THE DEVIL AND JACK JOHNSON

ex libris

styled after or by rockwell kent

rockwell kent

i fucking hate nazis

An Austrian museum has agreed to pay a Jewish art dealer's estate $19m (£12m) for a painting that the Nazis stole from her during World War II.



another victory for the good guys!

Samuel Whittemore (1694 - February 3, 1793) was a farmer. He was eighty years old and living in Menotomy, Massachusetts (present-day Arlington) when he became the oldest known colonial combatant in the American Revolutionary War.

On April 19, 1775, British forces were returning to Boston from the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the opening engagements of the war. On their march, they were continually shot at by colonial militiamen.

Whittemore was in his fields when he spotted an approaching British relief brigade under Earl Percy, sent to assist the retreat. Whittemore loaded his musket and ambushed the British from behind a nearby stone wall, killing one soldier. He then drew his dueling pistols and killed another. He managed to fire five shots before a British detachment reached his position. Whittemore then attacked with a sword. He was shot in the face, bayoneted thirteen times, and left for dead in a pool of blood. He was found alive, trying to load his musket to fight again. He was taken to Dr. Cotton Tufts of Medford, who held out no hope for his survival. However, Whittemore lived another eighteen years until dying of natural causes at the age of ninety-eight.

A monument in Arlington, Massachusetts reads:

Near this spot, Samuel Whittemore, then 80 years old, killed three British soldiers, April 19, 1775. He was shot, bayoneted, beaten and left for dead, but recovered and lived to be 98 years of age.

pipsqueak

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science_and_environment/10132762.stm

real love

contempt

meth mouth

a photo by my bitch

a photo of my car

A Movable Feast

"What a lovely afternoon and evening. Now we'd better have lunch."
"I'm very hungry," I said. "I worked at the café on a café crème."
"How did it go, Tatie?"
"I think all right. I hope so. What do we have for lunch?"
"Little radishes, and good foie de veau with mashed potatoes and an endive salad. Apple tart."
"And we're going to have all the books in the world to read and when we go on trips we can take them."
"Would that be honest?"
"Sure."
"Does she have Henry James too?"
"Sure."

"My," she said. "We're lucky that you found the place."
"We're always lucky," I said and like a fool I did not knock on wood.

There was wood everywhere in that apartment to knock on too.

----------------------

More on Trepanning:

"Feilding and other advocates believe that trepanation allows greater blood flow to the brain by altering cranial fluid dynamics, thus revitalising brain metabolism to its more youthful level, present prior to the fusion of the cranial bones.[citation needed] Recent research carried out by Feilding in collaboration with Prof. Yuri Moskalenko has provided evidence in support of this hypothesis. This is part of a larger research programme investigating how intracranial dynamics change as we age, and what can be done to increase cranial compliance to help limit some of the detrimental changes associated with aging."


"Joseph Mellen met Bart Huges in 1965 in Ibiza and quickly became his leading, or rather one and only, disciple. Years later he wrote a book called Bore Hole, the contents of which are summarized in its opening sentence: 'This is the story of how I came to drill a hole in my skull to get permanently high.'"

http://www.trepan.com

photo by shawnk

rodos

I.
temperance -
yer wet.

wet like singing glasses,
my wet finger long the ridge.

summer wet / winter wet
in temperance, steam rises;
smelling like cedar,
wet like a rope.

wet like the temptress
wet like the tropics,
wet like my two fingers,
wet from my two cups

wet like my teacup
heavy w/ diamonds-
(the first to be
knocked
over.

II.
now i'm tempting the temptress
to take me away
in a volvo that
outruns loneliness.

this is me,
tempting the temptress
through somber backroads
and stoic cornfields
in bodies built for distance,
diving off bridges,
running through the streets.

III.
i found her in the kitchen, hands outstretched
towards the burner, blood dripping from her
swollen jaws.

swollen like the door after snow falls
(the door won't budge, it just won't close)
she helps herself to raw milk and venison,
warming her sore timbres by the stove.

gaga

salmon

These photos were taken at a fish hatchery, allegedly shut down after its owner killed a number of herons with a shotgun for eating his stock.

and 1

down on the farm

hadley, ma

I.
my dreams are a polished piece of beach glass;
they inhabit the house in which i was born.
usually, the house is a third story flat
above a dangerous intersection in providence,
a city south of the caucasus,
but east of the kuban river.

at times, the floors are an arctic tundra
at others, a sun-bleached boardwalk.
sometimes when beach grass grows from the floor boards,
i pick mussels from the shallows
and eat only what i scavenge.

sometimes i murder the big fish,
weaving rigs with lead sinkers
or hooking herring by the spine.

i was born this way,
and i know exactly what i'm doing.


II.
i am a polished piece of beach glass
and i like you only when submissive;
you're too nervous and wild to run,
falling frequently at the gate.
if only you could see the inside rail,
the polished beach glass on the shore.

when i was born, my mother-
herself a polished piece of beach glass,
crouched amongst the reeds and listened
for the sounds of an accident below.

i was not an accident.
i was ready to be born.
when my edges were jagged,
my mother rubbed me
between her thumb and forefinger
so that i'd be polished too.

this is how i was made,
and i know exactly what i'm doing.

microeconomics

you've made this into a zero-sum game,
but i'm a pure public good, baby.

spirit animal

celluar decay

Always hold the door for women. People attribute this to good breeding, but i've just learned never to turn my back on a dangerous animal. More than death I fear growing old and still fearing death. Death is more palatable with beauty. Today I held the door for a balding woman, her roots graying at the part."She looks like hell," I thought, and watched her dreams replicate and die. In youth love is eternal, but it won't survive old age. Will you still be beautiful? I count the days until your cells decay.

ice-cream sandwich

café

why do you always look so stupid?

athens