Yet another long lost show i adored as a miniature me.
Plus! I had no idea he was a gerbil!
A gerbil!
Thanks El Dextero, you're a nostalgia wizard.
Ladles and Jellyspoons, i would like to direct your attention towards a worthy cause and a guy who has my dream job:
Help a guy out and get some sweet music in the process?
I went for the Art in Manila package because they're lovely and i need no other reason.
Ps. Remember to add your shipping! I almost forgot because...i suck.
The obscenely young and talented Mister Nicholas Scarpinato.
I say 'mister', he's actually 7 years young than me.
Sob.
Lovely, lovely Flo.
So...
I think i talk about books a lot cause this happened on my birthday:
Heaven.
In order of appearance, from left to right:
Line 1: Shelley Jackson, The Melancholy of Anatomy; Luke Rhinehart, The Dice Man; Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones; Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments: City of Glass; Tom Perrotta, The Leftovers
Line 2: Alan Garner, Boneland; Iris Murdoch, The Sandcastle, Hilary Mantel, Beyond Black; Evelyn Waugh, Decline and Fall; Max Brooks, World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War
Line 3: Chuck Palahniuk, Choke; Dan Simmons, Song of Kali; Umberto Eco, Baudolino; Margaret Atwood, Alias Grace; Stephen King, The Drawing of the Three
Line 4: James Ellroy, L.A. Confidential; Cassandra Clare, The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Angel
'All that I owe the fellows of the grave
And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates
Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood,
Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots.
O all I owe is all the flesh inherits,
My fathers' loves that pull upon my nerves,
My sisters tears that sing upon my head
My brothers' blood that salts my open wounds
Heir to the scalding veins that hold love's drop,
My fallen filled, that had the hint of death,
Heir to the telling senses that alone
Acquaint the flesh with a remembered itch,
I round this heritage as rounds the sun
His winy sky, and, as the candles moon,
Cast light upon my weather. I am heir
To women who have twisted their last smile,
To children who were suckled on a plague,
To young adorers dying on a kiss.
All such disease I doctor in my blood,
And all such love's a shrub sown in the breath.
Then look, my eyes, upon this bonehead fortune
And browse upon the postures of the dead;
All night and day I eye the ragged globe
Through periscopes rightsighted from the grave;
All night and day I wander in these same
Wax clothes that wax upon the ageing ribs;
All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet.
Then look, my heart, upon the scarlet trove,
And look, my grain, upon the falling wheat;
All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet.'
All That I Owe the Fellows of the Grave
girl. found.
'I feel I understand the anonymous girl, the photographer, even the scent of that house, that year, that summer. The tangle of stories connecting them all feels so vivid, so familiar. It is a 'bad' photograph in many ways but, to me, it has a vague and faded beauty, a poignancy and even a physical 'surface' of deterioration that I find very powerful.'
Robin Cracknell is just...wow.
My articulation is just...
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