east meets west, dot meets line, boy meets girl. by sv
“well, fuck that. i don’t need to pay $2,000 a month to share a doghouse-sized apartment with some random craigslist dipshit to prove my worth. i want to live like a goddamn human being.” i could have written that quote. check out this hilarious article. by lil

daily rainbow. by kl
in their 2013 fiction issue, vice magazine is featuring the above pictures in a spread entitled the ever-so-cunning (can you sense my facetiousness yet?) last words. the fashion spread features models, you know, doing model-y things in their haute couture, except here’s the catch: they are depicting female writers who have committed suicide! ah yes, please, let’s procure and solidify even more glorification in this world. women in fashion are not disposable enough, let’s juxtapose that fleeting nature with the timelessness of literature and the written word. is anything valuable anymore? perhaps not. the spread, styled by annette lamothe-ramos and photographed by annabel mehran, depicts charlotte perkins gilman (with the ubiquitous yellow wallpaper, naturally), sanmao (who hung herself with a pair of stockings, so don’t you want a pair too!), virginia woolf (not nicole kidman), sylvia plath, elise cowen, iris chang (who only took her own life in 2004, but fashion leaves no room for the grieving), and dorothy parker, who maybe unbeknownst to vice DID NOT KILL HERSELF despite many attempts. at the end of the day, am i being too harsh to expect more from the world? is this truly surprising when gratification is often at our fingertips? i don’t know. what i do know, is that dorothy parker, one of my idols, deserves better. by sv
alice: how long is forever?
white rabbit: sometimes, just one second.
– lewis carroll, through the looking glass
“weakness is great, strength is insignificant. when man is born he is weak and malleable. when he dies he is strong and callused. when a tree is still growing it is flexible and tender, and when its dry and hard it dies. the inability to learn and strength are the companions of death. what has grown hard will therefore never triumph.”
-lao-tzu

directed in 1964 by alfred leslie featuring the landscape and encompassing surroundings of new york city, the last clean shirt is a beautiful short film. broken finnish overrode by the quaint subtitles penned by no other than frank o’hara. the moma featured this film back in 2009, honoring leslie and o’hara as well, who used to be employed there in his heyday. this film transcends many barriers, most of which you can read about here. it irks me a bit that leslie does not give o’hara credit; perhaps a lapsed jealousy but nevertheless, this is worth a watch. i threw in the eliot shout-out for good measure. by sv