Last night we ended up on the couch trying to remember all of the friends who had died so far,
and this morning I wrote them down in alphabetical order on the flip side of a shopping list you had left on the kitchen table.
So many of them had been swept away as if by a hand from the sky, it was good to recall them, I was thinking under the cold lights of a supermarket as I guided a cart with a wobbly wheel up and down the long strident aisles.
I was on the lookout for blueberries, English muffins, linguini, heavy cream, light bulbs, apples, Canadian bacon, and whatever else was on the list, which I managed to keep grocery side up,
until I had passed through the electric doors, where I stopped to realize, as I turned the list over, that I had forgotten Terry O’Shea as well as the bananas and the bread.
It was pouring by then, spilling, as they say in Ireland, people splashing across the lot to their cars. And that is when I set out, walking slowly and precisely, a soaking-wet man bearing bags of groceries, walking as if in a procession honoring the dead.
I felt I owed this to Terry, who was such a strong painter, for almost forgetting him and to all the others who had formed a circle around him on the screen in my head.
I was walking more slowly now in the presence of the compassion the dead were extending to a comrade,
plus I was in no hurry to return to the kitchen, where I would have to tell you all about Terry and the bananas and the bread.
Sohrab Hura - A look at Kashmir through the prism of the arrival and departure of the three phases of winter. Mesmerised and deceived by snow at first, as it starts to melt, so does the mask of denial start to slip off my face and I, the outsider, start to come to terms with the land that I find myself in.
CREDITS: Made at Art Camp Directed by: Art Camp & Saad Moosajee Technical Director: James Bartolozzi Design: Saad Moosajee & Zuheng Yin Art Direction: Jenny Mascia 3D Animation: Saad Moosajee, Zuheng Yin, Chanyu Chen Simulation and Effects: James Bartolozzi Supporting Design: Chanyu Chen, Andrew Finley Cel Animation: Jenny Mascia, Britton Korbel, Mac Ross, Jeremy Higgins, Danae Gosset Production Manager: Matthew Kagen Production Coordinator: John James Russo Stop Motion Photographer: Jared Pershad Storyboards: Mac Ross, Jenny Mascia Cel Animation Consultant: Danae Gosset 16MM Film Consultant: Oliver Lanzenberg
Woman cuts off husband's penis later throws it from car window -News Report
it lay in my palm soft and trembled as a new bird and i thought about authority and how it always insisted on itself, how it was master of the man, how it measured him, never was ignored or denied, and how it promised there would be sweetness if it was obeyed just like the saints do, like the angels and i opened the window and held out my uncupped hand; i swear to god i thought it could fly
Ernst Haas (1921–1986) is acclaimed as one of the most celebrated and influential photographers of the 20th century and considered one of the pioneers of color photography. Haas was born in Vienna in 1921, and took up photography after the war. His early work on Austrian returning prisoners of war brought him to the attention of LIFE magazine. He declined a job offer as staff photographer in order to keep his independence. At the invitation of Robert Capa, Haas joined Magnum in 1949, developing close associations with Capa, Henri Cartier-Bresson, and Werner Bishof.
Haas moved to the United States in 1951 and soon after, began experimenting with Kodachrome color film. He went on to become the premier color photographer of the 1950s. In 1953 LIFE magazine published his groundbreaking 24-page color photo essay on New York City. This was the first time such a large color photo feature was published by LIFE. In 1962 a retrospective of his work was the first color photography exhibition held at New York’s Museum of Modern Art.
Throughout his career, Haas traveled extensively, photographing for LIFE, Vogue, and Look, to name a few of many influential publications. He authored four books during his lifetime: The Creation (1971), In America (1975), In Germany (1976), and Himalayan Pilgrimage (1978).
Ernst Haas received the Hasselblad award in 1986, the year of his death. Haas has continued to be the subject of museum exhibitions and publications such as Ernst Haas, Color Photography(1989), Ernst Haas in Black and White (1992), and Color Correction (2011). The Ernst Haas Studio, located in New York, continues to manage Haas’s legacy, aiding researchers and overseeing all projects related to his work.
I was always working steady But I never called it art I got my shit together Meeting Christ and reading Marx It failed my little fire But it’s bright the dying spark Go tell the young messiah What happens to the heart
There’s a mist of summer kisses Where I tried to double-park The rivalry was vicious The women were in charge It was nothing, it was business But it left an ugly mark I’ve come here to revisit What happens to the heart
I was selling holy trinkets I was dressing kind of sharp Had a pussy in the kitchen And a panther in the yard
In the prison of the gifted I was friendly with the guards So I never had to witness What happens to the heart
I should have seen it coming After all I knew the chart Just to look at her was trouble It was trouble from the start Sure we played a stunning couple But I never liked the part It ain't pretty, it ain't subtle What happens to the heart
Now the angel’s got a fiddle The devil’s got a harp Every soul is like a minnow Every mind is like a shark I’ve broken every window But the house, the house is dark I care but very little What happens to the heart
Then I studied with this beggar He was filthy, he was scarred By the claws of many women He had failed to disregard No fable here no lesson No singing meadowlark Just a filthy beggar guessing What happens to the heart
I was always working steady But I never called it art It was just some old convention Like the horse before the cart I had no trouble betting On the flood, against the ark You see, I knew about the ending What happens to the heart
I was handy with a rifle My father’s .303 I fought for something final Not the right to disagree