Begging and Pleading

The Chelsea Hotel, home of vagrants, lovers and wits...

There is debate about the management of the grounds today:
http://legends.typepad.com/

But still, many great songs about it: Leonard Cohen bellows, "I remember you well at the Chelsea Hotel" echoing Janis Joplin's softer side; Bob Dylan steams out "Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" in his room there; Space Odyssey 2001 is written deep down darkened within those wild walls.

And now they can add yet another to the list.
C+A

For Instance: A Denture

Last night I dreamt anxiety dreams about my teeth. My whole top row began to decay and I was forced into wearing a denture. Only, the denture was ill fitting and made of some kind of metal, bronze maybe. I looked like a monster. You were there and tried to be very supportive but I could tell you were very frightened by the sight of me.

Ivan the Terrible

Ivan the Terrible killing his son
by Ilya Repin

After the death of his beloved Anastasia, Ivan the Terrible grew increasingly erratic in behavior. The heir apparent to the Tsardom of Russia was his son, birthed by Anastasia, also named Ivan.

The elder Ivan, after having noticed his pregnant daughter-in-law wearing a close fitting outfit, beat her in a rage and subsequently murdered her unborn child. When his son confronted him, a fight ensued during which the father bashed his son's temple in with his sceptre. Ivan, 27, would die from his wounds.

President Obama

When the way comes to an end, then change - having changed, you pass through.
- I Ching

bird & rimbaud

The Abe

This photo was taken on a hot date.

a poem

with little severity
each new one turned old
and upon the bridge on the coldest day
in April
with a brain behind her unyielding eye
with a tender smile,
with a teddible ear ache,
confesses to the east river,
in desperate terms

for instance: porcupine

A slim woman arriving at a dance hall, little breasts peeking out; she wants it, but it's raining and her hair looks like a porcupine.

Francis chronicles 1

Francis, you've really done it this time; our camaraderie has been spit on by the goddamn seagulls, and your trousers are wet Francis; yes Francis, I think you've pissed your pants on the way to see me. Just yesterday you licked my slice of bacon and slipped it onto my plate, and today, this day Francis, you've come to tell me you and Dorothy have been had. You've even sucked her toes Francis, jesus. Your letters? Yes, yes I've received your letters. I thought those checks were an effort from you to pay your debts off to me; I mean Francis its been at least 10 years since I gave you that 5,000 for a new car, but I guess the money was for my wife, right Francis? For christ's sake look at me. What, now you're embarrassed you've wet your trousers? What about me Francis? What in heavens name are they going to say about me now that you've done my wife? Look at old Francis Whittier over there, palms in his hands, weeping cause his wife's a loose one. I mean seriously Francis, there's no catholic in me when it comes to forgiving you. The apes need you more than the civilized world does. Okay, fine, run away. I won't be following this time.

the designs of Olly Moss

Olly Moss is a 21 year-old designer from the UK... super duper!

Pierre-Laurent for the Bitter Cold

Ugliness

Golgos weekly posting on all things scabrous...

- Shakespeare's Portrait of Falstaff from HENRY IV -

Henry: [...] there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a ton of man as thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hatch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? Wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? Wherein cunning, but in craft? Wherein crafty, but in villainy? Wherein villanous, but in all things? Wherein worthy but in nothing.

Bob from Gus Van Sant's My Own Private Idaho was inspired by Falstaff.

number 146

These lovely motions of the air, the breeze,
tell me I am not in hell, though round me the dead
lie in their limp postures
dramatizing the dreadful word instead
for lively Henry, fit for debaucheries
and bird-of-paradise vestures

only his heart is elsewhere, down with them
& down with Delmore specially, the new ghost
haunting Henry most;
though fierce the claims of others, coimedela crime
king the Hebrew spectre, on a note of woe
and joined me O.

'Down with them all!' Henry suddenly cried.
Their deaths were theirs. I wait on for my own,
I dare say it won't be long.
I have tried to be them, God knows I have tried,
but they are past it all, I have not done,
which brings me to end of this song.

- John Berryman

Camille Monet sur son lit de mort or Camille Monet on Her Deathbed, 1879

Camille Monet - Claude Monet's only. After her death, he created this...but today, it hangs over his deathbed.