I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belong to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. It struck me, when I read Song of Myself several years ago, that thirty-seven years old , that magical Whitmanesque age, was still in the future for me. How exciting that felt! To know that this wonderful age that was such a pure and boisterous beginning for the bard, was something I could look forward to. To know that I could set forth on new adventures, and sing the praises of the earth, and be wild and merry and voluptuous and bold. Now and forever. and especially at 37. And so suddenly I am here! That lu
have you all seen the 1978 movie Pretty Baby? addie has been telling me about it for years and finally darin and i watched it. i directly fell in love with the lush new orleans ambience, and you all know i fancy old brothels . the hats, slips, corsets, bloomers, petticoats, stockings, eyelet lace and cleavage...i was dying. the subject matter is somewhat difficult. brooke shields plays 12-year-old Violet, growing up in the brothel with her mother's (a glorious Susan Sarandon) nonchalant guidance. saucy young Violet is over sexualized and objectified, and the film doesn't seem overly concerned about that fact. i kind of appreciated that indifference, as if glimpsing some other world with a completely different set of values, without judgment. however the scenes are shown with such grace and beauty that you get the feeling the director Louis Malle was somehow getting off on the whole thing. i guess that's what i found a tad disturbing. if
i want this to be us so bad...rollin away in a fairytale bus made of wood and wheels, porch and books. this is from another book in the series of rad 70s handmade house books that i've written about before and missa wrote about here ( raddest houseboats ever, ever, ever ) this one is all about handmade hippie houses on the road. we have it at the bookery in the locked case; it's a collectible and thus way out of my price range. but i still get to look at its gloriousness. these photos of the pages look much better than mine, found in this wonderful little delight here , check these caravans out: standing in the mist with its little terra cotta pots and windowpanes, killing this fairytale heart a mine. i can picture joey and emily in this one, our neighbors. and this one can house addie and art, and we'll drive cross the prairies together. this covered-wagon one seems the most fun of all. roll back the canvas and sleep
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