Tutt tutt

marilyn minter + assistants

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the article: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/03/fashion/03Gimlet.html

I wish I could work in a Renaissance-period studio

thouroughwax//bupleurum

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SCRAMBLED EGGS AND WHISKEY

Scrambled eggs and whiskey

in the false-dawn light. Chicago,

a sweet town, bleak, God knows,

but sweet. Sometimes. And

weren't we fine tonight?

When Hank set up that limping

treble roll behind me

my horn just growled and I

thought my heart would burst.

And Brad M. pressing with the

soft stick and Joe-Anne

singing low. Here we are now

in the White Tower, leaning

on one another, too tired

to go home. But don't say a word,

don't tell a soul, they wouldn't

understand, they couldn't, never

in a million years, how fine,

how magnificent we were

in that old club tonight.

HAYDEN CARRUTH

accessorize

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A cafe life

seoul, korea 서울!

bouvardia//enthusiasm

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DREAM VARIATIONS

To fling my arms wide

In some place of the sun,

To whirl and to dance

Till the white day is done.

Then rest at cool evening

Beneath a tall tree

while night comes on gently,

Dark like me--

That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide

In the face of the sun,

Dance! Whilr! whirl!

Till the quick day is done.

Rest at pale evening . . .

A tall, slim tree . . .

Night coming tenderly

Black like me.

LANGSTON HUGHES

Summer with the New Yorker archives....

FICTION

Of Mystery There Is No End

by Leonard Michaels

Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2002/04/08/020408fi_fiction?currentPage=1#ixzz0qeCVPHyg

"He didn’t know what, if anything, his dream had revealed to him. He was aware only of tumultuous feeling."

Attitude at the Metropolitan Museum

Mäda Primavesi (1903–2000), Gustav Klimt ,1912

buddleia//butterfly bush

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WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

and the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow.

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

SHEL SILVERSTEIN

Seoul, Hong Kong, New York - my neighbourhood

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