Joan Didion, from Blue Nights
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― Joan Didion, Blue Nights
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Back again with my three OCS who are just extremely bad at their jobs as a bounty hunting team. Maw'nicc is actually the oldest of the group he just has really good genetics. He and Cad worked together extremely briefly back when they were both just starting out.
Cad quickly realized Maw was a liar and lazy and stopped working with him but not before the two shared some "no strings attached" time... Unfortunately for Cad that was before Maw actually knew what he was doing in bed.
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In the poem, 'Endymion,' there is a line that seems to tell my present fear of life: 'Pass into nothingness.'
Joan Didion, Blue Nights (x)
☕ would you like to buy me a cup of coffee? (x)
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It was in the fall of 1915 that I decided not to use any color until I couldn’t get along without it and I believe it was June before I needed blue.
On the way I had probably looked very carefully at Chinese and Japanese paintings and calligraphy before I got to the BLUE LINES. I had practiced a good deal with the watercolor brush but I considered that it would be impossible for me to have the flueuncy developed by the Orientals who always wrote with the brush.
BLUE LINES was first done with charcoal. Then there probably five or six paintings of it with black watercolor before I got to this painting with blue watercolor that seemed right.
Georgia O’Keeffe (1887-1986)
Blue Lines X
Watercolor on paper, 1916
“Some Memories of Drawings”, 1974
* * * *
You notice it first as April ends and May begins, a change in the season, not exactly a warming—in fact not at all a warming—yet suddenly summer seems near, a possibility, even a promise. You pass a window, you walk to Central Park, you find yourself swimming in the colour blue: the actual light is blue, and over the course of an hour or so this blue deepens, becomes more intense even as it darkens and fades, approximates finally the blue of the glass on a clear day at Chartres, or that of the Cerenkov radiation thrown off by the fuel rods in the pools of nuclear reactors.
The French called this time of day “l’heure bleue.” To the English it was “the gloaming.” The very word “gloaming” reverberates, echoes— the gloaming, the glimmer, the glitter, the glisten, the glamour—carrying in its consonants the images of houses shuttering, gardens darkening, grass-lined rivers slipping through the shadows. During the blue nights you think the end of day will never come. As the blue nights draw to a close (and they will, and they do) you experience an actual chill, at the moment you first notice: the blue light is going, the days are already shortening, the summer is gone.
— Joan Didion, Blue Nights
[alive on all channels]
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“During the blue nights you think the end of day will never come. As the blue nights draw to a close (and they will, and they do) you experience an actual chill, an apprehension of illness, at the moment you first notice: the blue light is going, the days are already shortening, the summer is gone.”
― Joan Didion, Blue Nights
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huong1952: Blue Night
Blue night, sleepwalks,
my soul, naked,
my pain, exposed...
Blue night, sleepwalks,
my lonely heart,
hungers for love...
(Halloween 2022, for all the lonely people)
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Joan Didion's Packing List:
TO PACK AND WEAR:
2 skirts
2 jerseys or leotards
1 pullover sweater
2 pair shoes
stockings
bra
nightgown, robe, slippers
cigarettes
bourbon
bag with: shampoo
toothbrush and paste
Basis soap, razor
deodorant
aspirin
prescriptions
Tampax
face cream
powder
baby oil
TO CARRY:
mohair throw
typewriter
2 legal pads and pens
files
house key
“This is a list which was taped inside my closet door in Hollywood during those years when I was reporting more or less steadily. The list enabled me to pack, without thinking, for any piece I was likely to do. Notice the deliberate anonymity of costume: in a skirt, a leotard, and stockings, I could pass on either side of the culture. Notice the mohair throw for trunk-line flights (i.e. no blankets) and for the motel room in which the air conditioning could not be turned off. Notice the bourbon for the same motel room. Notice the typewriter for the airport, coming home: the idea was to turn in the Hertz car, check in, find an empty bench, and start typing the day’s notes.”
—Joan Didion, “The White Album” (1979)
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