Lianne La Havas ft Willy Mason / No Room For Doubt


Rhye - Open


Aretha Franklin - “The Thrill Is Gone” from 1970.

Aretha covered this Roy Hawkin’s song with great energy and passion. She really made it her own and brought a woman’s perspective to the song.

[Watch & Listen to B.B. King perform ”The Thrill Is Gone” in Zaire in 1974] 

[Listen to Roy Hawkin’s original “The Thrill Is Gone” from 1951] 

"The greatest terror a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell of fears. I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection. And with rejection comes anger, and with anger some kind of crime in revenge for the rejection, and with the crime guilt—and there is the story of mankind."

— John Steinbeck, East of Eden (via millionen)


In 2007, In 2007 London’s National Gallery teamed up with creative agency The Partners to promote the gallery’s permanent collection of over 2,300 paintings. How do you get people to come indoors on a sunny day and see the art inside the gallery? Design experts The Partners turned the brief on its head, and instead brought the paintings outside to people on the street.

For 12 weeks during the summer, life-size high quality replicas of 45 of the National Gallery’s most famous paintings were hung about the streets of London. Complete with ornate frames and helpful information plaques as you find alongside the real artworks, the city itself became a giant art gallery.

A range of tours were offered, including ‘Lunchtime Tours’ designed to fit in with the hour-long breaks of workers in the city. By taking busy office workers around their own buildings, the tour made them reconsider the artworks as well as their own city. Each tour was supplemented by a downloadable interactive map as well as audio guides, downloadable from the gallery’s website.

Placing the paintings in a different context, viewers were able to interact with the art in a new way, with the whole experience being deliberately more modern and interactive.

More here


“There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient.”

Marilynne Robinson // Gilead

(via thismtnsoul)

(Source: nprbooks)


To the militant, identity is everything. And all photographs wait to be explained or falsified by their captions. During the fighting between Serbs and Croats at the beginning of the recent Balkan wars, the same photographs of children killed in the shelling of a village were passed around at both Serb and Croat propaganda briefings. Alter the caption, and the children’s deaths could be used and reused.

Images of dead civilians and smashed houses may serve to quicken hatred of the foe, as did the hourly re-runs by Al Jazeera…of the destruction in the Jenin refugee camp in April 2002. Incendiary as the footage was to the many who watch Al Jazeera throughout the world, it did not tell them anything about the Israeli army they were not already primed to believe. In contrast, images offering evidence that contradicts cherished pieties are invariably dismissed as having been staged for the camera. To photograph corroboration of the atrocities committed by one’s own side, the standard response is that the pictures are a fabrication, that not such atrocity ever took place, those were bodies the other side had brought in trucks from the city morgue and place about the street, or that, yes it happened and it was the other side who did it, to themselves. Thus the chief of propaganda for Franc’s Nationalist rebellion maintained that it was the Basques who had destroyed their own ancient town…”


— Regarding the Pain of Others by Susan Sontag

"Love. I’m not capable of it, can’t even approach it from the side, let alone head-on. Nor am I alone in this—everyone is like this, the liars. Singing songs and painting pictures and telling each other stories about love and its mysteries and its marvelous properties, myths to keep morale up—maybe one day it’ll materialize. But I can say it ten times a day, a hundred times, “I love you,” to anyone and anything, to a woman, to a pair of pruning shears. I’ve said it without meaning it at all, taken love’s name in vain and gone dismally unpunished. Love will never be real, or if it is, it has no power. No power. There’s only covetousness, and if what we covet can’t be won with gentle words—and often it can’t—then there is force."

— Helen Oyeyemi, Mr. Fox (via theoryoflostthings)


A new song made at night with my family asleep. 1m 30s. Shhh, good night.



Craft Spells // After the Moment

This song! I remember


Petra, Jordan. Photo © Arturo Lavín.


Petra, Jordan. Photo © Arturo Lavín.

"My language limitations here are real. My vocabulary is adequate for writing notes and keeping journals but absolutely useless for an active moral life. If I really knew this language, there would surely be in my head, as there is in Webster’s or the Dictionary of American Slang, that unreducible verb designed to tell a person like me what to do next."

— "Faith in a Tree" by Grace Paley


In the wide realm of the world there are ancient forms, incorruptible and eternal forms – any one of them might be the symbol that I sought. A mountain might be the word of the god, or a river or the empire or the arrangement of the stars. And yet, in the course of the centuries mountains are levelled and the path of a river is many times diverted, and empires know mutability and ruin, and the design of the stars is altered. In the firmament there is change. The mountain and the star are individuals, and the life of an individual runs out. I sought something more tenacious, more invulnerable. I thought of the generations of grain, of grasses, of birds, of men. Perhaps the spell was written upon my very face, perhaps I myself was the object of my search. Amid those keen imaginings was I when I recalled that one of the names of the god was jaguar – tigre.

At that, my soul was filled with holiness. I imagined to myself the first morning of time, imagined my god entrusting the message to the living flesh of the jaguars, who would love one another and engender one another endlessly, in caverns, in cane fields, on islands, so that the last men might receive it. I imagined to myself that web of tigers, that hot labyrinth of tigers, bringing terror to the plains and pastures in order to preserve the design. In another cell, there was a jaguar; in its proximity I sensed a confirmation of my conjecture, and a secret blessing.


The Writing of God, Jorge Luis Borges (via cession-lennox)

(via howitzerliterarysociety)


Gustave Dore. Illustration for the poem by Dante Alighieri’s “Divine Comedy.” Hell.


Gustave Dore. Illustration for the poem by Dante Alighieri’s “Divine Comedy.” Hell.

(via demoniality)