Christina Hendricks

Mad Men, Paul Kinsey:
I had the idea. Then I lost it. There was nothing, and then there was it, and now it's nothing again.

Kandinsky, Blue

Phantom arm, synthesis, mirror neurons and so on

too much TED,  losing grip on reality

Ieri, Oggi, Domani (parte 1) - film completo in Italiano

Italia,

Kanskje hit?

The Shaking Woman

quote S.H:
something is going on unconsciously in me

dropping knowledge QUESTION: Siri Hustvedt, New York

ser·en·dip·i·ty

ser·en·dip·i·ty

/ˌsɛrənˈdɪpɪti/ Show Spelled[ser-uhn-dip-i-tee]

–noun

1.

an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.

2.

good fortune; luck: the serendipity of getting from unknown sources.

Hobbes writes the following “Of Man’’:

When in the mind of man, Appetites, and Aversions, Hopes, and Feares, concerning one and the same thing, arise alternately; and divers goods and evil consequences of the doing, or omitting the thing propounded, come successively into our thoughts; so that sometimes we have an Appetite to it; sometimes an Aversion from it; sometimes Hope to be able to do it; sometimes Despaire, or Feare to attempt it; the whole summe of Desires, Aversions, Hopes and Fears, continued till the thing will be either done, or thought impossible, is that we call deliberation (...).

Here is the key passage from book 3 of Seneca’s On Anger, in the section on moral therapy called “ How to Avoid the Onset of Anger’’:
We may find help in that sound advice of Democritus which points to tranquility “if we refrain from doing many things, either in private or in public, or anything beyond our powers.’’ If one runs off on many different activities, one will never have the luck to spend a day without some annoyance arising, from someone or something, to dispose the mind to anger. If one hurries through the crowded parts of the city, one cannot help knocking into many people; one is bound to slip, to be held back, to be splashed. In the same way, if one’s course of life is fragmented and always taking a different direction, many things will get in the way and there will be much to complain about—one man has disappointed us, another put us off, a third cut us short; our plans did not take the course that we intended. No one has fortune so much on his side as always to answer to his wishes, if he attempts many things. As a result, should he do so, he finds his plans thwarted and becomes impatient with people and things. At the slightest provocation he loses his temper with the person involved, with the matter in hand, with his position, with his luck, with himself. So if the mind is to have the possibility of being calm, it must not be tossed about nor, as I said, exhausted by doing many things or anything too ambitious for its powers. (...)

We can learn a good deal about the rhetoric of human nature in early modern Europe simply by asking what passions were.
When we do, we find not only that their descriptions disagree but also that the things described as passions seem incommensurable. Are passions tangible “things’’ residing in the soul, or are they dispositions of the heart, or beliefs of the mind? Is passion a matter of personal expression, or is it something essentially social that a person performs? Do they come from our interior, or from the things we perceive? Can they be measured and manipulated— their causes controlled—or do passions elude control by their very nature? Are they divine, diabolical, or human, and can we distinguish them according to their origin? Are they the enabling condition of virtue or its enemy? Are they necessary or disposable? What is their number and what do they do?

I guess with everything in life there's a place of balance

Absalon

Kurt Masur & Jessye Norman & Gewandhausorchester Leipzig – Strauss, R.: Vier Letzte Lieder

Strauss, R.: Four Last Songs, etc.
(Spotify)

eight minutes part I

William Eggleston

The Other: "Rest Energy", 1980

The Ballad of Sexual Dependency Nan Goldin’s slideshow at MoMA

Ryan in the tub, Provincetown, Mass. 1976

Nan and Brian in bed, New York City 1983

 Nan Goldin’s The Ballad of Sexual Dependency is one of the most enduring works in recent photographic history. What began in 1979 as slideshows for her friends turned into hundreds and hundreds of photos, a visual diary that is still being written today, 30 years later, as well as a book, first published by Aperture in 1986 and still being printed. The version of the slideshow acquired by the Museum of Modern Art in 2004 contains 690 slides and is 43 minutes long. Though ongoing and including photographs taken all over the world, the heart of the Ballad lies in 1980s New York, a time and place where Goldin and her core group of friends were young and looked for all the world as though they owned it.

http://visualarts.slowcentury.com/post/86796415/the-ballad-of-sexual-dependency

The past is the present: traumatizing experiences keeps repeating themself as present situations

The Method of Loci
Cicero told a traditional story about how the method of loci was discovered. A Greek poet named Simonides was entertaining a group of wealthy noblemen at a banquet. Suddenly a pair of mysterious figures called him outside. They turned out to be messengers from the Olympian gods Castor and Pollux, praised by Simonides in his poem. As soon as Simonides stepped outside, the roof of the banquet hall collapsed, squashing everybody inside. The mangled corpses could not be identified until Simonides stepped forward, pointed to the place where each victim had been sitting, and said each name in turn.

How did Simonides accomplish this feat? He mentally recreated the scene of the banquet, visualizing each reveler in his place. When he saw the places, it helped him remember the person who had been sitting there.


Cotard delusion
The Cotard delusion or Cotard's syndrome or Walking Corpse Syndrome[1] is a rare neuropsychiatric disorder in which people hold a delusional belief that they are dead (either figuratively or literally), do not exist, are putrefying, or have lost their blood or internal organs. In rare instances, it can include delusions of immortality[2] (mutually excluding the possibility of such a condition of death as an oblivion, unless regarded as just oneself to another or others).

---> The pleasure of uncertainty. Everything is the same, can't you see it?

David Shrigley

DOGVILLE DIALOGLISTE  
Final scene

GRACE

So what is it? What is it, the thing…the thing that you don't like about me?

THE BIG MAN

It was a word you used that provoked me. You called me arrogant.

GRACE

To plunder, as it were, a God given right. I'd call that arrogant, daddy.

THE BIG MAN

But that is exactly what I don't like about you. It is you that is arrogant!

GRACE

That's what you came here say? I'm not the one passing judgement, Daddy. You are.

THE BIG MAN

You do not pass judgement, because you sympathize with them. A deprived childhood and a homicide really isn't necessarily a homicide, right? The only thing you can blame is circumstances. Rapists and murderers may be the victims, according to you. But I, I call them dogs, and if they're lapping up their own vomit the only way to stop them is with the lash.

GRACE

But dogs only obey their own nature. So why shouldn't we forgive them?

THE BIG MAN

Dogs can be taught many useful things, but not if we forgive them every time they obey their own nature.

GRACE

So I'm arrogant. I'm arrogant because I forgive people?

THE BIG MAN

My God. Can't you see how condescending you are when you say that? You have this preconceived notion that nobody, listen, that nobody can't possibly attain the same high ethical standards as you, so you exonerate them. I can not think of anything more arrogant than that. You, my child…my dear child you forgive others with excuses that you would never in the world permit for yourself.

GRACE

Why shouldn't I be merciful? Why?

THE BIG MAN

No no no. You should be merciful, when there is time to be merciful. But you must maintain your own standard. You owe them that. You owe them that. The penalty you deserve for your transgressions, they deserve for their transgressions.

GRACE

They are human beings.

THE BIG MAN

No no no. Does every human being need to be accountable for their action. Of course they do. But you don't even give them that chance. And that is extremely arrogant. I love you. I love you. I love you to death. But you are the most arrogant person I've ever met. And you call me arrogant! I have no more to say.

GRACE

You are arrogant. I'm arrogant. You've said it. Now you can leave.

THE BIG MAN

And without my daughter I suppose?

GRACE

Uhm…

THE BIG MAN

I said without my daughter?

GRACE

Hmm, yes!

THE BIG MAN

Well.

GRACE

Yes.

THE BIG MAN

Well, you decide, you decide. Grace, they say you are having some trouble here.

GRACE

No. No more trouble than back home.

THE BIG MAN

I'll give you a little time to think about this. Perhaps you will change your mind.

GRACE

I won't.

THE BIG MAN

Listen, my love…power is not so bad…I am sure that you can find a way to make use of it in your own fashion… Take a walk and think about it.

GRACE

The people who live here are doing their best under very hard circumstances.

THE BIG MAN

If you say so, Grace. But is their best really good enough? Do they love you?

NARRATOR

Grace had already thought for a long time. She had known that if she were not shot when the gangsters arrived she would be faced with her father's suggestion that she return, to become a conspirator with him and his gang of thugs and felons and she did not need any walk to reconsider her response to that, even though the difference between the people she knew back home and the people she'd met in Dogville had proven somewhat slighter than she'd expected.

Grace looked at the gooseberry bushes so fragile in the smooth darkness.

It was good to know that if you did not treat them ill, they would be there come spring as always, and come summer they'd again be bursting with the quite incomprehensible quantity of berries that were so good in pies, specially with cinnamon.

NARRATOR(cont'd)

Grace looked around at the frightened faces behind the windowpanes that were following her every step, and felt ashamed of being part of inflicting that fear. How could she ever hate them for what was at bottom merely their weakness? She would probably have done things like those that had befallen her if she'd lived in one of these houses, to measure them by her own yardstick as her father put it. Would she not, in all honesty, have done the same as Chuck and Vera and Ben and Mrs. Henson and Tom and all these people in their houses?

NARRATOR(cont'd)

Grace paused. And while she did, the clouds scattered and let the moonlight through and Dogville underwent another of those little changes of light. It was if the light, previously so merciful and faint, finally refused to cover up for the town any longer. Suddenly you could no longer imagine a berry that would appear one day on a gooseberry bush, but only see the thorn that was there right now. The light now penetrated every unevenness and flaw in the buildings… and in… the people! And all of a sudden she knew the answer to her question all to well:

If she had acted like them, she could not have defended a single one of her actions and could not have condemned them harshly enough. It was as if her sorrow and pain finally assumed their rightful place.

No, what they had done was not good enough.

And if one had the power to put it to rights, it was one's duty to do so, for the sake of the other towns. For the sake of humanity, and not least, for the sake of the human being that was Grace herself.

http://www.h4.dion.ne.jp/~jazz222/index_Ebook/Dogville.htm

Eugène DELACROIX, Jeune orpheline au cimetière, vers 1824

Louvre,

Hamlet - David Tennant, Patrick Stewart, Penny Downie. Act 1, Scene 1.

Francisco Zurbarán

MQ.

 A moment of clarity

The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

— Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

fin

Salvador Dali - Lanvin Chocolate

La solitude -Barbara- (avec sous-titres)

Brenda Lee - Break It to Me Gently (Single)

DOGVILLE - Final dialogue Father & Daughter

DOGVILLE - Final dialogue Father & DaughterR

http://www.kunstforum.as/2011/03/kj%C3%B8nn-pa-agendaen/

alessi brothers / seabird

THE LITTLE MUTE BOY

The little boy was looking for his voice
In a drop of water

I do not want it for speaking with;
I will make a ring of it

so that she may wear my silence

(omskrevet Lorca)

DESIRE OF A STATUE


Rumor:
Though nothing may remain but the rumor.


Odor:
Though nothing may remain but the odor.


But tear out of me the memory
and the color of the old hours.
(-)
f.g.lorca

illuminate us, don't bore us

http://mindhacks.com

M*SCHINWALD;

from soft to soft
a love divided

given nothing but to wonder

buckled broken
words speak bolder
the air is cold
but the earth is colder

gestures mask intention
marching
waiting
bending
driving
the voluptuous suck
of hollow time

alternate two by two
and one by four

the borders run from south to north
north to south
south to north

two are watching
the geography of crime

little rooms
little space between breaths
little marvels
in a lifelong occupation
of sorting
filing
moving
pushing

a charm of Litanies
a laboured parody
a chain of flaws

a flow of habits dance
a well intentioned chance
a postured pause

its warm inside
waking
looking
taking

gestures mask intention
lost divided surveyed charmer

shelves are warm
but the fold is warmer

bring a wish within your clothes
a language of impidents
bring a shackle of lassitude
a labour with no reason

limbs extend
fingers unfold
the mad pushing of green green green

from soft to soft
widowed hands touch softer

False Silence, Bruce N

http://ubu.artmob.ca/sound/nauman_bruce/Bruce-Nauman_09-False-Silence.mp3

Maria Callas - O Mio Babbino Caro

...---.....cmyk

Blake slots a manically speed-up sample from Kelis’s ‘Caught Out There’ into the negative space of Aaliyah’s ‘Are You That Somebody?’, creating a sonic whirlwind of opposition. While Kelis cusses her boy for betraying her (‘Look I found her red coat/Look I found her’), Aaliyah and Timbaland engage in a breathy back-and-forth, setting the stage for seduction.

And now I'm tired. Tired of having foolish habits and tired of having hands. But most of all I am tired of struggling against the feeling of guilt after repeating all this bullshit, day after day.

Elektronika; spillelisten som bare vokser

blandings.+

Nei, jeg har ikke sett noe fantastisk etter at jeg kom tilbake,
men denne fant jeg nettopp (lenge etter alle andre):

Les Parapluies de Cherbourg * The Umbrellas of Cherbourg *(English and ...

Èn film om dagen i èn måned

Èn film om dagen i èn måned fom. 16. desember.

Det er vinter, forferdelig kaldt, ingen grunn til å gå ut og ikke minst (!) akkurat 10 år siden jeg gjorde det sist. På tide å gjenta suksessen. Hvis noen har forslag til hvilke filmer jeg absolutt bør se; gi beskjed.

Sist gang (januar 2001 (samme måned som jeg brakk foten, hadde stålskinne og stafylokokker)) tok jeg hele Star Wars serien, samt Tarkovskji og Almodovar +++.

Denne gangen har jeg såvidt begynt på de resterende Godard filmene jeg enda ikke har sett, Michelangelo Antonioni og I am Love som var irriterende melodramatisk. Hittil beste: A bout de Souffle: Breathless (Godard). Det kommer mer. I kveld skal jeg se For Ever Mozart. Og i natt: In Treatment sesong II, som er suggererende.

Breathless

Godard - A bout de souffle (endelig!)

Criterion Trailer 98: L'Avventura

Witch House - Last.fm
eller
Blackbird Blackbird – Hawaii - spotify

levi's - swimmer

isolert sett (tilbake i Oslo)

jeg har bein å stå på, men de går bare ikke fremover

Broken Circle

Broken Circle
33x30x17
Stainless Steel
William Burgess

:: MTV | Robyn - With Every Heartbeat

:: MTV | Robyn - With Every Heartbeat

The Smiths - Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others

Oi! den utstillingen skal jeg i hvertfall se: KUNSTNERNES HUS

3. natt søvnløs. holder på å bli gal.

ja, jeg sover jo ikke så da
http://treeunit.blogspot.com/

og alt er sånn litt vagt og vakkert,

Jeg kom til å tenke på dette diktet av Inger Hagerup i 4 tiden i natt. Et dikt jeg kan utenat fordi jeg var sykelig forelsket i 15 års alderen. Jeg kjente ham ikke, jeg hadde drømt om ham, og han fikk selvfølgelig aldri vite om det. Eller, hva vet jeg.

To tunger

To tunger har mitt hjerte
To viljer har mitt sinn
Jeg elsker deg bestandig,
og jeg blir aldri din

Dypt i det røde mørket
fikk livet dobbel form
der kurrer det en due
der hvisler det en orm

To tunger har mitt hjerte
Hør på det likevel
Bli hos meg og gå fra meg
og frels meg fra meg selv

Og her er hva faren min sa da jeg fortalte ham om han jeg trodde jeg elsket, men aldri hadde snakket med, som 15 åring: "Problemet Bobbi, det er nemlig alltid slik; er at du er forelsket i èn, som er forelsket i en annen, som er forelsket i en annen, som er forelsket i en annen. Det er kjærlighetens natur." Og jeg tror ikke han sa det for å skåne meg.

Nerver

Wow! Enda en søvnløs natt! I dag tror jeg det er nervene for å komme hjem. Derfor skal jeg lage enda en liste. Dette gleder jeg meg til:

1. Atelieret!
2. Gitaren
3. Treffe dere som gidder å lese mitt slarv her
4. x
5. x
6. x

Ja, det var visst det.
Richard Hawley – Just Like The Rain

Håpløse timer i erosjon

Uendelig tålmodighet

Dortmun!%d!b!o!d!e!g!åa

Allan Pettersson Barfotasånger

Her er teksten, men det er hva jeg husker, dvs. garantert ikke skrevet riktig:

Min längtan
Min längtan är en underlig fågel
Som pickar på fönstret hver natt
Och skulle jeg oppna den flög som besatt
Den er fri under himlens lys
Den flyger i mot og med
Over mennesker och by
Tills den en dag skjutes ned
Min längtan

Min längtan er en vingskjuten fågel
Som lagt seg ner for at dø
I en stigløs skog
I en bottenløs sjø
Den ville flyga mot en stjernas ljos
Men man skjuter alt som flyg og fär
Ifrån menniskjornas hus
Fast stjernan brinner lika klar
Forstås
(!)?!()

Denne fikk jeg på mail i dag fra en ny venn

Create a playlist at MixPod.com

Underwater Sculpture

Åh, nå begynner det å bli så bra her at jeg gruer meg til å reise. For noen verdifulle måneder! Jeg trives så godt nå at jeg lurer på om jeg må komme tilbake etter jul. Selv om det ikke blir det samme.

Vi redigerer video og det er så fantastisk gøy denne gangen. Kanskje jeg poster et stillbilde en gang, men ikke enda. Jeg liker jo å tenke at dette er veldig anonymt. as if.

Tullio Serafin – Norma (1997 Digital Remaster): Casta Diva

Fountain of Youth (Lucas Cranach)

The Fountain of Youth by Lucas Cranach the Elder

You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger - Official Trailer [HD]

Stas, maskinen er fikset igjen. Stas! 1 uke uten. Bra kur. Men huff så flaut det er å lese nedover her nå.

Utrolig mikrobe øker sjansene for liv i rommet

http://www.aftenposten.no/viten/article3931038.ece

SING INTO MY MOUTH

TALL DARK STRANGER

A LUNG IN BETWEEN

MIND THE GAP

Bang Bang

Det fine med ä väere nettlös er at det ikke er sä mye annet ä gjöre enn ä lese og tegne. Gud hjelpe meg endelig ferdig med Kierkegaard: for en nitrist affäere. Nä blir det Doctor Zhivago; og noen av diktene i slutten av boken er sä ufattelig vakre.

Ellers:
Vi har truffet noen regissörer som skal hjelpe oss med ä filme en performance samt noen jeg kan diskutere Sokurov med. Alt löser seg. eller kanskje ikke. men akkurat nä ser det lyst ut til tross for ubehjelpelig hangover.

Utrolig hva man venner seg til

Maskinen er ödelagt. Det kommer til ä ta tid hvis den kan repareres i det hele tatt, hvilket jeg selvfölgelig häper. Selv om jeg i starten tenkte at det kanskje var like greit at halve livet mitt bare forduftet. Ikke nä lenger.

Jeg har imidlertid vendt meg til nettcafeer, og vet alt om hvilke priser og ekstratjenester som tilbys pä de ulike stedene i PLB. Dessuten har jeg lärt meg ä takle hikking, smatting og höy pust i nabobäsen. Alle er paranoide, ingen vil at noen skal se hva de gjör pä sin maskin. Det gjör meg selvfölgelig enda mer nysgjerrig. Det ser stort sett ganske uspennende ut.

Jeg er snart ferdig med "The seducers diary", men i dag kom jeg over noe:

I say with Palnatoke.

I rub it day and night,
But I do not erase this dark shadow.

 Det er feil bok ä lese nä, helt feil, men nä har jeg kommet sä langt at det er for sent ä snu.

(...)Der var du igjen, i skumringstimen, med blanke, store uforstilte øyne, utemmet, (...)samtidig kontrollert, vaktsom, en fryd å betrakte deg(...), betagende, om enn på avstand, du ser på meg, og jeg undrer hva du egentlig tenker, hva du ser, i dette øyeblikk(et). Du kommer tilbake for så å springe i vei som om fanden var etter deg, eller kanskje du bare viser deg, viser din spenst, din styrke, din uavhengighet, ja, din skjønnhet, men i kveld kom du igjen, listet deg forsiktig nærmere, tydelig var mitt nærvær, det er merkelig den enhet vi har, på en måte fortrolig, kjent og intim, på en annen måte avstand, distanse og fremmedhet, så nær, så fjern

(...)
You love the sun, don’t you?

- Yes, the sun. And the moon and the stars…

And the sea?

- Yes, the sea. Guess I love the sea the most of all, but I’m afraid of it too.

Guess we’re all a little afraid of what we love

(hentet fra en obskur blogg som jeg ikke aner hvordan jeg rotet meg inn i http://autonomotpol.wordpress.com)

so sick of lovesongs

I dag skinner solen og jeg tenker at jeg har hørt på for lite klassisk musikk i det siste og at det er derfor jeg har vært så disharmonisk. Plutselig er jeg takknemlig for oppveksten min og for at jeg får så fine meldinger på Facebook som fortsatt suger, men som gir noe. Alle har tvil, alle lengter etter noe mer.

Og dette er ikke begravelsesmusikk for meg, tvert i mot.
Gustav Mahler – Symphony No. 5 In C Sharp Minor: IV. Adagietto

R. Strauss: Vier Letzte Lieder - Jessey Norman

Mail fra Josef

Men disse fikk jeg fra Josef for en uke siden, og de er ikke så verst de heller. Han skriver forresten som Kierkegaard, det har jeg skjønt nå.

"For gamle dager:"


"For nye dager:"


-og plutselig føler jeg meg så ufattelig heldig, som kjenner så mange fine folk.

når du er der

hvisker jeg

så lavt at du ikke hører det

og når foten din

streifer min

merker du det ikke

håpefullt setter jeg meg nærmere

mens du leer på fingeren

vent

med knærne opptil haken

skjelvende under bordet

leter jeg etter pusten din

som skulle ha vært i øret mitt

hvordan kan hjernen være så uøkonomisk

hvordan kan lengselen være så sterk

når du reiser deg

og går

i motsatt retning

det er alltid noen som venter 
på trappen utenfor

--------------
det er så fint å lengte

og vite

at det en dag

skal bli du og jeg

vi skal flyte

i kroppstemperert vann

ett dupp

to dupp

lett

under sommerdyne

grådig

langsomt

vask meg ren

 

Nancy Sinatra "Bang Bang"

"Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang""Bang Bang"

Alexander Sokurov

I dag har jeg sett to filmer av Alexander Sokurov i regnværet. Hvorfor har jeg ikke hørt om ham før?

I formspråket er han åpenbart inspirert av Tarkovskij. Bildene er blasse, nesten morfet og lyden har plutselige brudd. Kjærlighetsrelasjonene er sjeldent godt skildret. Nærheten og avhengigheten mellom mor/sønn og bestemor/barnebarn er intime på grensen til incestuøse. Men rollene er byttet om, vi ser en sønn som mater moren med tåteflaske og en bestemor som sikter med barnebarnets gevær i en tanks. Dialogen forteller om hvor fremmede de er for hverandre, samtidig som den fysiske kontakten virker helt forløst.

Isa Genzken’s Artistic Cornucopia

Hmm. Lurer på om det er fullmånen som gjør at jeg ikke får sove.

Arts.21 | Isa Genzken’s Artistic Cornucopia
Hochgeladen von deutschewelle. - Unabhängige Web Videos.

Oi! Det her er friskt

Jeg leser jo aldri blogger, lager bare denne materialebanken. Forferdelig pretensiøst! (og hva skal det brukes til? Kunne jeg ikke heller bare lagret alt som bokmerker?) Nei! Fordi etter bruddet har jeg ingen å dele med, så da må jeg dele med hele verden.

Men søren, hun her er frisk!
http://www.linniiie.com/

Dette er morsommere

- enn court drawings.
Særlig når jeg ikke får sove.

12 Most Bizarre Police Sketches Ever
http://www.oddee.com/item_96832.aspx
&
http://www.vincentchow.net/1936/thai-police-release-helmet-bank-robber-sketch

Chapman brothers' Hell

STEVEN ARNOLD (1943 - 1994)

Impulskjøp på antikvariatet etter å ha sett en fantastisk samling i dag, som var noe helt annet enn dette. Men uansett- Steven Arnold; tipper nesten over, men jeg begynner å savne scenekunst og har lyst til å se filmene hans.

Frank Stella

Denne må du også låne (K).

The seducers´s diary, Kierkegaard.
-Det er sant at man kan leve gjennom bøker og det vet du alt om allerede.

Akk, Oslo