From my vaults: Jackson Beck



Bio:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jackson_Beck

William S. Burroughs: The Cat Inside



  May 1, 1985. A feeling of deep sadness is always a warning to be heeded. It may refer to events which will happen in weeks, months, even years. In this case exactly one month.
  Yesterday I walked up to the house on Nineteenth Street, depression and pain dragging every step. Ruski has not been to the house this morning.

New Stuff: Giant Sand



This is the first time I got an album by this legendary band.

New Stuff: John Parish & PJ Harvey


I'm finally getting the PJ Harvey albums still missing in my collection.

New Stuff: Fossils



I have loved fossils since my childhood, so I bought me this guide.

New Stuff: Edward & Nancy Kienholz



Found this booklet in Berlin which depicts one specific work by the Kienholz couple, favourite artists of mine.

New Stuff: Nan Goldin



Variety was a movie that I had played on several occasions at my cinema; I was thrilled to find this book with photos by Nan Goldin who had participated at the production of this film.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

From my vaults: Sidney Bechet



Bio:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sidney_Bechet

First Lines: G. K. Chesterton - The Napoleon of Notting Hill



The human race, to which so many of my readers belong, has been playing at children's games from the beginning, and will probably do it till the end, which is a nuisance for the few people who grow up.

Winter's Bone (2010)




An unflinching Ozark Mountain girl hacks through dangerous social terrain as she hunts down her drug-dealing father while trying to keep her family intact.

More social drama than thriller the movie is wonderfully set in authentic surroundings and has a magnificent central performance by Jennifer Lawrence.

Photographer: Marc Baptiste



Find more at:

http://www.marcbaptiste.com (still under construction)

From my vaults: Simone de Beauvoir



Bio:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simone_de_Beauvoir

William S. Burroughs: The Cat Inside

  

  April 2, 1985. Ruski is on the desk by the north window. I pet him. He squeaks and nuzzles me and goes to sleep. I feel his sad, lost voice in my throat, stirring, aching. When you feel grief like that, tears streaming down your face, it is always a portent, a warning - danger ahead.