Vogue - Strike a Pose

Don't just stand there let's get to it
Strike a pose there's nothing to it

In A Manner Of Speaking by Nouvelle Vague

In a manner of speaking
I don't understand
How love in silence becomes reprimand

Oh give me the words
Give me the words
That tell me nothing

Pirelli Calender Retrospective

The famous Pirelli calender published for the first time in 1964 has featured some amazing talents through the years. These include shots by Peter Knapp, Terence Donavan, Arthur Elgort, Herb Rotts, Bruce Weber, Mario Testino, Mert + Marcus and Lamsweerde and Metadin to name a few. It's a def. priority to getting The Complete Pirelli Calenders where the entire history of this amazing pinup publicity paper gadget is explicitly portrayed in chronological order.

Naked Lunch

Lęk i wstyd
Stoją
Za tymi palcami, które już nie umieją zatrzymać niczego

Po między tymi, których nie ma
Ja
Wypuszczam kolejną deseczkę
Z rąk
Wczoraj jeszcze związanych
Sklejonych
Sklejka

A teraz już
Czekają na Ciebie za progiem moich drzwi
Kapłani w zielonych sutannach
Za oknem liście zapraszają do tańca
Wołają

Ja
Jak
Model samolotu
Rozklejona

Równowaga

Tyle samo miłości
Tyle samo zazdrości
Tyle samo złości
Tyle samo nienawiści
Tyle samo mądrości

Tyle SAMOTNOŚCI

Nie
równa
waga

dwie strony kartki
dwa końce
dwa początki
różne

równe?

inne
same
oddzielne
obojętne wobec
lekkości i ciężkości
neutralne
niewidzące
ślepe

nie
równe

Varga Girl

Can be found on google if you look under Vargas Pinup, but finding more about this 20th century artist has proven to be a difficult task, that's why I'm hopeful Alberto Vargas: Works from the Max Vargas Collection will feed me with more on his background. His original art can be bought on a website called San Francisco Exchange for as little as 30000$ or if your pocket is as shallow as mine, you might get away with trading your sterling in for one of the cheap reproductions on ebay.

About a Boy

Bruno Amadio or Bragolin was born in Venice, grew up in Spain. Very little is known about his life. Produced a series of 6 images called Crying Boys. It would be great to know more about this incredibly vulnerable artist.

Gombrowicz was not insane

We’re running out of time
It’s only half past nine
Time has a tendency to run
And I’ve never loved the sun

You might misunderstand
I don’t want you to turn
An order has been set
Not to synchronize what’s once been put aside

The theatrical noises are only in our countless heads
No matter how much we would like to talk to link these missing threads
There will be no talk
Unless we want heads to roll
Certain though I wouldn’t
I have a soul

However dull it gets
I cannot make myself forget
That even with a running mind
Luck walks blind

Kiss

We should not kiss again and put that behind us.



It started out with a kiss
How did it end up like this
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

Ruffled – that’s what you said

This is not me, only a resemblance
I float on water like you, but we’re not the same
Not at all alike
Changing this incredibly tight shape is like walking over hot coal
I am not hot I am not
Not in the mould, this tray, this syrupy substance of fennel teas and lukewarm exchanges
I trade myself into pennies
I stick cucumber slices to my forehead to keep the temperature down
However brutally technical it gets here
I cannot help to dislike what I see whenever I see trouble
Troubled I follow a path as always uncertain it will end somewhere unknown
I spit nothing but awkwardness
Gathering my weakened knees with cranberry pies and rough lullabies
Portioned plated rationed
And out of the blue, blue river
I write and unreadable message with a black marker
Mark my words
I’ve already marked yours

What's in the Stars?

I read these every day in the london papers and it's never right.

Homely or Independent

remember to be careful about what comes out of your mouth
when you're not at home
I've always thought it's more important to access your opinions by comparing them to authentic and trustworthy sources
but lately I’ve listened to people who say things that have nothing to do with who they are, they bear no authenticity, they are meaningless, not the people themselves, but their words and thoughts they represent
Who will enlighten their darkness?
Who will make them understand better?
What is wrong with their authority to allow them to verbalize their sick philosophies?

when most words are a waste of time

time and time again
I find
my efforts to be reflected in a futile ocean of angst
your words make a nasty habit of weighing on me like tons of iron
you make me less open than I would want to be
Is it too late to ask why?