Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts, to a successful family with strong community ties, she lived a mostly introverted and reclusive life. After she studied at the Amherst Academy for seven years in her youth, she spent a short time at Mount Holyoke Female Seminary before returning to her family’s house in Amherst. Thought of as an eccentric by the locals, she became known for her penchant for white clothing and her reluctance to greet guests or, later in life, even leave her room. Upon her death, Dickinson’s family discovered 40 handbound volumes of nearly 1800 of her poems. These booklets were made by folding and sewing five or six sheets of stationery paper and copying what seem to be final versions of poems in an order that many critics believe to be more than chronological.

The life of Emily Dickinson

Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set
Whose crumbs the crows inspect
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the
Farmer’s corn
Men eat of it and die

—————————————-

I dwell in Possibility—
A fairer House than Prose—
More numerous of Windows—
Superior—for Doors—

Of Chambers as the Cedars—
Impregnable of Eye—
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky—

Of Visitors—the fairest—
For Occupation—This—
The spreading wide of narrow Hands
To gather Paradise—

A lot of people have ‘corrected’ Dickinson’s poems, read some of her original drafts here.

Her complete works in their original order and form.

Horrid Novels

June 18, 2009

“Dear creature! How much I am obliged to you; and when you have finished Udolpho, we will read the Italian together; and I have made out a list of ten or twelve more of the same kind for   you.”
“Have you, indeed! How glad I am! What are they all?”
“I will read you their names directly; here they are, in my pocketbook. Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, Mysterious Warnings, Necromancer of the Black Forest, Midnight Bell, Orphan of    the Rhine and Horrid Mysteries. Those will last us some time.”
“Yes, pretty well; but are they all horrid, are you sure they are all horrid?”

– Ch. 6. Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen

0907_MysteriesUdolpho6a00c2251fe4bb8e1d00d414382383685e-500pi41B5HXAZJDL._SS500_n30320241IN9-nhASL._SS500_41dArrti3pL._SS500_41nrYSLyrEL._SS500_

My kind of town

June 18, 2009

gregory-crewdson02Gregory CrewdsonGregory Crewdson Twilightartwork_images_191397_412264_gregory-crewdson

 

Gregory Crewdson: Twilight

Tankstelle

June 15, 2009

Julian Faulhaber

Julian Faulhaber

Shit just got weird(er)

June 14, 2009

air-france-flight-447

Basically

No no one knows what happened

and now this…

DIY death sentence

June 1, 2009

electric chair

From Russia with dread