Love,
Stenka Razin
26.1.10
Goodbye, Winifred
My (creepy) roommate found this lovely news article when searching about things about his girlfriend, an Aussie. (saucy Aussie! Ellen DeGeneres? yes?). Since I feel it's not really appropriate to appropriate the identity of someone who drives recklessly and kills people while high as on drugs, I'm abandoning my moniker. Maybe I'll abandon my name once a week from here on out (for practice).
Love,
Stenka Razin
Love,
Stenka Razin
23.1.10
-
Short lines written in the margin of notes for a class about the balance of the world. I make no apologies for it.
If this isn't good enough
let me write you
a soft sweet symphony
in C, to throw you
headlong
into the maelstrom
take a deep breath
and inhale the anestral choir of being
until we don't be.
If this isn't good enough
let me write you
a soft sweet symphony
in C, to throw you
headlong
into the maelstrom
take a deep breath
and inhale the anestral choir of being
until we don't be.
Oh Shenandoah
Homebrew cider and strangers singing seashanties in the hall
Yellowlit conversations about johnstoa, alaska and (pubic) hair
Sprained ankles, peas, and Becherovka
the snow outside the lights within
teeming masses
an interesting turn of phrase
Charred coffee, chow mein and cowboy hat double recombinance
Sweet.
Yellowlit conversations about johnstoa, alaska and (pubic) hair
Sprained ankles, peas, and Becherovka
the snow outside the lights within
teeming masses
an interesting turn of phrase
Charred coffee, chow mein and cowboy hat double recombinance
Sweet.
21.1.10
Blah blah blag
Howdy.
A few small changes to the blog - no more comments. I keep getting spam and not enough real people, which makes sense, because I don't know of very many people who read this little slice of life and stuff. That said, I like feedback of both sorts - tjarnik@gmail.com, yo.
Also, and more interestingly, I added blogs to the sidebar that I actually read, sometimes:
-yes and yes, by sarah Von, is stunning positivity, brimming happiness, purpose and humour.
-style rookie is a thirteen year old girl named Tavi who writes about fashion, in a ridiculous way. She's a savant of the internet, actually.
-stray cat blues - girl music journalist. I like and share her love of life and Led Zep.
-BBC science/environment - critical, key, dynamic.
-La Vie Boston - though I find it sometimes a bit consumerist/celebrity-focused, La Vie has beautiful aesthetic and lots of good clean fun.
But yeah, seriously, shoot me a line if you like/hate this project of mine.
A few small changes to the blog - no more comments. I keep getting spam and not enough real people, which makes sense, because I don't know of very many people who read this little slice of life and stuff. That said, I like feedback of both sorts - tjarnik@gmail.com, yo.
Also, and more interestingly, I added blogs to the sidebar that I actually read, sometimes:
-yes and yes, by sarah Von, is stunning positivity, brimming happiness, purpose and humour.
-style rookie is a thirteen year old girl named Tavi who writes about fashion, in a ridiculous way. She's a savant of the internet, actually.
-stray cat blues - girl music journalist. I like and share her love of life and Led Zep.
-BBC science/environment - critical, key, dynamic.
-La Vie Boston - though I find it sometimes a bit consumerist/celebrity-focused, La Vie has beautiful aesthetic and lots of good clean fun.
But yeah, seriously, shoot me a line if you like/hate this project of mine.
20.1.10
Brilliant
Avé César, Julius superstar
Tu fumes des Gauloises
Mais un conseil : écrase !
Arrête ton char, joue pas les ringards
Un Romain ça va, trois bonjour les dégâts !
16.1.10
14.1.10
11.1.10
Hungry bread-and-butter hustle
One of my graduation gifts, courtesy of someone who knows someone who has a college radio station, was 2.8 gigabytes of mostly strange music. Hidden deep among those files, amongst A.C. Newman and Akron/Family, was Animal Collective's Sung Tongs. It being 2.8 gigabytes of music, however, I neglected to listen to most of it, and meanwhile Animal Collective found a place in my (oh-so judgemental) subconscious as vaguely hipster and probably annoying. So it was to my surprise that when I listened to it finally a few weeks ago I liked it. It was a perfect soundtrack to skate-skiing through northern Vermont, serene and slightly off in a charming way. Here's a strange but wonderful video to who could win a rabbit:
9.1.10
Karl Lagerfeld is losing sense of normality again
From here, an article on amateur models in magazines:
Karl Lagerfeld, the veteran German fashion guru, has described those who criticise so-called skinny models as "fat, chip-eating mummies" and claims that much of the objection to them is sheer jealousy. "Nobody wants to see a round woman," the 71-year-old designer insisted.
This, then, is what we want to see?
Karl Lagerfeld, the veteran German fashion guru, has described those who criticise so-called skinny models as "fat, chip-eating mummies" and claims that much of the objection to them is sheer jealousy. "Nobody wants to see a round woman," the 71-year-old designer insisted.
This, then, is what we want to see?
6.1.10
4.1.10
It will eat your children
I've been on a James Bond kick lately. I've never watched the films, but upon suddenly finding myself with leisure time, I watched Live and Let Die (blaxploitation at its most archetypical), Dr. No and read Casino Royale. I bring to you this fine excerpt, about the bodyguard of Le Chiffre:
The one more or less behind Le Chiffre's right arm was tall and funereal in his dinner-jacket. His face was wooden and grey, but his eyes flickered and gleamed like a conjurer's. His whole body was restless and his hands shifted often on the brass rail. Bond guessed that he would kill without interest or concern for what he killed and that he would prefer strangling. He had something of Lennie in Of Mice and Men, but his inhumanity would not come from infantilism but from drugs. Marijuana, decided Bond.
The one more or less behind Le Chiffre's right arm was tall and funereal in his dinner-jacket. His face was wooden and grey, but his eyes flickered and gleamed like a conjurer's. His whole body was restless and his hands shifted often on the brass rail. Bond guessed that he would kill without interest or concern for what he killed and that he would prefer strangling. He had something of Lennie in Of Mice and Men, but his inhumanity would not come from infantilism but from drugs. Marijuana, decided Bond.
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