i hate dead people
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user_178
I once put a particularly ugly photograph (torn from a magazine that I can't recall the name of) of Christopher Walken, taken by Mr Avedon, on the window of my apartment door. He was looking out at all the fine people that happened to walk by and (presumably) scaring the shit out of them. My room-mate made me take it down after a couple days because he thought we wouldn't receive mail anymore. A true story. Thanks, Rich (r.i.p.).
he was ace at third base, but his mouth, his bat, and his dwi convictions made him my least favorite astros from the getgo. i was pretty pissed off when he suddenly because a star with the padres. maybe i just never gave him enough credit.gawd wrote:KEN CAMINITI
he was my boyhood idol. this guy had an arm like a fucking gun.
41, though, is sad under any circumstances.
m
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franz bieberkopf
- Posts: 642
- Joined: Thu May 29, 2008 9:33 pm
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user_70
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user_25
It's funny. You talk to people who have supposedly studied Derrida, or at least have been exposed to him via higher education, and they have virtually no idea that what so consumed him for the last 20 or so years of his working life was the philosophy of religion.Franz Bieberkopf wrote:yeah, i was meaning to mention that the other day... perhaps it's for the best, maybe people can start appreciating him again, and find all the positive applications of his work, as opposed to just finding it all very condemning...Joe wrote:
THE GIFT OF DEATH indeed...
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user_136
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user_136
In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur,
I had a vision once--though you understand
It was nothing at all like Dante's, or the visions of saints,
And perhaps not a vision at all. I was with some friends,
Picking my way through a warm sunlit piazza
In the early morning. A clear fretwork of shadows
From huge umbrellas littered the pavement and made
A sort of lucent shallows in which was moored
A small navy of carts. Books, coins, old maps,
Cheap landscapes and ugly religious prints
Were all on sale. The colors and noise
Like the flying hands were gestures of exultation,
So that even the bargaining
Rose to the ear like a voluble godliness.
And then, when it happened, the noises suddenly stopped.
And it got darker; pushcarts and people dissolved
And even the Farnese Palace itself
Was gone, for all its marble; in its place
Was a hill, mole-colored and bare. It was very cold,
Close to freezing, with a promise of snow.
The trees were like old ironwork gathered for scrap
Outside a factory wall. There was no wind,
And the only sound for a while was the little click
Of ice as it broke in the mud under my feet.
I saw a piece of ribbon snagged on a hedge,
But no other sign of life. And then I heard
What seemed the crack of a rifle. A hunter, I guessed;
At least I was not alone. But just after that
Came the soft and papery crash
Of a great branch somewhere unseen falling to the earth.
I had a vision once--though you understand
It was nothing at all like Dante's, or the visions of saints,
And perhaps not a vision at all. I was with some friends,
Picking my way through a warm sunlit piazza
In the early morning. A clear fretwork of shadows
From huge umbrellas littered the pavement and made
A sort of lucent shallows in which was moored
A small navy of carts. Books, coins, old maps,
Cheap landscapes and ugly religious prints
Were all on sale. The colors and noise
Like the flying hands were gestures of exultation,
So that even the bargaining
Rose to the ear like a voluble godliness.
And then, when it happened, the noises suddenly stopped.
And it got darker; pushcarts and people dissolved
And even the Farnese Palace itself
Was gone, for all its marble; in its place
Was a hill, mole-colored and bare. It was very cold,
Close to freezing, with a promise of snow.
The trees were like old ironwork gathered for scrap
Outside a factory wall. There was no wind,
And the only sound for a while was the little click
Of ice as it broke in the mud under my feet.
I saw a piece of ribbon snagged on a hedge,
But no other sign of life. And then I heard
What seemed the crack of a rifle. A hunter, I guessed;
At least I was not alone. But just after that
Came the soft and papery crash
Of a great branch somewhere unseen falling to the earth.
John Peel
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainmen ... 955289.stm" onclick= "window.open(this.href);return false;
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainmen ... 955289.stm" onclick= "window.open(this.href);return false;
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user_3
Antoine wrote:John Peel
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainmen ... 955289.stm" onclick= "window.open(this.href);return false;
