trip 2 part II

Death to everyone is gonna come
And it makes hosing much more fun
Death to everyone is gonna come
And it makes hosing much more fun
La la la ...

bonny prince billy

trip. no 2. part 1

christ the baking never stopped. enough to drive a woman anorexic. did i hear beetroot anyone?


jesus neither did the eating....

trip no. 1

depeche maude


no sausage shaped dog. just 3 of my favourite girls and a big concert. two of us sober. against our better judgement

after two weeks of sloth, what better than to wrap an idyll than eschew company and subject oneself to 9 hours of.................

BLEAK HOUSE

``With her air of superiority, and power, and fascination, and I know not what, she seemed to regard Ada and me as little more than children. So, as she slightly laughed and afterwards sat looking at the rain, she was as self-possessed and as free to occupy herself with her own thoughts as if she had been alone.''

{lady vestibule aka top torry tosh totty, i think lady dedlock should nudge a notch or too in our ever-evolving list of great tragic heroines, no?}

set myself to humbly resume blogging duties after recovering from anaphylactic shock prompted by thousands of bills, fines, departing flatmates, am empty oddone and la tiz, striking again, with the wrath of the almighty cow.

still recovering

from the mythical figures. artemis riding a horse. the centaurs. the unclenched fists reaching out to me. the great big skyscraper suspended mid-air. the bugs i rolled. the tentacles. the dead mutilated calf strapped onto michael. the space oddity.

i called for ground control. i was major tom

adriana calcanhotto, rome, auditorium 21:00 p.m.

came back for her. totally worth it. she made me tremble. she made me sigh. she made me cry. she reminded me of a time long gone that i won't ever get back. she made me think of love in all its shades and complexities. she made me feel good and bad. and all that. she made me regret it all and nothing at all.

entre por essa porta agora
E diga que me adora
Você tem meia hora
P'ra mudar a minha vida

ok taking FOREVER to download pictures. getting to me a bit of a PAIN

why is maude limping?
great.......she may need a flipping artificial HIP????

New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire.


for a fine review of this film that haunts me still,
READ ME

incidentally since my blood stopped being toxic, the mosquitoes can't get enough of me.

Il Sempione strizza l'occhio al Frejus

starting my initiation with this........

summer loving? please............summer reading!
taking pucciastro londinastro's cue, i submit my own modest ambitions

jackson's destination: sept. 21-oct. 6

by boat. bus. and foot. whatever it takes to chase the big waves with a 2p budget

United 93

20:15 a.m.

ganzy laying out the rules for our first film together
don't talk: she talked
don't chew: she chewed
i'll cry: she did (not too much though)
i can't have granita: she did

ecco (as she would say)

my ideal sailing boat. the concubine


holding tora to a promise to learn how to sail when she moves to rome. actually, correct that, day two of her impending one-way journey home to rome

our little housewife


she cooks
she cleans
she goes to the market and brings the tomatoes
she waters the plants
she walks the dog
she makes pretty clothes
she plays a mean game of spades


what more could you want in a lady?

comments welcome. please add to the list above

Gli dèi

- Il monte è incolto, amico. Sull’erba rossa dell’ultimo inverno ci son chiazze di neve. Sembra il mantello del centauro. Queste alture sono tutte così. Basta un nonnulla, e la campagna ritorna la stessa di quando queste cose accadevano.
- Mi domando se è vero che li hanno veduti.
- Chi può dirlo? Ma sì, li han veduti. Han raccontato i loro nomi e niente più – è tutta qui la differenza tra le favole e il vero. "Era il tale o il tal’altro", "Ha fatto questo, ha detto quello". Chi è veritiero, si accontenta. Non sospetta nemmeno che non abbiamo mai veduto queste cose, eppure sappiamo per filo e per segno di che mantello era il centauro o il colore dei grappoli d’uva sull’aia di Icario.
- Basta un colle, una vetta, una costa. Che fosse un luogo solitario e che i tuoi occhi risalendolo si fermassero in cielo. L’incredibile spicco delle cose nell’aria oggi ancora tocca il cuore. Io per me credo che un albero, un sasso profilati sul cielo, fossero dèi fin dall’inizio.
- Non sempre queste cose sono state sui monti.
- Si capisce. Ci furono prima le voci della terra – e le fonti, le radici, le serpi. Se il demone congiunge la terra col cielo, deve uscire alla luce dal buio del suolo.
- Non so. Quella gente sapeva troppe cose. Con un semplice nome raccontavano la nuvola, il bosco, i destini. Videro certo quello che noi sappiamo appena. Non avevano né tempo né gusto per perdersi in sogni. Videro cose tremende, incredibili, e nemmeno stupivano. Si sapeva cos’era. Se mentirono quelli, anche tu allora, quando dici "è mattino" o "vuol piovere", hai perduto la testa.
- Dissero nomi, questo sì. Tanto che a volte mi domando se furono prima le cose o quei nomi.
- Furono insieme, credi a me. E fu qui, in questi paesi incolti e soli. C’è da stupirsi che venissero quassù? Che altro potevano cercarci quella gente se non l’incontro con gli dèi?
- Chi può dire perché si fermarono qui? Ma in ogni luogo abbandonato resta un vuoto, un’attesa.
- Nient’altro è possibile pensare quassù. questi luoghi hanno nomi per sempre. Non rimane che l’erba sotto il cielo, eppure l’alito del vento dà nel ricordo più fragore di una bufera dentro il bosco. Non c’è vuoto né attesa. Quel che è stato, è per sempre.
- Ma son morti e sepolti. Adesso i luoghi sono come erano prima di loro. Voglio concederti che quello che hanno detto fosse vero. Che cos’altro rimane? Ammetterai che sul sentiero non s’incontrano più dèi. Quando dico "è mattino", "vuol piovere", non parlo di loro.
- Questa notte ne abbiamo parlato. Ieri parlavi dell’estate, e della voglia che ti senti di respirare l’aria tiepida la sera. Altre volte discorri dell’uomo, della gente che è stata con te, dei tuoi gusti passati, d’incontri inattesi. Tutte cose che furono un tempo. Io, ti assicuro, ti ho ascoltato come riascolto dentro di me quei nomi antichi. Quando racconti quel che sai, non ti rispondo "cosa resta?" o se furono prima le parole o le cose. Vivo con te e mi sento vivo.
- Non è facile vivere come se quello che accadeva in altri tempi fosse vero. Quando ieri ci ha preso la nebbia sugli incolti e qualche sasso rotolò dalla collina ai nostri piedi, non pensammo alle cose divine né a un incontro incredibile ma soltanto alla notte e alle lepri fuggiasche. Chi siamo e a che cosa crediamo viene fuori davanti al disagio, nell’ora arrischiata.
- Di questa notte e delle lepri sarà bello riparlare con gli amici quando saremo nelle case. Eppure di questa paura ci tocca sorridere, quando pensassimo all’angoscia della gente di un tempo cui tutto quello che toccava era mortale. Gente per cui l’aria era piena di spaventi notturni, di arcane minacce, di ricordi paurosi. Pensa soltanto alle intemperie o ai terremoti. E se questo disagio fu vero, com’è indiscutibile, fu anche vero il coraggio, la speranza, la scoperta felice di poteri, di promesse d’incontri. Io, per me, non mi stanco di sentirli parlare dei loro terrori notturni e delle cose in cui sperarono.
- E credi ai mostri, credi ai corpi imbestiati, ai sassi vivi, ai sorrisi divini, alle parole che annientavano?
- Credo in ciò che ogni uomo ha sperato e patito. Se un tempo salirono su queste alture di sassi o cercarono paludi mortali sotto il cielo, fu perché ci trovavano qualcosa che noi non sappiamo. Non era il pane né il piacere né la cara salute. Queste cose si sa dove stanno. Non qui. E noi che viviamo lontano lungo il mare e nei campi, l’altra cosa l’abbiamo perduta.
- Dilla dunque, la cosa.
- Già lo sai. Quei loro incontri.

FAVOURITE POST-WIN WORLD CUP BANNER

``Ora ridateci la Gioconda!''

(afp placeholder)

circo massimo: 1 million people. crazy ass shit. smoke. red. dripping sweat. men going topless. grattachecche.
piazza venezia: naked men and women splashing in fountains - one guy took a piss. people mounting lions. getting picked up (myself included) and twirled around. fun honking horns.
maude: shitting in my room
me: sober (day 6)

There is no sound more heartbreaking than that of an illusion being shattered. Marco Materazzi finished the game of his life screeched down from every corner of the Olympic Stadium for having the temerity to be butted by Zinedine Zidane.

It was not that he feigned injury - he was struck squarely in the chest by Zizou's tonsured pate - but because he had smashed so many certainties about a man most saw as having glacial calm: a Clint Eastwood in football boots.

Whatever Materazzi said as a provocation, however distasteful Gianluigi Buffon's impassioned protests to have the French captain dismissed, Zidane's behaviour destroyed not only his own farewell to football but what had been the finest World Cup final since Diego Maradona's Argentina traded blow for blow with Franz Beckenbauer's West Germany in 1986. The last few minutes disappeared lifelessly, the penalties when they came seemed almost an irrelevance.

Zidane had done it once before in a World Cup, in a group game eight years ago, against Saudi Arabia and in similar circumstances. A player had walked past, muttered something and Zidane had taken revenge in a way that would meet with approval in the unforgiving concrete squares of Marseille where he grew up.

Not long before, he had driven the kind of header that in 1998 had torn the World Cup from Brazil's grasp in Paris squarely towards Buffon's goal. The script demanded it strike the net but sport is not Hollywood and, if it were, Zidane, who had dragged an ageing French squad back from a chasm of mediocrity, would have scored. Whenever Zidane's great career is discussed, there will always be the queasy question of how it ended.

(Telegraph)

¿cuándo será
cuando yo diga de vero:
vivo ya porque no muero?

I got a sixty-nine Chevy with a 396
Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor
She's waiting tonight down in the parking lot
Outside the Seven-Eleven store
Me and my partner Sonny built her straight out of scratch
And he rides with me from town to town
We only run for the money got no strings attached
We shut 'em up and then we shut 'em down

Tonight, tonight the strip's just right
I wanna blow 'em off in my first heat
Summer's here and the time is right
For goin' racin' in the street

We take all the action we can meet
And we cover all the northeast state
When the strip shuts down we run 'em in the street
From the fire roads to the interstate
Some guys they just give up living
And start dying little by little, piece by piece
Some guys come home from work and wash up
And go racin' in the street

Tonight, tonight the strip's just right
I wanna blow 'em all out of their seats
Calling out around the world, we're going racin' in the street

I met her on the strip three years ago
In a Camaro with this dude from L.A.
I blew that Camaro off my back and drove that little girl away
But now there's wrinkles around my baby's eyes
And she cries herself to sleep at night
When I come home the house is dark
She sighs "Baby did you make it all right"
She sits on the porch of her daddy's house
But all her pretty dreams are torn
She stares off alone into the night
With the eyes of one who hates for just being born
For all the shut down strangers and hot rod angels
Rumbling through this promised land
Tonight my baby and me we're gonna ride to the sea
And wash these sins off our hands

Tonight tonight the highway's bright
Out of our way mister you best keep
'Cause summer's here and the time is right

the flowers so high they grow
are pale here like death
only one
stands alone
in dark red
its colour doesn't come from the sun
but from the earth
where it drinks of human blood

The monster of Florence


(thx karl...)

I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed in
I watched myself crawling out now, as I came crawling in
I got up so tight I couldn't unwind
I saw so much, I broke my mind
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in

uh-huh

Oh, it doesn't matter what you wear
Just as long as you are there
So come on, every guy grab a girl
Everywhere around the world
There'll be dancin'
They're dancin' in the street


YUP. certainly is tonight
maude, shall we?

An American Girl

An American Girl

Watch the video

bopping. rocking. bopping

michele peering in at the scene in the car and taking off...
as ganz would say? amooooooooooooore

luca busted reading very attentively a girlie mag....

old marrieds turned wife basher and cowering wench

pal. post old boy you should trust me when i say to watch
something.
but you hadn't seen this one yet. and tomy lee jones is not a fave of mine
Reply:
regardless pal. you should just trust me. i defer to you in
music always.
Reply:
i don't know what to say to that (fist rises.....)
Reply:
you don't have to say anything. sometimes you just get so stuck
on something. (takes a step back....shadow looms)
Reply: stuck on something? (????????? added question marks for effect)
Reply: how can i put it... set in your ways. determined not to see
something. hard to get you to give some things a shot
sometimes.
Reply: oh. obstinate or stubborn would have done.
Reply:
well i was trying to spare myself another black eye

post-credits...

WHAM!

a weekend devoted to 9:30 a.m. matinees......

from the sublime......
to the disturbing...........
to the ridiculous and frankly fabulous

loving my black eye

love how saying i slammed into a car door (ie the truth) makes me sound even more of an abused wife than i am
``How did that happen? Its weird! A door CANT do that! Did someone punch
you?'' -- lisa de simone porreca 11:04 a.m. july 3

love how the dark bruise has spread across the rest of my socket

hate that it will turn yellow and green. so will have to go back for seconds.

** hah!. hey, still no credit though, plagiarist ** OATS
if it wasn't obvious, no i did not take the picture

thanks, ganz, for the lack of vanity shots and the post mortem on the festivities.
kaftan. crashing crowbar style on my pup's piss-fested sleeping quarters. puffed out
a total keeper. more to follow