Tapping out, limbs tired and tummy full.
"FP To those who may be attempting to build a new entity for artists who share ideas and resources in a similar D.I.Y. fashion to yours, what advice do you have?
SE We think the most important thing is just to have confidence. You can do it. Stay low to the ground; like-minded people will find you. Keep going and persevere even when you fuck up. Learn from your mistakes. Be flexible. Listen—be open enough to take in new ideas and hear other points of view. Share ideas and resources. Take action when opportunities present themselves."
BOMBLOG interview with Steven Englander
(Source: bombsite.com)
"As i walked down toward Newcastle, the sun hammered me. I held my face up, said,
‘Roast me, yah bastard’"
The Guards by Ken Bruen
An evening ride with wind like a cold fist on my chest. This is the best summer ever.
Is Facebook concerned for me?
Index of Impressions
A bird flies low overhead
beating wings beside you
rainwater on bare calves
damp tussock
rubber
concrete
tie calm knots in your lungs
managing your body at the edge of its limits
metal spoon clanking against glass
around and around
in the pit of your stomach
"I was a shape that made a shadow
And my flesh glowed in the sunlight."
Don Marquis
Thanks Thomas. I mean, my God.
james at coles after the punch show / snackpunx
NO CURATION
(Source: pushthemovement)
"But the eyes were horrible. Looking at them i got the feeling that they were not genuine eyes at all but mechanical dummies animated by electricity or the like, with a tiny pinhole in the centre of the ‘pupil’ through which the real eye gazed out secretively and with great coldness. Such a conception, possibly with no foundation at all in fact, disturbed me agonisingly and gave rise in my mind to interminable speculations as to the colour and quality of the real eye and as to whether, indeed, it was real at all or merely another dummy with its pinhole on the same plane as the first one so that the real eye, possibly behind thousands of these absurd disguises, gazed out through a barrel of serried peep-holes."
from The Third Policeman by Flann O’brien. Eoin lent me this book.
