a visual collective outlet of inspiration
i want to listen to this and only this, at least for the time being. for my g. love. by sv
Werner Herzog: on love and speed dating with special guest bjork
i cant stop laughing! this is quite a trip for any herzog or bjork fan. my favorite is the bjork bit about the rabbit ears and the haircut and werner is just perfectly done… dry as a bone. well done my fiend! directed by john webb. by dd
like the finest wine
i hope to look half as good at sixty-six. by sv
tea time
a lovely day for a cup of tea with grace and alfred. by sv
take a look around
by ak
Memorias del Subdesarrollo
one of my favorite films of all time… and how i think of it so much in my life, especially at this time. if all this film ever did was what it has done for me it was worth making it. thank you tomás. by dd
T.S. Eliot & Valerie Eliot
photographer unknown. by kl
stretchhhh
i think we could all use some yoga this week. by m+m
footwear designs by melisa denizeri
we love the awesome made-to-order shoe designs by up and coming designer melisa denizeri. i’m a fan of the lookbook as well as the shoes themselves. get it before everyone else has it, e-mail info@melisadenizeri.com for orders and prices. by ak
make my day
sometimes all you need is a little innocence. other times a vacation, friends, champagne, money, bacon, massage, poolside bloody mary, and private trio. right now i’m in that vacation, friends, champagne, money, bacon, massage, poolside bloody mary, and private trio mode. don’t know about you? by dd
waylon and buddy
ultimate. by sv
ode to a flower in casarsa
Desert flower, flowers from the garland of our houses where families bicker in the open air, you browse on the stones of the day, simple, while field and sky like sky and sea appear all around. Rustic desert flower, no evening streaming with lights. No shepherds drenched by dew, slender fire of the hedges. No marsh-marigold, bilberry, swamp-violet or Florentine iris, or gentian, no angelica, no Parnassian grass or marsh-myrtle. You’re Pieruti, Zuan and tall Bepi with his walking-sticks of bone, slim at the helm of his wagon, pasture flower. You become hay. Burn, burn, sun of my town, little desert flower. The years pass over you, and so do I, with the shadow of the acacia tree, with the sunflower, on this quiet day.
a visionary on many fronts, the stunning words of mr. pier paolo pasolini. by sv
