Hopperesque

Hopperesque

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

If I'm Gonna


                            '' I don't want to die ''
                            '' Neither do i baby, but if i do i'm gonna die last ''

Out of the Past
1947

image reblogged from
Noirbynight

Monday, 29 December 2014

A Promise Whispered ........


            Death was a rodent which ate it's way, inch by inch, through your entrails, chewed at your liver and stomach, severed tendon from organ, until finally, when you were alone in the dark, it sat gorged and sleek next to your head, it's eyes resting, it's wet muzzle like a kiss, a promise whispered in your ear.

The Neon Rain
James Lee Burke
1987

image
Gordon Parks
Chicago 1957

Sunday, 28 December 2014

Sherry Baby

The Killing
Stanley Kubrick
1956

Noir is a Feeling

T Men

Criss Cross

Rififi

Dial M for Murder

Les Diaboliques

Key Largo

Phenix City Story

Desperate Hours

Death of a Cyclist

Crossfire

Dead Reckoning

Treasure of the Sierra Madre

Saturday, 27 December 2014

But Not for Us


            There is an infinite amount of hope in the universe ........... but not for us.

Franz Kafka

image
Robert Macguire

Thursday, 25 December 2014

Midnight Sun


Was there such a night, it's a thrill i still don't quite believe
And yet when you were gone
There was still some stardust on my sleeve

Midnight Sun
(Burke/Garner)
Nancy Wilson

image
Fred Lyon
San Francisco

Wednesday, 24 December 2014

It Was Habit


             A hick town. He didn't like hick towns. He uncramped his legs, slid out into the aisle soon enough to seem to be one of the surge without being of it. Only someone who was aware, as he was, would know he was alone, separate.  The hayseeds that he'd traveled with out of kansas city across the plains into mountain land didn't know. The yokels sagging on the concrete loading slab in back of ths dump station didn't know. It was habit that shoved his right hand into his coat pocket as he stepped off the bus. Not nervousness. He had no nerves ; caution yes,but no nerves.


Dorothy B. Hughes
Ride the Pink Horse
1946

image
Patrick Joust

Anne Magill




Tuesday, 23 December 2014

A Smell of Kelp .......


             We drove away from Los Olindas through a series of little dank beach towns with shack-like houses built down on the sand close to the rumble of the surf and larger houses built back on the slopes behind. A yellow window shone here and there but most of the houses were dark, A smell of kelp came in off the water and lay on the fog. The tires sang on the moist concrete of the boulevard. The world was a wet emptiness.

Raymond Chandler
The Big Sleep
1939

image
Anna Marias

The Getaway









The Getaway
Sam Peckinpah
1972