enormousair:

theduty:

Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe.

“…real war against Bonanza and Rawhide or, or these uh, things…”

How can this guy not be on your all-time-favorite-human-beings-not-personally-known-to-me list?

Note to self: Make said list.

…where we learn that Wernor Herzog, with his own body, extinguished a fire engulfing a dwarf, and then, as comic recompense for the dwarf’s tribulation, jumped into a cactus.

ontheborderland:

The Carina Nebula: Star Birth in the Extreme (via Radarredux)

ontheborderland:

Orion Nebula Star Birth (via Radarredux)

frost-at-midnight:

Femme à côté d’un échiquier, 1928, oil on canvas -Matisse

byronic:

oldhollywood:

Buster Keaton in The Navigator (1924, dir. Buster Keaton & Donald Crisp) (via goldensilents.com)

Very early in [Buster Keaton’s] movie career, friends asked him why he never smiled on the screen. He didn’t realize he didn’t. He had got the dead-pan habit in variety; on the screen he had merely been so hard at work it had never occurred to him there was anything to smile about. Now he tried it just once and never again. He was by his whole style and nature so much the most deeply “silent” of the silent comedians that even a smile was as deafeningly out of key as a yell. In a way his pictures are like a transcendent juggling act in which it seems that the whole universe is in exquisite flying motion and the one point of repose is the juggler’s effortless, uninterested face.

Keaton’s face ranked almost with Lincoln’s as an early American archetype; it was haunting, handsome, almost beautiful, yet it was irreducibly funny; he improved matters by topping it off with a deadly horizontal hat, as flat and thin as a phonograph record. One can never forget Keaton wearing it, standing erect at the prow as his little boat is being launched. The boat goes grandly down the skids and, just as grandly, straight on to the bottom. Keaton never budges. The last you see of him, the water lifts the hat off the stoic head and it floats away.

-James Agee, The Great Stone Face, LIFE magazine (1949)

msodradek:

mhsteger:

Christina Georgina Rosetti (born 5 December, 1830; died 29 December, 1894), pictured above in an 1877 portrait by her brother, Dante Gabriel Rosetti (1828-1882)

Uphill

Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow, dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you waiting at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

Buster Keaton and Samuel Beckett

The Times reports on a mashup performance of Beckett’s words infused into the Winterreise.