Master of the View of Sainte Gudule, Young Man Holding a Book, ca. 1480

Master of the View of Sainte Gudule, Young Man Holding a Book, ca. 1480

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T. & R. Annan & Sons, Close no. 11 Bridgegate, Glasgow, 1897 National Galleries of Scotland

T. & R. Annan & Sons, Close no. 11 Bridgegate, Glasgow, 1897

National Galleries of Scotland

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The smallest shop in London from ADiamondFellFromTheSky via I’ve had dreams like that. (welcome back, you were missed)

The smallest shop in London

from ADiamondFellFromTheSky

via I’ve had dreams like that. (welcome back, you were missed)

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A.J. Russell, Surveying under difficulties, [Photographs taken during construction of the Union Pacific Railroad], 1864-1869 Luminous Lint

A.J. Russell, Surveying under difficulties, [Photographs taken during construction of the Union Pacific Railroad], 1864-1869

Luminous Lint

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Played 247 times [Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

drum-taps:

Nick Drake—“Know”

Pink Moon (Island 1972).

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Fantômas in the final scene blowing up the house (1913-1914)  (via)

Fantômas in the final scene blowing up the house (1913-1914)  (via)

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There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the stories and visions of their youth; for when as children we listen and dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life. But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of fountains that sing in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and then we know that we have looked back through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. ~ H.P. Lovecraft, “Celephaïs” For myself, it’s not singing fountains or caparisoned white horses, however, it’s usually me being chased through dark corridors by rotten-banana-wielding junkies¹ or flying through plate glass windows while hunting unseen monsters with a pump shotgun…² but the idea is pretty much the same.³ image: Jeremy Geddes ¹ actual dream  ² actual dream from last night ³ I have a recurring dream, or I should say a recurring dream-landscape, a city, the same streets and buildings, the same people there to greet me. Each time I visit the city I am astonished to realize that everything is in more or less the same place and that I know my way around. So many of my dreams are mutable in real-time (whatever that means), but in this city most everything is constant and present. My favorite stop is a store that has everything I have ever lost on its shelves. I browse through lost books and toys, thoughts and people, too. The joy in finding these lost items is indescribable. Sometimes I even find things that I have forgotten that I have lost, but I rarely remember what these things are when I wake up. If I spend too much time in this store, and I always do, everything becomes lost again and I become sad and confused and leave more lost and confused than I was when I entered. My least favorite stop, but one I invariably make, is the manor house in a valley of giant oaks that is always surrounded by darkness — strange and horrifying noises coming from within. Whenever I, or we, go into the house, we are chased by rotten-banana-wielding junkies or stinky classmates from junior high who never took showers after gym class and who want to wrestle with us with all their hair and loose skin falling out and off. We always escape and we are always amazed that we do. Sometimes we realize that we are in a dream and we chase them back inside. Many times, a phone will ring and it’s me on the other end asking me how I’m doing. Afterward, I often find myself riding a bicycle over a snowy mountain road, now looking for the lost city which I cannot find, and I wake up.

There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the stories and visions of their youth; for when as children we listen and dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life. But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of fountains that sing in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and then we know that we have looked back through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy.

~ H.P. Lovecraft, “Celephaïs”

For myself, it’s not singing fountains or caparisoned white horses, however, it’s usually me being chased through dark corridors by rotten-banana-wielding junkies¹ or flying through plate glass windows while hunting unseen monsters with a pump shotgun…² but the idea is pretty much the same.³

image: Jeremy Geddes

¹ actual dream  ² actual dream from last night

³ I have a recurring dream, or I should say a recurring dream-landscape, a city, the same streets and buildings, the same people there to greet me. Each time I visit the city I am astonished to realize that everything is in more or less the same place and that I know my way around. So many of my dreams are mutable in real-time (whatever that means), but in this city most everything is constant and present. My favorite stop is a store that has everything I have ever lost on its shelves. I browse through lost books and toys, thoughts and people, too. The joy in finding these lost items is indescribable. Sometimes I even find things that I have forgotten that I have lost, but I rarely remember what these things are when I wake up. If I spend too much time in this store, and I always do, everything becomes lost again and I become sad and confused and leave more lost and confused than I was when I entered. My least favorite stop, but one I invariably make, is the manor house in a valley of giant oaks that is always surrounded by darkness — strange and horrifying noises coming from within. Whenever I, or we, go into the house, we are chased by rotten-banana-wielding junkies or stinky classmates from junior high who never took showers after gym class and who want to wrestle with us with all their hair and loose skin falling out and off. We always escape and we are always amazed that we do. Sometimes we realize that we are in a dream and we chase them back inside. Many times, a phone will ring and it’s me on the other end asking me how I’m doing. Afterward, I often find myself riding a bicycle over a snowy mountain road, now looking for the lost city which I cannot find, and I wake up.

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Miscellaneous Movements

Miscellaneous Movements

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Typhon, a titan with serpent-legs. Tomb of the Typhon, 1st century B.C. In the Greek myth Typhon, or Typh√∂eus, was a monster born to Ge that had a hundred burning snake heads and spoke with voices of men and animals. He battled with Zeus, and in one of many tales Zeus crushed Typhon’s smoking body under a mountain. Some say Zeus threw Sicily on top of him, giving Mt. Etna life. Here the monster’s legs are snakes and its palms are flush against the ceiling, holiding it up. His grey-blue colors reflect the grimness of the realm of Charon and his lord, Aita (Hades). Etruscan Murals

Typhon, a titan with serpent-legs. Tomb of the Typhon, 1st century B.C. In the Greek myth Typhon, or Typh√∂eus, was a monster born to Ge that had a hundred burning snake heads and spoke with voices of men and animals. He battled with Zeus, and in one of many tales Zeus crushed Typhon’s smoking body under a mountain. Some say Zeus threw Sicily on top of him, giving Mt. Etna life. Here the monster’s legs are snakes and its palms are flush against the ceiling, holiding it up. His grey-blue colors reflect the grimness of the realm of Charon and his lord, Aita (Hades).

Etruscan Murals

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aureliomadrid: verylargebuildings: Odilon Redon, Trees in the Blue Sky, 1883, oil over traces of graphite on light-brown wove paper mounted on board, 30.2 x 24.1 cm

aureliomadrid: verylargebuildings: Odilon Redon, Trees in the Blue Sky, 1883, oil over traces of graphite on light-brown wove paper mounted on board, 30.2 x 24.1 cm

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mythologyofblue: James Cook, Harvey’s, Palmerston, Turtle, Savage isles, 1777

mythologyofblue:

James Cook, Harvey’s, Palmerston, Turtle, Savage isles, 1777

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Félix Thiollier, Paris, flea market, theatre set, ca. 1895 Musée d’Orsay

Félix Thiollier, Paris, flea market, theatre set, ca. 1895

Musée d’Orsay

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Unidentified photographer, [Le Chourineur dans “Les mystères de Paris”], 1913 Luminous Lint

Unidentified photographer, [Le Chourineur dans “Les mystères de Paris”], 1913

Luminous Lint

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