we cheated ourselves, like we knew we would

(gazing sadly at her iphone)
Why isn't he calling?

Because he loves you, and the girl from last night, and the one he's meeting tomorrow...

But it was so good! He can't possibly feel the same way about anyone else.

I'm sure he's thinking of you in the final throes.

OMG! Look over there.

You mean the ladyboy?

Those hands... that skin...

That beard - yuck!

I want him.


These Bloody Marys are so strong.


I feel like Amy died when we were in the Pantheon.

While we were looking up at the sky through the circle in the ceiling -

And all the tourists disappeared.

I know. I felt it too.

color or b&w? that is the question

he left no time to regret, kept his dick wet
with his same old safe bet
me and my head high and my tears dry
get on without my guy


amores perros cap. 7

laika & stef by kat

EXT. PARK DAY - Laika throws herself slavishly at the feet of a ridiculously handsome, tall, dark, blue-eyed stranger with a piercing.

Funny...usually she hates men.

Really? I think she's the perfect dog.

Do you have any tattoos?

Suddenly, our heroine feels that life has hit a different groove.

she can dance to my beat

kat by stef

lucian freud... always an inspiration

benefits supervisor sleeping, by lucian freud (1922-2011)

"My work is purely autobiographical. It is about myself and my surroundings. I work from people that interest me and that I care about, in rooms that I know."

the world's greatest film of the world's greatest novel

Filmmaking is like war: it requires guts, teamwork, complex logistics, grueling physical labor, and fanatical dedication. They differ only in their end results... although some films, like Fitzcarraldo, have been known to exact the ultimate sacrifice.

As far as combat sequences on film, the only two who stayed with me were Apocalypse Now and the opening of Gladiator... until I saw Sergei Bondarchuk's 1968 version of War and Peace: seven years in the making, 120 000 extras, 35 000 costumes, no special FX or CGI bullshit... just glorious vision & talent on a mass scale. As far as I'm concerned, it blows Coppola and Ridley Scott right out of the water. What is this thing, which Tolstoy called the Russian soul? Something far greater than the sum of its parts.

detail from the Borodino Panorama by Franz Roubaud (1856-1928) - thank you wikicommons

"It was a vibrant scene, astonishing in its splendor, but what struck Pierre most forcibly was the battlefield itself, borodinoThe ground was overhung by the kind of mist that seeps down and thins out to let the bright sun come shimmering through, revealing the landscape and painting it in magical colours. Gunsmoke wreathed its way in, and the intermingling smoke and mist was everywhere shot through with lightning-flashes of early morning sunlight glinting on water, dew and bayonets in the hands of soldiers swarming through Borodino.

Through the mist you could make things out: a white church here, there the roofs of shacks in Borodino, with fitful glimpses of great masses of men...and the whole scene was writhing, because of the mist and smoke drifting across the entire landscape. All across the misty hollows, from copse and meadow puffs of smoke curled up out of thin air, either singly or in clusters, sporadically or in big, rapid bursts, weaving together on high then swelling, billowing out, seeping away and merging together all over the landscape. It was this swirling gunsmoke, with the ensuing bangs, that gave the whole spectacle its special beauty."  

"Prince Andrey's regiment was among the reserves. All his energy, like every soldier's, was instinctively concentrated on distracting himself from the horror of his situation. He paced the meadow, dragging his feet and rustling through the grass, and he watched the dust thickening on his boots. 
'Look out!' yelled a terrified soldier as a grenade came over like a little bird zooming down with whirring wings on the look-out for a landing place, and plopped down with a dull thud a few paces away from Prince Andrey. The smoking shell was spinning like a top, near a clump of wormwood growing in the ditch between meadow and field. 
'Is this death then?' Prince Andrey wondered, and he was swept with a new sense of longing as he gazed down at the grass, the wormwood and the spiral of smoke swirling up from the spinning ball. 'I can't die. I don't want to die. I love life. I love this grass, the earth, the air...'"   tolstoy

internauti contro la censura

Non sarà una vigilia tranquilla per l'Agcom: sarà, piuttosto, "La Notte della Rete". 
Il 5 luglio, a 24 ore dall'approvazione della Delibera definita "ammazza-Internet" dai blogger italiani, artisti, esponenti della rete, leader politici, cittadini e utenti del web si troveranno a Roma per una no-stop contro il provvedimento.
Martedì 5 luglio dalle 17.30 alle 21 alla Domus Talenti a Roma ( via delle Quattro Fontane, 113 ) partecipa anche tu alla nostra mobilitazione. Fai sentire la tua voce!
Fra i presenti già confermati:
Olivero Beha, Pippo Civati, Antonio Di Pietro, Dario Fo, Giovanbattista Frontera, Alessandro Gilioli, Peter Gomez, Beppe Giulietti, Flavio Granata, Giulia Innocenzi, Gianfranco Mascia, Roberto Natale, Flavia Perina, Marco Pierani, il Piotta, Enzo Raisi, Franca Rame, Fulvio Sarzana, Marco Scialdone, Guido Scorza, Mario Staderini, Vincenzo Vita, Vittorio Zambardino.

Come fare:

"Primo interesse di un autore dovrebbe essere quello della diffusione di massa del suo prodotto, non di recintarlo. Così come è interesse di tutti difendere il copyright e il lavoro creativo dalla pirateria alla luce delle nuove tecnologie. Ma questo non può essere fatto al di fuori da una normativa europea e sovranazionale. 

Soprattutto non può essere accettata la censura. E gli autori dovrebbero essere in prima fila nel respingere qualsiasi tentativo di repressione della creatività. La delibera dell’Agcom prevede la possibilità che possa essere la stessa Agcom a inibire gli accessi ai siti e chiuderli...."  (continua)

biennale styling

kisa, by gary baseman

memorie selettive

Conversazione via blog:

Uno qualunque: “Sai io e te ci conosciamo.”
Stef: “Ma và?”
“Si, ci siamo conosciuti al compleanno di Gastón.”
“Cioè eravamo nella fila del bagno e gentilmente mi hai fatto passare?”
“No no. Tu eri accanto al caminetto. Portavi una maglietta Joan Jett, e nella mano destra tenevi un bicchiere di vino. I tuoi capelli erano selvaggi. Io mangiavo delle noccioline…abbiamo parlato a lungo.”
“Ma dai. Al compleanno di Gastón ci vado tutti gli anni, e di te non ricordo assolutamente niente.”

Ho pensato: Che presuntuoso…muori groupie di merda!
E l’ho sputtanato sul blog, salvo che l’altro giorno è successa la stessa cosa, peró a me.

Stef: “Allora Tommaso... ti sei sbarazzato di quella pazza isterica?”
Tommaso: “Quale?”
“La stalker. Il giorno che ci siamo conosciuti non parlavi d’altro.”
“Oddio non riesco a fare mente locale.”
“Ma si. Sei venuto al bar, ci hai letto gli sms che quella ti mandava a raffica. Poi siamo andati un attimo a casa tua.”
“A casa mia??”
“Si, e poi siamo andati ai martedí critici. Pioveva, allora mi hai portato in macchina. Mi hai raccontato di tua figlia e mi hai regalato un libro di Epicuro…”
“Mi dispiace non ricordo assolutamente nulla.”

Ho pensato: Fortuna che Tommaso non ha un blog ma si dedica a cose serie tipo scrivere romanzi...speriamo che si dimentichi anche di questa conversazione peró!