Who the #$&% Is Jackson Pollock?
Teri: Knowing what it was worth I thought, “Well, my God”. Something this ugly to me and my girlfriend. We were gonna throw darts at it, that’s how insignificant it was to us.
Go figure? Or have you already got that pinned down?
Narrator: Thomas Hoving [former director of MOMA] has views reflective of those in the art establishment [regarding the painting]
Hoving: It has no real interest. It contributes nothing to artistic civilization. It’s a flip.
Hoving is asked by the filmmakers to examine the painting:
Hoving: Now if I had been a night watchman at MOMA for 10 years instead of a curator and director for 18 1/2, then you might say my expertise is not so good. My expertise is very good.
Filmmaker: What do you think?
Hoving: My instant impression…you know the blink, the hundredth of a second impression was “neat, dash compacted” which is not good. He wasn’t neat, he wasn’t compacted. It’s pretty. It’s, uh, superficial and frivolous and I don’t believe it’s a Jackson Pollock. It’s dead on arrival.
Not unlike any number of my posts here? Or...all of them?
Teri: Who do they think they are? What if this thing is really real? It was gonna have to be proven to me. Somebody was gonna have to do something to show me bottom line that this painting was not done by Paul Jackson Pollock.
And I doubt anyone will ever convince me the reaction of the Big Shots in the Art World here doesn’t revolve in part [maybe even in large part] around the fact that to them this woman is just one of the hicks from the sticks. Which, of course, she’d beam about.
Next up: Provenance.
Ron Spencer: Provenance is crucial for a gallery. If you can trace the possession of the work of art from the artist to the present owner, that is strong evidence that the artist created the work.
Then Teri makes up this incredibly fantastic story to “prove” the connection between the painting and Pollock. Really it’s worth watching the film just to hear it. Especially the part about Pollock signing the painting with his dick. I shit you not.
Narrator: On the internet, Teri located Peter Paul Biro, a forensic scientist and art authenticator from Montreal who uses techniques straight from CSI.
Biro: I look at a painting almost like a crime scene…I’m looking for who committed the art rather than a murder…What did he use? How did he use it? How is this typical or characteristic or uncharacteristic of the painter we theorize created that work?
For example: He could verify a William Turner painting because the artist often used his fingertips to spread the paint around. Bingo: Fingerprints.
He finds a fingerprint on the back of Teri’s painting. But:
Narrator: Jackson Pollock was never in the army, was never charged with a crime. Never, in fact, did anything that caused him to be fingerprinted.
Quote of the day
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iambiguous
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Re: Quote of the day
Time
“Time moves in one direction, memory another. We are that strange species that constructs artifacts intended to counter the natural flow of forgetting.” William Gibson
Yeah, what about that?
“The first step to the knowledge of the wonder and mystery of life is the recognition of the monstrous nature of the earthly human realm as well as its glory, the realization that this is just how it is and that it cannot and will not be changed. Those who think they know how the universe could have been had they created it, without pain, without sorrow, without time, without death, are unfit for illumination.” Joseph Campbell
Let's name names.
“I lied and said I was busy.
I was busy;
but not in a way most people understand.
I was busy taking deeper breaths.
I was busy silencing irrational thoughts.
I was busy calming a racing heart.
I was busy telling myself I am okay.
Sometimes, this is my busy -
and I will not apologize for it.” Brittin Oakman
Next up: your busy here.
“The years teach much the days never know.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
Next up: the decades.
“I do not particularly like the word 'work.' Human beings are the only animals who have to work, and I think that is the most ridiculous thing in the world. Other animals make their livings by living, but people work like crazy, thinking that they have to in order to stay alive. The bigger the job, the greater the challenge, the more wonderful they think it is. It would be good to give up that way of thinking and live an easy, comfortable life with plenty of free time. I think that the way animals live in the tropics, stepping outside in the morning and evening to see if there is something to eat, and taking a long nap in the afternoon, must be a wonderful life. For human beings, a life of such simplicity would be possible if one worked to produce directly his daily necessities. In such a life, work is not work as people generally think of it, but simply doing what needs to be done.” Masanobu Fukuoka
New thread?
“Aside from velcro, time is the most mysterious substance in the universe. You can't see it or touch it, yet a plumber can charge you upwards of seventy-five dollars per hour for it, without necessarily fixing anything.” Dave Barry
Comic relief let's call it.
“Time moves in one direction, memory another. We are that strange species that constructs artifacts intended to counter the natural flow of forgetting.” William Gibson
Yeah, what about that?
“The first step to the knowledge of the wonder and mystery of life is the recognition of the monstrous nature of the earthly human realm as well as its glory, the realization that this is just how it is and that it cannot and will not be changed. Those who think they know how the universe could have been had they created it, without pain, without sorrow, without time, without death, are unfit for illumination.” Joseph Campbell
Let's name names.
“I lied and said I was busy.
I was busy;
but not in a way most people understand.
I was busy taking deeper breaths.
I was busy silencing irrational thoughts.
I was busy calming a racing heart.
I was busy telling myself I am okay.
Sometimes, this is my busy -
and I will not apologize for it.” Brittin Oakman
Next up: your busy here.
“The years teach much the days never know.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
Next up: the decades.
“I do not particularly like the word 'work.' Human beings are the only animals who have to work, and I think that is the most ridiculous thing in the world. Other animals make their livings by living, but people work like crazy, thinking that they have to in order to stay alive. The bigger the job, the greater the challenge, the more wonderful they think it is. It would be good to give up that way of thinking and live an easy, comfortable life with plenty of free time. I think that the way animals live in the tropics, stepping outside in the morning and evening to see if there is something to eat, and taking a long nap in the afternoon, must be a wonderful life. For human beings, a life of such simplicity would be possible if one worked to produce directly his daily necessities. In such a life, work is not work as people generally think of it, but simply doing what needs to be done.” Masanobu Fukuoka
New thread?
“Aside from velcro, time is the most mysterious substance in the universe. You can't see it or touch it, yet a plumber can charge you upwards of seventy-five dollars per hour for it, without necessarily fixing anything.” Dave Barry
Comic relief let's call it.
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iambiguous
- Posts: 7529
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Who the #$&% Is Jackson Pollock?
Narrator: An art dealer Bill Page [Teri’s son] knew had found a buyer for Teri’s painting. The buyer, who did not want his identity disclosed, was offering $2 million, no questions asked.
On “principle” Teri turned it down. Biro then gets permission to visit Pollock’s studio.
Biro: I approached it as an archeological site. I was looking for anything that could link Teri’s painting to the studio. I was looking at a fingerprint on a blue paint can. By this time I had memorized the fingerprint on Teri’s painting. I felt this could be it. This could be the end of the search…Through this kind of methodology I was able to see that there was a perfect match between the fingerprint on the back of Teri’s canvas and the blue paint can from the Pollock-Krasner house.
That settles that, right? Nope. Back to Hoving:
Hoving: Scientists are very interesting but they come after the true connoisseurs. So fingerprints, all this stuff is kind of that lovely “What if?”. But it’s not essential to the heart and the artistic soul of that thing…and that painting has no Pollock soul or heart."
I know: Huh? Even if the fingerprints match?
Hoving: That could be the guy who cleans out his room.
God knows?
Narrator: The art world and the justice system were two different worlds for sure because more scientific evidence was accummulating that Teri’s painting did come from Pollock’s studio.
Acrylic in the paint: same on the floor as on the painting. Basically, what it has come down to now is this: fuck the science, we “experts” in the art world just know it is not a Pollock.
Enter Tod Volpe.
Teri: It didn’t bother me that Volpe had gone to prison for fraud because by this time I know the whole art world is a bumble frappin’ fraud.
Like philosophy up in the clouds?
Narrator: An art dealer Bill Page [Teri’s son] knew had found a buyer for Teri’s painting. The buyer, who did not want his identity disclosed, was offering $2 million, no questions asked.
On “principle” Teri turned it down. Biro then gets permission to visit Pollock’s studio.
Biro: I approached it as an archeological site. I was looking for anything that could link Teri’s painting to the studio. I was looking at a fingerprint on a blue paint can. By this time I had memorized the fingerprint on Teri’s painting. I felt this could be it. This could be the end of the search…Through this kind of methodology I was able to see that there was a perfect match between the fingerprint on the back of Teri’s canvas and the blue paint can from the Pollock-Krasner house.
That settles that, right? Nope. Back to Hoving:
Hoving: Scientists are very interesting but they come after the true connoisseurs. So fingerprints, all this stuff is kind of that lovely “What if?”. But it’s not essential to the heart and the artistic soul of that thing…and that painting has no Pollock soul or heart."
I know: Huh? Even if the fingerprints match?
Hoving: That could be the guy who cleans out his room.
God knows?
Narrator: The art world and the justice system were two different worlds for sure because more scientific evidence was accummulating that Teri’s painting did come from Pollock’s studio.
Acrylic in the paint: same on the floor as on the painting. Basically, what it has come down to now is this: fuck the science, we “experts” in the art world just know it is not a Pollock.
Enter Tod Volpe.
Teri: It didn’t bother me that Volpe had gone to prison for fraud because by this time I know the whole art world is a bumble frappin’ fraud.
Like philosophy up in the clouds?
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iambiguous
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- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
God
“Philosohy and science have not always been friendly toward the idea of God, the reason being they are dedicated to the task of accounting for things and are impatient with anything that refuses to give an account of itself. The philosopher and the scientist will admit that there is much that they do not know; but that is quite another thing from admitting there is something which they can never know, which indeed they have no technique for discovering.”A. W. Tozer
Maybe...your technique?
“Where will I find peace other than in oblivion?” Sorin Cerin
God knows?
“The Theory of Relativity makes nobody angry because it doesn't contradict any of our cherished beliefs. Most people don't care an iota whether space and time are absolute or relative. If you think it is possible to bend space and time, well be my guest. ...In contrast, Darwin has deprived us of our souls. If you really understand the Theory of Evolution, you understand that there is no soul. This is a terrifying thought, not only to devote Christians and Muslims, but also to many secular people who don't hold any clear religious dogma, but nevertheless, want to believe that each human possess an eternal, individual essence that remains unchanged throughout life and can survive even death intact.” Yuval Noah Harari
Next up: QM?
“God says, Which one of you fuckers can get to me first?” Richard Siken
Not really, right?
“There's no God higher than truth.” Mahatma Gandhi
And no truth higher than ours.
“Protestants believe that the sacraments are like ladders that God gave to us by which we can climb up to Him. Catholics believe that they are like ladders that God gave to Himself by which He climbs down to us.” Peter Kreeft
Next up: that other guy's ladders.
“Philosohy and science have not always been friendly toward the idea of God, the reason being they are dedicated to the task of accounting for things and are impatient with anything that refuses to give an account of itself. The philosopher and the scientist will admit that there is much that they do not know; but that is quite another thing from admitting there is something which they can never know, which indeed they have no technique for discovering.”A. W. Tozer
Maybe...your technique?
“Where will I find peace other than in oblivion?” Sorin Cerin
God knows?
“The Theory of Relativity makes nobody angry because it doesn't contradict any of our cherished beliefs. Most people don't care an iota whether space and time are absolute or relative. If you think it is possible to bend space and time, well be my guest. ...In contrast, Darwin has deprived us of our souls. If you really understand the Theory of Evolution, you understand that there is no soul. This is a terrifying thought, not only to devote Christians and Muslims, but also to many secular people who don't hold any clear religious dogma, but nevertheless, want to believe that each human possess an eternal, individual essence that remains unchanged throughout life and can survive even death intact.” Yuval Noah Harari
Next up: QM?
“God says, Which one of you fuckers can get to me first?” Richard Siken
Not really, right?
“There's no God higher than truth.” Mahatma Gandhi
And no truth higher than ours.
“Protestants believe that the sacraments are like ladders that God gave to us by which we can climb up to Him. Catholics believe that they are like ladders that God gave to Himself by which He climbs down to us.” Peter Kreeft
Next up: that other guy's ladders.
-
iambiguous
- Posts: 7529
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Who the #$&% Is Jackson Pollock?
Narrator: Teri phoned Volpe and asked him to represent the sale of her painting. Volpe agreed. For the first time, Teri had someone on her side who understood the art world and all of its nuances.
He thought: that's what I need here.
Volpe: I always saw the art world as a kind of “through the looking glass” experience, kind of “Alice in Wonderland”. A lot of illusions, costumes, disguises, people who are masquerading. There’s a lot of smoke and mirrors in the art world. Money is no object, It’s big business. It’s creating opportunities for hedge fund managers, high leveraging of art deals. It’s all about money. And power and greed.
But even Volpe hits the same catch 22: The “art world” must first “authenticate” it. The solution? Get Teri [the hick from the sticks] out of the picture. The rest is utterly fucking surreal!
The painting becomes merely another commodity to take to Wall Street…an “investment”. But how do you turn the painting itself into a piece of paper that “authenticates” what you say it is?
Narrator: Art dealer Allan Stone acquired a Jackson Pollock that was in a garbage dump…Stone learned that the painting was fished out of the East Hampton dump by a car dealer who used the back of it to advertise his wares.
Stone: Everybody knew that Pollock dumped a lot of his unsuccessful things in the dump in East Hampton. In those days they weren’t worth anything.
Does this tell us more about art or capitalism?
Narrator: One of the reasons that Nick Carone [an expert on Pollock] may be on the fence regarding Teri’s painting is that there were Pollock imitators by the dozens.
Carone: Even in the period in East Hampton there were guys painting like him, nobodies, but they were like, talented guys, you know, never amounted to anything but they painted just like Pollock did.
Narrator: So, could Teri’s painting have been the work of one of those imitators?
Biro: Who, I ask, worked as an imitator in Jackson Pollock’s studio, had access to his painting materials and was generally allowed into the studio during the time of about 1948, '49, 1950…He had no assistants, hardly allowed his wife into the studio. It is documented that he worked alone.
And don't look at me.
Narrator: If, as Myatt [a famed art forger] suspects, Teri’s painting is authentic, then how did it get from Pollock’s studio to a thrift shop in California?
Volpe: Pollock was an absolute madman. I mean, he would give pictures away to anybody. If you were in his studio one night and asked if you could have one, he’s say “Yes, take it home”. He’d give it away for food. He’d give it for airplane rides to go visit his mother. I mean, who is to say what ended up where?
One ended up with this guy: https://youtu.be/Z2tm1emL8YA?si=7Eu6aOJfrPswc8iW
And let's not forget the accountant.
Narrator: Ben Heller is one of half a dozen experts in the world whose opinion can make or break a Pollock. What did he think of Teri’s painting?
Heller: I’m looking for the cracks in the paint…and the way the paint is applied, that is the layering of one color on top of another on top of another. This stuff, it doesn’t look like a Pollock, doesn’t feel like a Pollock, doesn’t sing like a Pollock, doesn’t fail like a Pollock. There’s not a question in my mind. I don’t have a doubt that this is wrong.
An “expert”, right?
Title card: After this film was made, Peter Biro found an identical fingerprint on an undisputed Pollock at the Tate Modern in London. A Saudi art collector offered Teri Horton $9,000,000 for her painting. She turned him down. Teri’s painting is still for sale.
https://www.overstockart.com/blog/a-jac ... ive-bucks/
Narrator: Teri phoned Volpe and asked him to represent the sale of her painting. Volpe agreed. For the first time, Teri had someone on her side who understood the art world and all of its nuances.
He thought: that's what I need here.
Volpe: I always saw the art world as a kind of “through the looking glass” experience, kind of “Alice in Wonderland”. A lot of illusions, costumes, disguises, people who are masquerading. There’s a lot of smoke and mirrors in the art world. Money is no object, It’s big business. It’s creating opportunities for hedge fund managers, high leveraging of art deals. It’s all about money. And power and greed.
But even Volpe hits the same catch 22: The “art world” must first “authenticate” it. The solution? Get Teri [the hick from the sticks] out of the picture. The rest is utterly fucking surreal!
The painting becomes merely another commodity to take to Wall Street…an “investment”. But how do you turn the painting itself into a piece of paper that “authenticates” what you say it is?
Narrator: Art dealer Allan Stone acquired a Jackson Pollock that was in a garbage dump…Stone learned that the painting was fished out of the East Hampton dump by a car dealer who used the back of it to advertise his wares.
Stone: Everybody knew that Pollock dumped a lot of his unsuccessful things in the dump in East Hampton. In those days they weren’t worth anything.
Does this tell us more about art or capitalism?
Narrator: One of the reasons that Nick Carone [an expert on Pollock] may be on the fence regarding Teri’s painting is that there were Pollock imitators by the dozens.
Carone: Even in the period in East Hampton there were guys painting like him, nobodies, but they were like, talented guys, you know, never amounted to anything but they painted just like Pollock did.
Narrator: So, could Teri’s painting have been the work of one of those imitators?
Biro: Who, I ask, worked as an imitator in Jackson Pollock’s studio, had access to his painting materials and was generally allowed into the studio during the time of about 1948, '49, 1950…He had no assistants, hardly allowed his wife into the studio. It is documented that he worked alone.
And don't look at me.
Narrator: If, as Myatt [a famed art forger] suspects, Teri’s painting is authentic, then how did it get from Pollock’s studio to a thrift shop in California?
Volpe: Pollock was an absolute madman. I mean, he would give pictures away to anybody. If you were in his studio one night and asked if you could have one, he’s say “Yes, take it home”. He’d give it away for food. He’d give it for airplane rides to go visit his mother. I mean, who is to say what ended up where?
One ended up with this guy: https://youtu.be/Z2tm1emL8YA?si=7Eu6aOJfrPswc8iW
And let's not forget the accountant.
Narrator: Ben Heller is one of half a dozen experts in the world whose opinion can make or break a Pollock. What did he think of Teri’s painting?
Heller: I’m looking for the cracks in the paint…and the way the paint is applied, that is the layering of one color on top of another on top of another. This stuff, it doesn’t look like a Pollock, doesn’t feel like a Pollock, doesn’t sing like a Pollock, doesn’t fail like a Pollock. There’s not a question in my mind. I don’t have a doubt that this is wrong.
An “expert”, right?
Title card: After this film was made, Peter Biro found an identical fingerprint on an undisputed Pollock at the Tate Modern in London. A Saudi art collector offered Teri Horton $9,000,000 for her painting. She turned him down. Teri’s painting is still for sale.
https://www.overstockart.com/blog/a-jac ... ive-bucks/
-
iambiguous
- Posts: 7529
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Trainspotting
Mark [narrating]: Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
And then what we do?
Mark [narrating]: People think it’s all about misery and desperation and death and all that shit which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn’t do it. After all, we’re not fucking stupid. At least, we’re not that fucking stupid.
Point taken?
Mark [narrating]: Take the best orgasm you’ve ever had… multiply it by a thousand, and you’re still nowhere near it.
That sounds like bullshit. But what if it's not?
Allison: It beats any meat injection. That beats any fucking cock in the world.
That sounds like bullshit. But what if it's not?
Mark [narrating]: When you’re on junk, you have only one worry: scoring. And when you’re off it, you’re suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money, can’t get drunk. Got money, drinkin’ too much. Can’t get a girl, no chance of a ride. Got a girl, too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food… about some football team that never fucking wins. About human relationships and all the things that really don’t matter when you’ve got a sincere and truthful junk habit.
Anyone off it here?
Mark [narrating]: Relinquishing junk. Stage one, preparation. For this you will need one room which you will not leave. Soothing music. Tomato soup, ten tins of mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold. Ice cream, vanilla, one large tub of. Magnesia, milk of, one bottle. Paracetamol, mouthwash, vitamins. Mineral water, Lucozade, pornography. One mattress. One bucket for urine, one for feces and one for vomitus. One television and one bottle of Valium, which I’ve already procured from my mother, who is, in her own domestic and socially acceptable way also a drug addict. And now I’m ready. All I need is one final hit to soothe the pain while the Valium takes effect.
Next up: relinquishing objectivism.
Mark [narrating]: Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
And then what we do?
Mark [narrating]: People think it’s all about misery and desperation and death and all that shit which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn’t do it. After all, we’re not fucking stupid. At least, we’re not that fucking stupid.
Point taken?
Mark [narrating]: Take the best orgasm you’ve ever had… multiply it by a thousand, and you’re still nowhere near it.
That sounds like bullshit. But what if it's not?
Allison: It beats any meat injection. That beats any fucking cock in the world.
That sounds like bullshit. But what if it's not?
Mark [narrating]: When you’re on junk, you have only one worry: scoring. And when you’re off it, you’re suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money, can’t get drunk. Got money, drinkin’ too much. Can’t get a girl, no chance of a ride. Got a girl, too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food… about some football team that never fucking wins. About human relationships and all the things that really don’t matter when you’ve got a sincere and truthful junk habit.
Anyone off it here?
Mark [narrating]: Relinquishing junk. Stage one, preparation. For this you will need one room which you will not leave. Soothing music. Tomato soup, ten tins of mushroom soup, eight tins of, for consumption cold. Ice cream, vanilla, one large tub of. Magnesia, milk of, one bottle. Paracetamol, mouthwash, vitamins. Mineral water, Lucozade, pornography. One mattress. One bucket for urine, one for feces and one for vomitus. One television and one bottle of Valium, which I’ve already procured from my mother, who is, in her own domestic and socially acceptable way also a drug addict. And now I’m ready. All I need is one final hit to soothe the pain while the Valium takes effect.
Next up: relinquishing objectivism.
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iambiguous
- Posts: 7529
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Trainspotting
Lizzy: What do you mean, it’s gone? Where has it gone, Tommy?
Tommy: It’ll be here somewhere! Or maybe I returned it by mistake.
Lizzy: “Returned it”? Where? The video shop, Tommy? The fucking video shop?!!
Of course we [and Mark] know better.
Tommy: Doesn’t it make you proud to be Scottish?
Mark: It’s Shite being Scottish! We’re the lowest of the low. The scum of the fucking Earth! The most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some hate the English. I don’t. They’re just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. Can’t even find a decent culture to be colonized by. We’re ruled by effete assholes. It’s a shite state of affairs to be in, Tommy, and all the fresh air in the world won’t make any fucking difference!
We'll catch up with Tommy later.
Mark: We took morphine, diamorphine, cyclizine, codeine, temazepam, nitrazepam, phenobarbitone, sodium amytal, dextropropo xyphene, methadone, nalbuphine, pethidine, pentazocine, buprenorphine, dextromoramide, chlormethiazole. The streets are a wash with drugs you can have for unhappiness and pain, and we took them all. Fuck it, we would of injected vitimin C if only they’d made it illegal.
Next up: they make philosophy illegal.
Mark [narrating after the baby is found dead]: She wasn’t my baby. Baby Dawn, she wasn’t mine. - Spud’s, Swanney’s, Sick Boy’s? I don’t know. Maybe Allison knew, maybe not. I wished I could think of something to say. Something sympathetic, something human.
Sick Boy: Say something, Mark. FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!!
Mark: I’m cooking up.
What baby?
Alison: Cook us up a shot, Rent. I really need a hit.
Mark [narrating]: And so she did. I could understand that. To take the pain away. So I cooked up, and she got a hit. But only after me. That went without saying.
And then Sick Boy.
Mark: At least we knew who the father was. It wasn’t just the baby that died that day. Something inside Sick Boy was lost and never returned. It seemed that he had no theory with which to explain a moment like this…nor did I. Our only response was to keep on going and ‘fuck everything’. Pile misery upon misery, heap it up on a spoon and dissolve it with a drop of bile, then squirt it into a stinking, puerile vein and do it all over again. Keep on going, getting up, going out, robbing, stealing, fucking people over. Propelling ourselves with longing towards the day that it would all go wrong, because no matter how much you stash, or how much you steal you never have enough. No matter how often you go out and rob and fuck people over, you always need to get up and do it all over again.
And then those like...Philip Seymour Hoffman?
Lizzy: What do you mean, it’s gone? Where has it gone, Tommy?
Tommy: It’ll be here somewhere! Or maybe I returned it by mistake.
Lizzy: “Returned it”? Where? The video shop, Tommy? The fucking video shop?!!
Of course we [and Mark] know better.
Tommy: Doesn’t it make you proud to be Scottish?
Mark: It’s Shite being Scottish! We’re the lowest of the low. The scum of the fucking Earth! The most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some hate the English. I don’t. They’re just wankers. We, on the other hand, are colonized by wankers. Can’t even find a decent culture to be colonized by. We’re ruled by effete assholes. It’s a shite state of affairs to be in, Tommy, and all the fresh air in the world won’t make any fucking difference!
We'll catch up with Tommy later.
Mark: We took morphine, diamorphine, cyclizine, codeine, temazepam, nitrazepam, phenobarbitone, sodium amytal, dextropropo xyphene, methadone, nalbuphine, pethidine, pentazocine, buprenorphine, dextromoramide, chlormethiazole. The streets are a wash with drugs you can have for unhappiness and pain, and we took them all. Fuck it, we would of injected vitimin C if only they’d made it illegal.
Next up: they make philosophy illegal.
Mark [narrating after the baby is found dead]: She wasn’t my baby. Baby Dawn, she wasn’t mine. - Spud’s, Swanney’s, Sick Boy’s? I don’t know. Maybe Allison knew, maybe not. I wished I could think of something to say. Something sympathetic, something human.
Sick Boy: Say something, Mark. FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!!
Mark: I’m cooking up.
What baby?
Alison: Cook us up a shot, Rent. I really need a hit.
Mark [narrating]: And so she did. I could understand that. To take the pain away. So I cooked up, and she got a hit. But only after me. That went without saying.
And then Sick Boy.
Mark: At least we knew who the father was. It wasn’t just the baby that died that day. Something inside Sick Boy was lost and never returned. It seemed that he had no theory with which to explain a moment like this…nor did I. Our only response was to keep on going and ‘fuck everything’. Pile misery upon misery, heap it up on a spoon and dissolve it with a drop of bile, then squirt it into a stinking, puerile vein and do it all over again. Keep on going, getting up, going out, robbing, stealing, fucking people over. Propelling ourselves with longing towards the day that it would all go wrong, because no matter how much you stash, or how much you steal you never have enough. No matter how often you go out and rob and fuck people over, you always need to get up and do it all over again.
And then those like...Philip Seymour Hoffman?
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iambiguous
- Posts: 7529
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Madness
“Tool wondered if the girl was going mad. It happened to people. Sometimes they saw too much and their minds went away. They lost the will to survive. They curled up and surrendered to madness.” Paolo Bacigalupi
Some, of course, post here.
“You're all trying to figure out what went wrong inside my head. Fucking idiots. You'll never crack the code that's inside my head. You'll never get into my castle. You'll never even get past the gate.” Brent Runyon
Unless, of course, no one wants to.
“Madness does not come by breaking out, but by giving in; by settling down in some dirty, little, self-repeating circle of ideas; by being tamed.” G.K. Chesterton
God or No God.
“Then he looked up, despite all best prior intentions. In four minutes, it would be another hour; a half hour after that was the ten-minute break. Lane Dean imagined himself running around on the break, waving his arms and shouting gibberish and holding ten cigarettes at once in his mouth, like a panpipe. Year after year, a face the same color as your desk. Lord Jesus. Coffee wasn't allowed because of spills on the files, but on the break he'd have a big cup of coffee in each hand while he pictured himself running around the outside grounds, shouting. He knew what he'd really do on the break was sit facing the wall clock in the lounge and, despite prayers and effort, count the seconds tick off until he had to come back and do this again. And again and again and again.” David Foster Wallace
He is still dead, right?
“One is always considered mad when one perfects something that others cannot grasp.” Edward D. Wood, Jr.
The Roydop Syndrome he called it.
“Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad people every day in the street, but I never thought before to wonder how they got mad. Perhaps I should go wandering on lonely moors and barren shores. That is always a popular place for lunatics - in novels and plays at any rate. Perhaps wild England will make me mad.” Susanna Clarke
New thread?
“Tool wondered if the girl was going mad. It happened to people. Sometimes they saw too much and their minds went away. They lost the will to survive. They curled up and surrendered to madness.” Paolo Bacigalupi
Some, of course, post here.
“You're all trying to figure out what went wrong inside my head. Fucking idiots. You'll never crack the code that's inside my head. You'll never get into my castle. You'll never even get past the gate.” Brent Runyon
Unless, of course, no one wants to.
“Madness does not come by breaking out, but by giving in; by settling down in some dirty, little, self-repeating circle of ideas; by being tamed.” G.K. Chesterton
God or No God.
“Then he looked up, despite all best prior intentions. In four minutes, it would be another hour; a half hour after that was the ten-minute break. Lane Dean imagined himself running around on the break, waving his arms and shouting gibberish and holding ten cigarettes at once in his mouth, like a panpipe. Year after year, a face the same color as your desk. Lord Jesus. Coffee wasn't allowed because of spills on the files, but on the break he'd have a big cup of coffee in each hand while he pictured himself running around the outside grounds, shouting. He knew what he'd really do on the break was sit facing the wall clock in the lounge and, despite prayers and effort, count the seconds tick off until he had to come back and do this again. And again and again and again.” David Foster Wallace
He is still dead, right?
“One is always considered mad when one perfects something that others cannot grasp.” Edward D. Wood, Jr.
The Roydop Syndrome he called it.
“Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad people every day in the street, but I never thought before to wonder how they got mad. Perhaps I should go wandering on lonely moors and barren shores. That is always a popular place for lunatics - in novels and plays at any rate. Perhaps wild England will make me mad.” Susanna Clarke
New thread?
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iambiguous
- Posts: 7529
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Re: Quote of the day
Trainspotting
Mark: What’s on the menu this evening, Sir?
Swanney: Your favorite dish.
Mark: Excellent.
Swanney: Your usual table, Sir.
Mark: Oh, why thank you.
Swanney: Would Sir care to pay for his bill in advance?
Mark: No. Stick it on my tab.
Swanney: Ah, regret to inform, sir, credit limit was reached and breached quite some time ago.
Mark: Oh, well in that case…
[hands him some cash]
Swanney: Ah, hard currency. Thank you, Sir. Can’t be too careful these days. Would Sir care for a starter of some garlic bread perhaps?
Mark: No, thank you. I will proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs, please.
Next up: the emergency room.
Mark [narrating]: I don’t feel the sickness yet, but it’s in the post. That’s for sure. I’m in the junkie limbo at the moment. Too ill to sleep. Too tired to stay awake, but the sickness is on its way. Sweat, chills, nausea. Pain and craving. A need like nothing else I’ve ever known will soon take hold of me. It’s on its way.
Again, in other words.
Mark: It seems I really am the luckiest guy in the world. Several years of addiction right in the middle of an epidemic, surrounded by the living dead. But not me. I’m negative. It’s official. And once the pain goes away, that’s when the real battle starts. Depression, boredom…You feel so fucking low, you want to fucking top yourself.
Again, in other words.
Mark [gone straight]: I quite enjoyed the sound of it all. Profit, loss, margins, takeovers, lending, letting, subletting, subdividing, cheating, scamming, fragmenting, breaking away. There was no such thing as society and even if there was, I most certainly had nothing to do with it. For the first time in my adult life I was almost content.
Cue Begbie.
Mark: This was to be my final hit, but let’s be clear about this. There’s final hits and final hits.
A dope thing.
Mark [narrating]: Now I’ve justified this to myself in all sorts of ways. It wasn’t a big deal, just a minor betrayal. Or we’d outgrown each other, you know, that sort of thing. But let’s face it, I ripped them off - my so called mates. But Begbie, I couldn’t give a shit about him. And Sick Boy, well he’d done the same to me, if he’d only thought of it first. And Spud, well okay, I felt sorry for Spud - he never hurt anybody. So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers - all false. The truth is that I’m a bad person. But, that’s gonna change - I’m going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. Now I’m cleaning up and I’m moving on, going straight and choosing life. I’m looking forward to it already. I’m gonna be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big television. The washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electric tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisure wear, luggage, three piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.
Though not necessarily in that exact order.
Mark: What’s on the menu this evening, Sir?
Swanney: Your favorite dish.
Mark: Excellent.
Swanney: Your usual table, Sir.
Mark: Oh, why thank you.
Swanney: Would Sir care to pay for his bill in advance?
Mark: No. Stick it on my tab.
Swanney: Ah, regret to inform, sir, credit limit was reached and breached quite some time ago.
Mark: Oh, well in that case…
[hands him some cash]
Swanney: Ah, hard currency. Thank you, Sir. Can’t be too careful these days. Would Sir care for a starter of some garlic bread perhaps?
Mark: No, thank you. I will proceed directly to the intravenous injection of hard drugs, please.
Next up: the emergency room.
Mark [narrating]: I don’t feel the sickness yet, but it’s in the post. That’s for sure. I’m in the junkie limbo at the moment. Too ill to sleep. Too tired to stay awake, but the sickness is on its way. Sweat, chills, nausea. Pain and craving. A need like nothing else I’ve ever known will soon take hold of me. It’s on its way.
Again, in other words.
Mark: It seems I really am the luckiest guy in the world. Several years of addiction right in the middle of an epidemic, surrounded by the living dead. But not me. I’m negative. It’s official. And once the pain goes away, that’s when the real battle starts. Depression, boredom…You feel so fucking low, you want to fucking top yourself.
Again, in other words.
Mark [gone straight]: I quite enjoyed the sound of it all. Profit, loss, margins, takeovers, lending, letting, subletting, subdividing, cheating, scamming, fragmenting, breaking away. There was no such thing as society and even if there was, I most certainly had nothing to do with it. For the first time in my adult life I was almost content.
Cue Begbie.
Mark: This was to be my final hit, but let’s be clear about this. There’s final hits and final hits.
A dope thing.
Mark [narrating]: Now I’ve justified this to myself in all sorts of ways. It wasn’t a big deal, just a minor betrayal. Or we’d outgrown each other, you know, that sort of thing. But let’s face it, I ripped them off - my so called mates. But Begbie, I couldn’t give a shit about him. And Sick Boy, well he’d done the same to me, if he’d only thought of it first. And Spud, well okay, I felt sorry for Spud - he never hurt anybody. So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers - all false. The truth is that I’m a bad person. But, that’s gonna change - I’m going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. Now I’m cleaning up and I’m moving on, going straight and choosing life. I’m looking forward to it already. I’m gonna be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big television. The washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electric tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisure wear, luggage, three piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.
Though not necessarily in that exact order.
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iambiguous
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Re: Quote of the day
Elfriede Jelinek from The Piano Teacher
...the ignorant majority, which does however possess one thing in abundance: It is raring for a fight.
If you are actually foolish enough to engage them.
Only the TV sounds are real, they are the actual events. All the people around here experience the same things at the same time, except for some loner, who switches to the educational channel.
If there's still one to switch to.
The Ph.D is one of the chosen who know that some things can never be fathomed, no matter how hard you try. What good are explanations? There is no possibility of explaining how such a work [Mozart's Requiem, in the instance] could ever have come into being.
And then going back to why anything exists at all. God willing?
Seek and you shall find the repulsive things you secretly hope to find.
You first.
Money never goes out of fashion.
And these days it's right up there with sex.
The mob not only grabs hold of art without being entitled to do so, but it also enters the artist. It takes up residence inside the artist and smashes a few holes in the wall, windows to the outer world: The mob wants to be seen.
Next up: the mob and philosophy.
...the ignorant majority, which does however possess one thing in abundance: It is raring for a fight.
If you are actually foolish enough to engage them.
Only the TV sounds are real, they are the actual events. All the people around here experience the same things at the same time, except for some loner, who switches to the educational channel.
If there's still one to switch to.
The Ph.D is one of the chosen who know that some things can never be fathomed, no matter how hard you try. What good are explanations? There is no possibility of explaining how such a work [Mozart's Requiem, in the instance] could ever have come into being.
And then going back to why anything exists at all. God willing?
Seek and you shall find the repulsive things you secretly hope to find.
You first.
Money never goes out of fashion.
And these days it's right up there with sex.
The mob not only grabs hold of art without being entitled to do so, but it also enters the artist. It takes up residence inside the artist and smashes a few holes in the wall, windows to the outer world: The mob wants to be seen.
Next up: the mob and philosophy.
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iambiguous
- Posts: 7529
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Stendhal from The Red and the Black
A melancholy air can never be the right thing; what you want is a bored air. If you are melancholy, it must be because you want something, there is something in which you have not succeeded. It is shewing your inferiority. If you are bored, on the other hand, it is the person who has tried in vain to please you who is inferior.
Bored it is then.
Faith, I am no such fool; everyone for himself in this desert of selfishness which is called life.
Or my own favorite rendition of that: https://youtu.be/XA9LNlsGah8?si=sv4qLN4NtN74Tx9D
The idea which tyrants find most useful is the idea of God.
Or else?[/i[
Ah, Sir, a novel is a mirror carried along a high road. At one moment it reflects to your vision the azure skies, at another the mire of the puddles at your feet. And the man who carries this mirror in his pack will be accused by you of being immoral! His mirror shews the mire, and you blame the mirror! Rather blame that high road upon which the puddle lies, still more the inspector of roads who allows the water to gather and the puddle to form.
Next up: the inspector of posts here.
The ordinary procedure of the nineteenth century is that when a powerful and noble personage encounters a man of feeling, he kills, exiles, imprisons or so humiliates him that the other, like a fool, dies of grief.
Some things never change.
I am mad, I am going under, I must follow the advice of a friend, and pay no heed to myself.
That's what I need here...a friend.
A melancholy air can never be the right thing; what you want is a bored air. If you are melancholy, it must be because you want something, there is something in which you have not succeeded. It is shewing your inferiority. If you are bored, on the other hand, it is the person who has tried in vain to please you who is inferior.
Bored it is then.
Faith, I am no such fool; everyone for himself in this desert of selfishness which is called life.
Or my own favorite rendition of that: https://youtu.be/XA9LNlsGah8?si=sv4qLN4NtN74Tx9D
The idea which tyrants find most useful is the idea of God.
Or else?[/i[
Ah, Sir, a novel is a mirror carried along a high road. At one moment it reflects to your vision the azure skies, at another the mire of the puddles at your feet. And the man who carries this mirror in his pack will be accused by you of being immoral! His mirror shews the mire, and you blame the mirror! Rather blame that high road upon which the puddle lies, still more the inspector of roads who allows the water to gather and the puddle to form.
Next up: the inspector of posts here.
The ordinary procedure of the nineteenth century is that when a powerful and noble personage encounters a man of feeling, he kills, exiles, imprisons or so humiliates him that the other, like a fool, dies of grief.
Some things never change.
I am mad, I am going under, I must follow the advice of a friend, and pay no heed to myself.
That's what I need here...a friend.
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iambiguous
- Posts: 7529
- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Flesh and Bone
Rosie: I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them chickens.
Tic Tac Toe anyone?
Waitress: Unless that little pastry inside comes with a bicycle pump and two sisters, there ain’t gonna be a farm animal safe for three counties tonight.
You had to be there, let's say.
Kay: I figure the bed’s one of those vibratin’ numbers, so that explains all the quarters. Nobody could possibly fancy pretzel twists that much so I reckon you won some kinda weird contest. As for the condoms, well, either you got a yen for cheerleadin’ squads or we had the night of all nights, whatever, there’s an explanation. As for the blue chicken, I need a little help with that one.
What do you figure?
Kay: You’re not taking my furniture.
Truck driver: Ma’am, I’m not emotionally involved.
Kay: Well, I am! Christ!
Truck driver [to Arlis]: “Boo-Boo”?
It's the story of her life.
Kay: It’s scary, sometimes.
Arlis: What’s that?
Kay: Moments. Little split-seconds of time when you’re capable of unusual things. Like back there, holding that gun. For a moment, my finger twitched. Not so you could see. More like inside, under the skin. Some crazy little muscle. I could’ve done it, I could’ve shot him right in the face. My whole life would’ve changed in one tiny little second.
Cue Benjamin Button.
Kay: Ever been married?
Arlis: No.
Kay: Ever been in love? Oh! Am I crowding you?
Arlis: No. I’ve never been in love.
Kay: Me either.
Arlis: What about your husband?
Kay: Hell, no! I mean, you saw his hair, right?
It is a sight.
Rosie: I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them chickens.
Tic Tac Toe anyone?
Waitress: Unless that little pastry inside comes with a bicycle pump and two sisters, there ain’t gonna be a farm animal safe for three counties tonight.
You had to be there, let's say.
Kay: I figure the bed’s one of those vibratin’ numbers, so that explains all the quarters. Nobody could possibly fancy pretzel twists that much so I reckon you won some kinda weird contest. As for the condoms, well, either you got a yen for cheerleadin’ squads or we had the night of all nights, whatever, there’s an explanation. As for the blue chicken, I need a little help with that one.
What do you figure?
Kay: You’re not taking my furniture.
Truck driver: Ma’am, I’m not emotionally involved.
Kay: Well, I am! Christ!
Truck driver [to Arlis]: “Boo-Boo”?
It's the story of her life.
Kay: It’s scary, sometimes.
Arlis: What’s that?
Kay: Moments. Little split-seconds of time when you’re capable of unusual things. Like back there, holding that gun. For a moment, my finger twitched. Not so you could see. More like inside, under the skin. Some crazy little muscle. I could’ve done it, I could’ve shot him right in the face. My whole life would’ve changed in one tiny little second.
Cue Benjamin Button.
Kay: Ever been married?
Arlis: No.
Kay: Ever been in love? Oh! Am I crowding you?
Arlis: No. I’ve never been in love.
Kay: Me either.
Arlis: What about your husband?
Kay: Hell, no! I mean, you saw his hair, right?
It is a sight.
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iambiguous
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Re: Quote of the day
Flesh and Bone
Kay: It’s not 'cause of that, is it? The tattoo? Bet that was one crazy night!
Arlis: No more than any other.
The flesh and bone part.
Kay: If we’d met under normal circumstances, you’d like me. Most people do. Or… I guess they do.
Arlis: I didn’t say I didn’t like you. Hell, I like you. It’s just there’s been a whole lot of…of…activity in the past couple of days. I go from one town to the next, you understand? I see the same faces, hear the same talk, sleep in the same beds. Then I start all over again. I like it that way. I don’t like walking into houses I don’t know. I don’t like guns coming out of nowhere. I don’t like lookin’ over my shoulders for angry husbands. I don’t like surprises, period!
Kay: You really like me?
Arlis: What’s not to like?
Next up: Daddy.
Kyle [watching Ginnie walk out the door]: I could stand a little of that in my face.
Arlis: She’d steal you blind.
Dead or alive as it turned out.
Roy: Well, darling, I don’t believe there’s a pill-peddler alive got a better touch than my boy here, and best of all, he asks no questions.
Then it all gets upended.
Ginnie: …the guy who did that to your face? Did he think you were nice?
Kay: Not at the time.
Ginnie: But you stay with him anyway, don’t you?
Kay: Who? Arlis? It wasn’t him, he’s not like that.
Ginnie: Don’t kid yourself. Eventually, they’re all like that…But, once you know that, you can turn it back against them. Use it.
Kay: Arlis doesn’t have an evil bone in his body. But…
Ginnie: What?
Kay: I get the feeling he’s been close to it, felt the heat of it.
Little does she know...
Roy: I had a loose end to take care of, Oklahoma way. Around Ardmore. An associate of mine…got a little greedy. Started threatening. Started to weigh on me. Stole my sleep. And you know how I feel about loose ends.
Arlis: Being one myself.
Only Kay's not "flesh and bone".
Kay: It’s not 'cause of that, is it? The tattoo? Bet that was one crazy night!
Arlis: No more than any other.
The flesh and bone part.
Kay: If we’d met under normal circumstances, you’d like me. Most people do. Or… I guess they do.
Arlis: I didn’t say I didn’t like you. Hell, I like you. It’s just there’s been a whole lot of…of…activity in the past couple of days. I go from one town to the next, you understand? I see the same faces, hear the same talk, sleep in the same beds. Then I start all over again. I like it that way. I don’t like walking into houses I don’t know. I don’t like guns coming out of nowhere. I don’t like lookin’ over my shoulders for angry husbands. I don’t like surprises, period!
Kay: You really like me?
Arlis: What’s not to like?
Next up: Daddy.
Kyle [watching Ginnie walk out the door]: I could stand a little of that in my face.
Arlis: She’d steal you blind.
Dead or alive as it turned out.
Roy: Well, darling, I don’t believe there’s a pill-peddler alive got a better touch than my boy here, and best of all, he asks no questions.
Then it all gets upended.
Ginnie: …the guy who did that to your face? Did he think you were nice?
Kay: Not at the time.
Ginnie: But you stay with him anyway, don’t you?
Kay: Who? Arlis? It wasn’t him, he’s not like that.
Ginnie: Don’t kid yourself. Eventually, they’re all like that…But, once you know that, you can turn it back against them. Use it.
Kay: Arlis doesn’t have an evil bone in his body. But…
Ginnie: What?
Kay: I get the feeling he’s been close to it, felt the heat of it.
Little does she know...
Roy: I had a loose end to take care of, Oklahoma way. Around Ardmore. An associate of mine…got a little greedy. Started threatening. Started to weigh on me. Stole my sleep. And you know how I feel about loose ends.
Arlis: Being one myself.
Only Kay's not "flesh and bone".
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iambiguous
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- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Death
“Life is the tragedy,' she said bitterly. 'You know how they categorize Shakespeare's plays, right? If it ends with a wedding, it's a comedy. And if it ends with a funeral, it's a tragedy. So we're all living tragedies, because we all end the same way, and it isn't with a goddamn wedding.” Robyn Schneider
And if it ends up here?
“Sometimes dead is better.” Stephen King
Let's name names.
“I'm not afraid of death because I don't believe in it.
It's just getting out of one car, and into another.” John Lennon
And now, John?
“I have noticed that even those who assert that everything is predestined and that we can change nothing about it still look both ways before they cross the street.” Stephen Hawking.
Like that too isn't beyond our control. Unless, of course, it isn't.
“Pulvis et umbra sumus. It's a line from Horace. 'We are dust and shadows'. Appropriate, don't you think?" Will said. "It's not a long life, killing demons; one tends to die young, and then they burn your body - dust to dust, in the literal sense. And then we vanish into the shadows of history, nary a mark on the page of a mundane book to remind the world that once we existed at all.” Cassandra Clare
Clockwork orange...meet clockwork angel.
“If they killed him tonight, at least he would die alive.” Markus Zusak
Well, that's true enough.
“Life is the tragedy,' she said bitterly. 'You know how they categorize Shakespeare's plays, right? If it ends with a wedding, it's a comedy. And if it ends with a funeral, it's a tragedy. So we're all living tragedies, because we all end the same way, and it isn't with a goddamn wedding.” Robyn Schneider
And if it ends up here?
“Sometimes dead is better.” Stephen King
Let's name names.
“I'm not afraid of death because I don't believe in it.
It's just getting out of one car, and into another.” John Lennon
And now, John?
“I have noticed that even those who assert that everything is predestined and that we can change nothing about it still look both ways before they cross the street.” Stephen Hawking.
Like that too isn't beyond our control. Unless, of course, it isn't.
“Pulvis et umbra sumus. It's a line from Horace. 'We are dust and shadows'. Appropriate, don't you think?" Will said. "It's not a long life, killing demons; one tends to die young, and then they burn your body - dust to dust, in the literal sense. And then we vanish into the shadows of history, nary a mark on the page of a mundane book to remind the world that once we existed at all.” Cassandra Clare
Clockwork orange...meet clockwork angel.
“If they killed him tonight, at least he would die alive.” Markus Zusak
Well, that's true enough.
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iambiguous
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- Joined: Mon Nov 22, 2010 10:23 pm
Re: Quote of the day
Flesh and Bone
Roy: After Oklahoma, I drifted on down and ran into this little girl here, Ginnie. And I saw her switching tickets at this diner in Cherry Spring. She had a full rancher’s breakfast, pulled a switch with an old lady with a coffee and a piece of pie.
Arlis: A little low-rent for you, ain’t it?
Roy: It was the way she did it, see? Smooth as glass. Real nerve.
Arlis: Well, at least she won’t go hungry.
Roy: She’s a little bigger than that. The last couple of months, she’s been running this slick game. A thing of beauty. She steals from the dead.
No, really. Our very own Sylvia Plath.
Roy: She’s got grit in spades. I’ll have to watch my back with this one. Heart beats about twice a minute.
Arlis: At least it beats.
Watch the movie. The first ten minutes.
Enough said?
Arlis: Short don’t mean he’s stealing.
Roy: No, no, I guess not. But then again, what else would it mean?
And he is an ex-con.
Arlis: Are you stealing from me?
Elliot: Arlis, you know I did time in Big Spring. I told you that right off, the day we met. But I did the time. I’m out now. And I want to stay that way.
Arlis: I’m not sure that answers my question.
Elliot: Arlis, you don’t know, 'cause you never been in trouble. But once you’ve been in trouble and people know it, you feel guilty for things you never done. Just because you know, they think you got it in you. That potential.
Arlis: That why your hands are shaking?
Elliot: That’s why my hands are shaking.
Still too close to call.
Kay: I don’t know why I hang on to that photograph; it’s just…you grow up in an ugly house, the way I did, sometimes you wonder how it might have been, if things hadn’t happened the way they did. It’s funny, your father, the other day, mentioned Benson County. That’s where they lived, I’m pretty sure. The people in the picture. My family.
The folks his Daddy killed because Arlis...fucked up?
Ginnie [holding up two bottles of Jack Daniels]: I know how grim you get if you don’t get your breakfast.
Roy: You’re smarter than I thought.
Ginnie: Not smart enough to figure out why we’re wasting our time here in cracker land.
Roy: I’ll tell you about loose ends some day. And you’ll want to listen…careful.
Scrap that, right?
Arlis: She doesn’t know. There’s no reason for her to know. No reason for me to tell her.
Roy: I realise that. I truly do. But this woman, she’s different. I noticed that the first time I saw her. The way she looked at you, the way you looked at her. Hell, it was touching, truly.
Arlis: She’ll never know. I swear it on my life.
Roy: Damn, I wish I could believe that. But as much as we are the same, you’ve always been too emotional.
Arlis: I left her this morning. I only came back 'cause of you. This little game.
Roy: This ain’t no game, Junior. You know me better than that.
And he's about to find that out himself.
Arlis: A good cigar is not what separates you from other men.
Roy: What separates you, Junior? You fuck their wives?
Arlis: I don’t shoot their children.
Roy: If you’d done what I told you, there’d have been no blood that night.
Arlis: I didn’t pull the trigger.
Roy: They were supposed to be asleep. They’re always supposed to be asleep. Besides, I didn’t shoot first. I had no choice.
Arlis: And the boy? Did he have a choice?
Roy: Fuck that little boy! He almost got your daddy killed. We had one bad night. That was 30 years ago.
Arlis: There was more than one bad night.
Roy: That was your night, wasn’t it, Junior? You’re right. You didn’t pull the trigger. But you did open the door. And now, you brung her to me. You’re stupid. You’ve always been stupid. You were stupid when you were a little kid. As a man, shit you’re being stupid now. Who’s got the gun? Me? Go ahead. Put it on me and pull the trigger. Come on. See, you can’t. You can’t, just can’t. You can’t, 'cause we’re kin. Blood. You go ahead and run along. Fill up them candy machines. It’s only right that I do it. This way we both will sleep easy, eh?
Arlis: Dad.
Roy: Son?
Arlis [shooting his father dead]: Sweet dreams.
I doubt that.
Arlis [to Ginnie]: Everything he told you…it’s a lie.
Not unlike everything she'll tell you.
Kay: What was I doing in that house today? Or am I crowding you?
Arlis: There are some things that are better left unsaid. It just does no good to talk about them. No good at all.
Tell me about it. Right, Mr. Objectivist?
Roy: After Oklahoma, I drifted on down and ran into this little girl here, Ginnie. And I saw her switching tickets at this diner in Cherry Spring. She had a full rancher’s breakfast, pulled a switch with an old lady with a coffee and a piece of pie.
Arlis: A little low-rent for you, ain’t it?
Roy: It was the way she did it, see? Smooth as glass. Real nerve.
Arlis: Well, at least she won’t go hungry.
Roy: She’s a little bigger than that. The last couple of months, she’s been running this slick game. A thing of beauty. She steals from the dead.
No, really. Our very own Sylvia Plath.
Roy: She’s got grit in spades. I’ll have to watch my back with this one. Heart beats about twice a minute.
Arlis: At least it beats.
Watch the movie. The first ten minutes.
Enough said?
Arlis: Short don’t mean he’s stealing.
Roy: No, no, I guess not. But then again, what else would it mean?
And he is an ex-con.
Arlis: Are you stealing from me?
Elliot: Arlis, you know I did time in Big Spring. I told you that right off, the day we met. But I did the time. I’m out now. And I want to stay that way.
Arlis: I’m not sure that answers my question.
Elliot: Arlis, you don’t know, 'cause you never been in trouble. But once you’ve been in trouble and people know it, you feel guilty for things you never done. Just because you know, they think you got it in you. That potential.
Arlis: That why your hands are shaking?
Elliot: That’s why my hands are shaking.
Still too close to call.
Kay: I don’t know why I hang on to that photograph; it’s just…you grow up in an ugly house, the way I did, sometimes you wonder how it might have been, if things hadn’t happened the way they did. It’s funny, your father, the other day, mentioned Benson County. That’s where they lived, I’m pretty sure. The people in the picture. My family.
The folks his Daddy killed because Arlis...fucked up?
Ginnie [holding up two bottles of Jack Daniels]: I know how grim you get if you don’t get your breakfast.
Roy: You’re smarter than I thought.
Ginnie: Not smart enough to figure out why we’re wasting our time here in cracker land.
Roy: I’ll tell you about loose ends some day. And you’ll want to listen…careful.
Scrap that, right?
Arlis: She doesn’t know. There’s no reason for her to know. No reason for me to tell her.
Roy: I realise that. I truly do. But this woman, she’s different. I noticed that the first time I saw her. The way she looked at you, the way you looked at her. Hell, it was touching, truly.
Arlis: She’ll never know. I swear it on my life.
Roy: Damn, I wish I could believe that. But as much as we are the same, you’ve always been too emotional.
Arlis: I left her this morning. I only came back 'cause of you. This little game.
Roy: This ain’t no game, Junior. You know me better than that.
And he's about to find that out himself.
Arlis: A good cigar is not what separates you from other men.
Roy: What separates you, Junior? You fuck their wives?
Arlis: I don’t shoot their children.
Roy: If you’d done what I told you, there’d have been no blood that night.
Arlis: I didn’t pull the trigger.
Roy: They were supposed to be asleep. They’re always supposed to be asleep. Besides, I didn’t shoot first. I had no choice.
Arlis: And the boy? Did he have a choice?
Roy: Fuck that little boy! He almost got your daddy killed. We had one bad night. That was 30 years ago.
Arlis: There was more than one bad night.
Roy: That was your night, wasn’t it, Junior? You’re right. You didn’t pull the trigger. But you did open the door. And now, you brung her to me. You’re stupid. You’ve always been stupid. You were stupid when you were a little kid. As a man, shit you’re being stupid now. Who’s got the gun? Me? Go ahead. Put it on me and pull the trigger. Come on. See, you can’t. You can’t, just can’t. You can’t, 'cause we’re kin. Blood. You go ahead and run along. Fill up them candy machines. It’s only right that I do it. This way we both will sleep easy, eh?
Arlis: Dad.
Roy: Son?
Arlis [shooting his father dead]: Sweet dreams.
I doubt that.
Arlis [to Ginnie]: Everything he told you…it’s a lie.
Not unlike everything she'll tell you.
Kay: What was I doing in that house today? Or am I crowding you?
Arlis: There are some things that are better left unsaid. It just does no good to talk about them. No good at all.
Tell me about it. Right, Mr. Objectivist?