SO damn beautiful
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
chalice veils
these would be beauty inspiration for freemotion embroidery... meghan! via even*cleveland via the met
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Jill Stuart Vintage
Jill Stuart Talks about her personal vintage collection and the thrill of the hunt in this video from Life + Times.
Life + Times posts are named with Jay-Z lyrics... I'm in love.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
disillusionment of ten o clock - wallace stevens
the houses are haunted
by white night-gowns.
by white night-gowns.
none are green,
or purple with green rings,
or green with yellow rings,
or yellow with blue rings.
none of them are strange,
with socks of lace
and beaded ceintures.
people are not going
to dream of baboons and periwinkles.
only, here and there, an old sailor,
drunk and asleep in his boots.
catches tigers
in red weather.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Style LABO
Apologies for the low quality photo - but I just had to share these bags. They are locking deposit bags made of canvas. First National Bank of Cortland is embroidered by hand on them! I saw them in Montreal at this AMAZING shop called Style LABO. I wanted to buy one and use it as a clutch. There were also Swedish dog licence tags from the 1940s and wonderful brass rings without their stones.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
sunday night
i have been reading by the fire all day, and combined with the dinner wine, my face is warm and red. it is autumn, finally. i've been reading ted hughes all day, and i'm about to watch sylvia. this is the first day off i've had in 2 weeks or so, and it feels quite nice.
my mom came home with a book i ordered a couple weeks ago: collected stories and later writings by paul bowles. i am very excited to dive in, though it will be heavy in my bag for bus rides. worth the sore shoulder, i'm sure.
Bad Indians
...”forgive me as I cut out your tongue
forgive me as I put you in this powdered wig
forgive me when I put your body in a museum
forgive me of all my sins
for not being a good indian
the balls of your forefathers will be traded for whiskey
to fuel the molotov cocktails to be tossed at your cities
and the breasts of your mothers severed and bloody
will be sold to the freak show for the revelers money
your children will witness their whole world collapse
as kidnapped siblings must erase names off maps
so forgive me of all my sins
for not being a good indian
I was taught better than that
I have more respect than that
there is no history book with my story
there is no newspaper to give me my glory
because no one has heard this language in years
‘cept Kokopelli, dream catchers and a trail of beers
my voice is a small pox blanket
that spreads like fire on the prairie
infecting both fist and hatchet
in the spirit of fucking crazy”
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