Meet Me In The City

snowce: Gordon Parks, Partially costumed showgirls play chess...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:22:24 -0400

snowce:

Gordon Parks, Partially costumed showgirls play chess backstage at the Latin Quarter nightclub, New York, 1958

ridesabike: Minerva Griswold, Jane Hopkins, Rita Hayworth and...

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 11:41:24 -0400

ridesabike:

Minerva Griswold, Jane Hopkins, Rita Hayworth and Virginia Hovey ride bikes.

comicallyvintage: Something Weird….

Thu, 30 May 2013 00:03:17 -0400

comicallyvintage:

Something Weird….

"Nobody ever figures out what life is all about, and it doesn’t matter. Explore the world. Nearly..."

Wed, 29 May 2013 22:46:04 -0400

“Nobody ever figures out what life is all about, and it doesn’t matter. Explore the world. Nearly everything is really interesting if you go into it deeply enough.”

- Richard P. Feynman (via larmoyante)

Photo

Tue, 28 May 2013 07:53:04 -0400

fuckyeahfrejabeha: Freja Beha Erichsen by Hedi Slimane for...

Mon, 13 May 2013 00:45:57 -0400

fuckyeahfrejabeha:

Freja Beha Erichsen by Hedi Slimane for Saint Laurent Pre-Fall 2013 Campaign

nickdrake: Each lover’s gaze reflected in a mirror. Couple...

Sat, 11 May 2013 07:19:12 -0400

nickdrake:

Each lover’s gaze reflected in a mirror.

Couple D’amoureux Dans un Petit Café, Quartier Italie, circa 1932 by George Brassai

Photo

Mon, 06 May 2013 01:07:25 -0400

Photo

Sat, 04 May 2013 04:13:57 -0400

theparisreview: When F. Scott Fitzgerald’s daughter Scottie...

Thu, 02 May 2013 20:06:25 -0400

theparisreview:

When F. Scott Fitzgerald’s daughter Scottie died in 1986, instructions were left that two boxes of books owned by her father were to be sent to her great friend, Professor Matthew J. Bruccoli of the English department at the University of South Carolina. Among the books was a volume by Ernest Boyd entitled Portraits: Real and Imaginary. On the front endpaper, Fitzgerald had written “Don’t bother about first stuff. Read definite portraits”—instructions to someone to whom he was intending to lend or give the book.

Thanks to some fine detective work by Bruccoli’s wife Arlyn, we now know who that person is. Noting that the rear endpaper of the book had been torn out, Arlyn observed faint impressions on the preceding page, which suggested someone had written a message in the book before tearing out the page. Applying the familiar method of rubbing the indentations with a soft pencil, she was able to recover the message. It appears above.

From Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast we also know the circumstances—Fitzgerald had missed the train the two of them were to take to Lyon together to pick up the Fitzgerald’s car and drive it back to Paris. As Hemingway writes: “There was nothing to do but wire Scott from Dijon giving him the address of the hotel where I would wait for him in Lyon … ”

Hemingway writes of reading a book in his hotel room in Lyon while he waits to hear from Fitzgerald. It is the first volume of A Sportman’s Sketches by Turgenev. Who knows whether he ever looked into the Boyd book, except to write in it.

Not About Love

Wed, 01 May 2013 23:51:50 -0400

Not About Love

"In the daylight we know what’s gone is gone, but at night it’s different. Nothing gets finished, not..."

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 19:59:32 -0400

“In the daylight we know
what’s gone is gone,
but at night it’s different.
Nothing gets finished,
not dying, not mourning;
the dead repeat themselves, like clumsy drunks
lurching sideways through the doors
we open them in sleep;
these slurred guests, never entirely welcome,
even those we have loved the most,
especially those we have loved the most,
returning from where we shoved them
away too quickly:
from the ground, from the water,
they clutch at us, they clutch at us,
we won’t let go.”

- Margaret Atwood, from “Two Dreams, 2” in Eating Fire: Selected Poetry, 1965-1995 (Virago, 1998) (via apoetreflects)

Photo

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 21:42:03 -0400

“Pack Light”

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 10:46:48 -0400

“Pack Light”

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence...

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 22:37:49 -0400

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

- W.H. Auden

theremina: Witches’ Sabbat in Paris from a series of French...

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 22:51:03 -0400

theremina:

Witches’ Sabbat in Paris

from a series of French postcards

Photo

Sun, 24 Mar 2013 22:13:08 -0400

I’ve decided to make this song my...

Sat, 02 Mar 2013 23:25:40 -0500

I’ve decided to make this song my personal-life-theme-song. Tom Waits, Jockey Full Of Bourbon

girlswillbeboys: oh good a photo of me

Wed, 27 Feb 2013 20:42:50 -0500

girlswillbeboys:

oh good a photo of me

Photo

Wed, 27 Feb 2013 19:25:39 -0500