Luis Trenker and Leni Riefenstahl
Der heilige Berg / The Holy Mountain (1926)
Dir. Arnold Fanck
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something a circumstance or phenomenon only knowable when a person is sleeping and a child is present to witness (nymphs dancing in the woods, maybe- the woman asleep by a tree)
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Masatoshi Tsunematsu
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Francisco Mora Carbonell • Untitled, Spain, 1935
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Now abandoned, La Petite Centure is a 19th century railway that loops over 30km around Paris
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Pond with swans at dusk (Ferdinand Keller, 1899)
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Onlooker, 1930s - by Anna Barna (1901 - 1964), Hungarian
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The Studio Wall, 1872 by Adolph von Menzel (German, 1815–1905)
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thinking about the time i was alone in a room at a get together with a much older man from the underground scene (i think he has a daughter) and trying to make conversation out of a slightly shy but genuine curiosity for his story (he wore boy shorts and a huge metal tusk for a necklace, had a calm expression with a booming voice thats coupling told of grit and experience) and his response being "you don't have to fill the silence with words you know. it's okay" as he looked into my soul and smiled and but didn't crease his eyes.
i felt so girlish and so angmo and so silly at once and kept drawing a long green bush with my coloured pencils. was my initial comment too shallow maybe? or my energy too anxious.? with what dignity are you supposed to respond to that
somebody else comes in the room who with him is better acquainted. they chattered about nothing at all, and i stared quiet at my colouring book trying to decide how i felt about the interaction. i kind of loved it for the fact it was such a syncopation. but back on the carpet i was dumb and awkward and swallowing a rejection i wanted to take as wise. while mulling a wisdom that felt damn embarrassing
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theres what happens when you dream yourself in a place and know it to be a thing (museum?) but it is in appearance so removed from all cultural associations of said thing (a cavern maybe). but ones surety in the thingness of the place gives rise to a new type of place altogether, the sensational static energy between the poles of museum and cavern is an otherplace where language is barred from access
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ive wandered the house and sat at the top of the stairs today
and have not uttered a word aloud that wasn't in song
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Spring (Romaine Brooks, c. 1910-13)
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Watarase Keikoku Railway, Nakano Station // インディゴブルー
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tokyo google maps
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