fuck off
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- francoisfido0
(I loved stupid pictures, the panels over doors, stage sets, the backdrops of mountebanks, inn signs, popular prints; antiquated literature, church Latin, badly spelled erotic books, the novels of our grandmothers, fairy tales, children's books, old operas, inane refrains and artless rhythms.)
- francoisfido0
pa rum pum pum pum
- francoisfido0
words
words
words
words
words
words
words
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words
words
words
words
owdrs
typed
typed
typed
typed
typed
tyepd
until
until
tunil
error
eorr
- francoisfido0
repeatedly
repeatedly
repeatedly
repeatedly
repeatedly
repeatedly
repeatedly
repdeatly
- francoisfido0
repetition
repetition
repetition
repetition
repetiion
- nilsnihil0
The woman was tall, slim and blonde, the way Patricia Highsmith liked them. Kathleen Senn was at Bloomingdale's on this day to buy a doll for her daughter, and the 28-year-old Highsmith — a few years away from her success with "Strangers on a Train" and her novels about the murderous, amoral Tom Ripley — was then a temp worker in the toy department and a writer of comic books. She dutifully took down the information and arranged to have the doll delivered to the Senn's home in New Jersey.
But Highsmith — a brittle, closeted lesbian with a deep interest in abnormal psychology — found inspiration in that brief encounter. Highsmith used this encounter to open "The Price of Salt," a lesbian love story that would be published under a pseudonym a few years later. The novel tells the story of a budding relationship between two women, one a young department store clerk and a divorcee fighting for custody of her daughter, that becomes threatened when the ex-husband hires a detective to get evidence of a lesbian relationship to use in the custody hearing. "Salt," unique for having a happy ending and would end up selling a million copies in paperback and become a classic in lesbian literature.
But after writing the novel, Highsmith wasn't through with Kathleen Senn. On two occasions, she took the train from New York to Senn's New Jersey town. She wandered the street near her house, and even caught sight of Kathleen as she drove by. Highsmith mused about the incident in her diary:
"For the curious thing yesterday, I felt quite close to murder too, as I went to see the woman who almost made me love her when I saw her a moment in December, 1948. Murder is a kind of making love, a kind of possessing. (Is it not, too, a way of gaining complete and passionate attention, for a moment, from the object of one's attentions?) To arrest her suddenly, my hands upon her throat (which I should really like to kiss) as if I took a photograph, to make her in an instant cool and rigid as a statue."
Senn never knew of her role as Highsmith's muse. Nor did Highsmith know that Senn was, in reality, the ideal Highsmith character. Behind her beautiful, cool facade, Senn was a mentally ill woman and an alcoholic. Shortly before "The Price of Salt" was published, she stepped into her car parked in the garage, turned on the engine, and killed herself.- http://www.planetpes…nilsnihil
- Highsmith smuggled her pet snails into France under her breasts.nilsnihil
- francoisfido0
beauty is finite, ugliness infinite..
- previous0
when you feel the sun on the back of your neck, it's beautiful, without further meaning
- francoisfido0
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- francoisfido0
it used to be a kind of practise, now it's less than nothing; not even noting; just no-ing...
- it begins and ends with delusion,
i can't hear the guitar anymore...francoisfido - reductionism?previous
- it begins and ends with delusion,
- previous0
let me quit instead bro—
I am less than human, possibly less than mineral
- francoisfido0
ffs i can't be bothered anymore, i quit
- francoisfido0
two Garrel flicks early into the morning, beautiful and restrained stuff, really lovely to watch even in their bleakness.
- http://www.qbn.com/t…francoisfido
- thanks will look for. bleak like tarkovsky? or bleak like Antonini? or more verite?nilsnihil
- Antonioni.ffs.nilsnihil
- plus verité que ces deuxfrancoisfido