know that. I want you to know that I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I want you to know I mean that seriously. I want you to remember me but not grieve for me. If I truly mean something to you, and I know that I do, you will probably suffer when you learn I am dead. But if I really mean something to you, don't suffer, I don't want that. Don't forget me, but go on living. Live your life. Pain will fade with time, even if that's hard to imagine right now. Live in peace, my dearest love; live, love, hate, and keep fighting...I had a lot of faults, I know, but some good qualities as well, I hope. But you, Eva, you inspired such love in me that I was never able to express it to you...Straighten up, square your shoulders, hold your head high. Okay? Take care of yourself, Eva. Go have a cup of coffee. It's over. Thank you for the beautiful times we had. You made me very happy. Adieu. I kiss you goodbye, Eva. From Stieg, with love.

[Lancia]

[Indy]

Bas super. Prva asocijacija - oni Badovi drugari, Dead Brothers.

[Lancia]

fotografija je maznuta odavde. to je neki tvoj fazon.

[Indy]

Uuuu, poslastica! Fala!

[pt 2.0]

"And it's over, it's over, it's overIt's done forgotten and throughNo one cares what it's all forYou'll be buried in the clothesThat you've never woreSo keep your suitcase by the doorIt's over, let it go"T.W.od svih stvari koje nisam uradila godinu dana. a trebalo je.

Edited November 10, 2012 by PointTaken

[Indy]

Y todo el mundo es verde... dje me nadje.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33lOH7MPZQII fell into the oceanWhen you became my wifeI risked it all aganist the seaTo have a better lifeMarie you're the wild blue skyAnd men do foolish thingsYou turn kings into beggarsAnd beggars into kingsPretend that you owe me nothingAnd all the world is greenWe can bring back the old days againAnd all the world is greenThe face forgives the mirrorThe worm forgives the plowThe questions begs the answerCan you forgive me somehowMaybe when our story's overWe'll go where it's always springThe band is playing our song againAnd all the world is greenPretend that you owe me nothingAnd all the world is greenWe can bring back the old days againAnd all the world is greenThe moon is yellow silverOh the things that summer bringsIt's a love you'd kill forAnd all the world is greenHe is balancing a diamondOn a blade of grassThe dew will settle on our gravesWhen all the world is green

[Caligula]

[kim_philby]

It’s in Ansky’s notebook, long before he sees a painting by the man, that Reiter first reads about the Italian painter Arcimboldo, Giuseppe or Joseph or Josepho or Josephus Arcimboldo or Arcimboldi or Arcimboldus (1527-1593). When I’m sad or bored, writes Ansky, although it’s hard to imagine Ansky bored, busy fleeing twenty-four hours a day, I think about Giuseppe Arcimboldo and the sadness and tedium vanish as if on a spring morning, by a swamp, morning’s imperceptible advance clearing away the mists that rise from the shores, the reed beds. There are also notes on Courbet, whom Ansky considers the paradigm of the revolutionary artist. He mocks, for example, the Manichaean conception that some Soviet painters have of Courbet. He tries to imagine the Courbet painting

The Return from the Conference,

which depicts a gathering of drunken priests and ecclesiastical dignitaries and was rejected by the official Salon and the Salon des Refuses, which in Ansky’s judgment casts the reject-rejectors into ignominy. The fate of

The Return from the Conference

strikes him as not only inevitable and poetic but also telling: a rich Catholic buys the painting and no sooner does he get home than he proceeds to burn it.The ashes of

The Return from the Conference

float not only over Paris, reads Reiter with tears in his eyes, tears that sting and

rouse

him, but also over Moscow and Rome and Berlin. Ansky talks about

The Artist’s Studio.

He talks about the figure of Baudelaire that appears on the edge of the painting, reading, and stands for Poetry. He talks about Courbet’s friendship with Baudelaire, Daumier, Jules Valles. He talks about the friendship of Courbet (the Artist) with Proudhon (the Politician) and likens the sensible opinions of the latter to those of a pheasant. On the subject of art, a politician with power is like a colossal pheasant, able to crush mountains with little hops, whereas a politician without power is only like a village priest, an ordinary-sized pheasant.He imagines Courbet in the Revolution of 1848 and then he sees him in the Paris Commune, where the vast majority of artists and men of letters shone (literally) for their absence. Not Courbet. Courbet takes an active role and after the repression he is arrested and locked up in Sainte-Pelagie, where he occupies himself drawing still lifes. One of the charges the state brings against him is that of having incited the multitudes to destroy the column in the Place Vendome, although Ansky isn’t quite clear on this point or his memory fails him or he relies on hearsay. The monument to Napoleon in the Place Vendome, the monument plain and simple in the Place Vendome, the Vendome column in the Place Vendome.In any case, the public office that Courbet held after the fall of Napoleon III made him responsible for the protection of the monuments of Paris, which in view of later events must certainly be taken as a monumental joke. France, however, wasn’t in the mood for jokes and all the artist’s assets were seized. Courbet left for Switzerland, where he died in 1877 at the age of fifty-eight. Then come some lines in Yiddish that Reiter can’t quite decipher. He supposes them to be exp

ressions of pain or bitterness. Then Ansky goes off on a tangent about some Courbet paintings. The one called

Bonjour, Monsieur Courbet

suggests to him the beginning of a film, one that gets off to a bucolic start and gradually lapses into horror.

The Young Ladies on the Banks of the Seine

recalls spies or shipwrecked sailors enjoying a brief rest, and Ansky goes on to say: spies from another planet, and also: bodies that wear out more quickly than other bodies, and also: disease, the transmission of disease, and also: the willingness to stand firm, and also: where does one learn to stand firm? in what kind of school or university? And also: factories, desolate streets, brothels, prisons, and also: the Unknown University, and also: meanwhile the Seine flows and flows and flows, and those ghastly faces of whores contain more beauty than the loveliest lady or vision sprung from the brush of Ingres or Delacroix.

From Roberto Bolaño’s novel 2666.

[Ravanelli]