Sunday, 30 June 2013
I remember getting up and coming back to her, and of throwing a shoe at the light bulb later, when the whiskey was gone. I remember the smell of rain-darkness in the room and her telling me i'd cut my feet on the light-bulb glass on the floor. And how she said i was no better than a tramp myself ........
Black Wings Has My Angel
Saturday, 29 June 2013
'I know what gold does to men's souls'
Friday, 28 June 2013
They talk about you in the press
They got you figured out i guess
Though you never heard of the guy they mention
Sometimes that girl she'll slip you a kiss
But she's just another somnambulist
And you're tired of sleepwalking
The cat's out but he ain't talking
You're just another joker
With one chance in hell
Of ever pullin' that trigger
Of ever feelin' too well
When they fall in love with a city it is forever, and it is like forever. As though there never was a time when they didn't love it. The minute they arrive at the train station or get off the ferry and glimpse the wide streets and wasteful lamps lighting them, they know they are born for it. There, in the city, they are not so much new, as themselves, their stronger, riskier selves.
State Street 1949
reblogged from Arttattler
Thursday, 27 June 2013
Wednesday, 26 June 2013
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
At the Aladdin you could rent a suite on the tenth floor for $35 a night. Thirty years previously when the Aladdin was the fashionable Vegas place, these were the high-rollers' suites. My suite had a dark red glow like the Beckett. The breakfast bar was chipped and stained, the red carpet was frayed and the lock on the door rattled flimsily, but you could still imagine what it used to be like. From the tenth floor you could sit watching the whole of Vegas.
Out on the pavement i wove through the staggering downtown bums until i reached the bar of Binyon's Horseshoe. I sat down at the bar. A man opposite said 'You think you got problems ? This Bloody Mary is the last thing i own.'
This Bloody Mary is the Last Thing I Own
Stan Douglas/ David Zwirner
reblogged from Newyorker
And i'm driving a stolen car
Down on Eldridge Avenue
I'm waiting to get caught
But i never do
And i'm driving a stolen car on a pitch black night
And i'm telling myself i'm gonna be alright
But i ride by night and i travel in fear
That in this darkness i will disappear