“This is why fiction is an art and life is not—how much more affecting is the lie than the truth.”
nevver:

Where’s your head at?
nevver:

Where’s your head at?
nevver:

Where’s your head at?
“Why do we hate the poor? Perhaps we hate the poor because they are the prophets of a future that awaits us all. A future of water shutoffs for the many and splaying fountains for the few.”

After you’ve been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what’s your story?
And you think maybe they really and truly do

sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.

You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course

there’s some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you’ve had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they’re telling you their life story, exactly as they’d intended to all
along,

and you’re saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?

Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that’s how people burn to death in hotel rooms.

— Tennessee Williams, from Life Story (via violentwavesofemotion)
“Poetry’s medium is the individual chest and throat and mouth of whoever undertakes to say the poem.”
“I think we are an enormously unreflective society, and I think we have thought of revolution so much in terms of changing things and of increasing our economic growth, which has been the Western concentration since the French Revolution. To understand revolution is twofold—it’s not just changing institutions, it’s changing ourselves. Our challenge for this time is to know how much economic growth has damaged not only our planet, but ourselves. In order to achieve that growth, we enslaved a people and exterminated another people. We have to understand how that needs to change and how to change that. That’s the challenge of revolution.”
Grace Lee Boggs (via azspot)

(via azspot)

andrei-tarkovsky:

Offret, Andrei Tarkovski, 1986
andrei-tarkovsky:

Offret, Andrei Tarkovski, 1986
andrei-tarkovsky:

Offret, Andrei Tarkovski, 1986
andrei-tarkovsky:

Offret, Andrei Tarkovski, 1986
andrei-tarkovsky:

Offret, Andrei Tarkovski, 1986
andrei-tarkovsky:

Offret, Andrei Tarkovski, 1986