"So we beat on, boats against the current"

M. here - sorta like Kafka's K., but hopefully a little funnier. I'm currently working on an M.A. in Literature, continuing my work in academia as a scholar on Philip Roth, Woody Allen, Ingmar Bergman and Mad Men.

Philippe Petit’s incredible (and illegal) high-wire walk between the Twin Towers of New York’s World Trade Center, 1974

Philippe Petit’s incredible (and illegal) high-wire walk between the Twin Towers of New York’s World Trade Center, 1974

(Source: hipdweeb, via alexithymiabrandon)

thegavichal:

Scrolling down facebook and i see a recommended post…

image

wow that looks familiar

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yup. sounds about right. 

the new transformers movie looks pretty uninspired.

(via driveshaftgroupie)

Don’t be a dingus. Care about people. Dr.’s orders. 

(Source: gwyon, via jeffthrowdown)

The worst of all possible things that could happen would be to lose that language [that black people love so much]. There are certain things I cannot say without recourse to my language. It’s terrible to think that a child with five different present tenses comes to school to be faced with those books that are less than his own language. And then to be told things about his language, which is him, that are sometimes permanently damaging… This is a really cruel fallout of racism. I know the Standard English. I want to use it to help restore the other language, the lingua franca.

1. He ø runnin. Standard American English (SAE )= He is running.

2. He be runnin. SAE = He is usually running or He will/would be running.

3. He be steady runnin. SAE = He is usually running in an intensive, sustained manner, or He will/would be running in an intensive, sustained manner.

4. He(’s) been/bin runnin. SAE He has been running–at some earlier point, but probably not now.
Other examples: I been knowing her. SAE = I have known her.
About eleven o’clock he been eating. SAE = … he was eating.

5. He BEEN/BIN runnin’. SAE = He has been running for a long time, and still is.
-This is a use of the African American English (AAE) stressed been/remote BIN.

My mother Toni Morrison on AAVE (via howtobeterrell)

this is for whoever was telling me that AAVE isn’t a real thing… UGH

(via glassaquarium)

Note how precise each AAVE phrase is. 

(via thecrayonboxes)

Cries from perfection

(via youngbadmanbrown)

For anyone who thinks aave is just slang.
-Morgan

(via pocproblems)

The folks who think it is mush mash dinnae get the truth of it.

(via tonidorsay)

(via thoughshesfeminine)

"Waffles." #cats #catsofinstagram

"Waffles." #cats #catsofinstagram

All of us are now ‘no-longers’ while the excited mind of Richard Kliman believes that his heart, his knees, his cerebrum, his prostate, his bladder sphincter, his everything is indestructible and that he, and he alone, is not in the hands of his cells. Believing this is no soaring achievement for those who are twenty-eight, certainly not if they know themselves to be beckoned by greatness. They are not ‘no-longers,’ losing faculties, losing control, shamefully dispossessed from themselves, marked by deprivation and experiencing the organic rebellion staged by the body against the elderly; they are the ‘not-yets,’ with no idea how quickly things turn out another way.

Exit Ghost, Philip Roth

praisethewarmachine:

Everything Tommy Wiseau does is like the beginning part of porn but the porn never happens and the beginning just extends throughout the entirety of the runtime

(via bergmanburrito)

Of course. Getting laid itself. And having now made a girl laugh, was it wholly unreasonable to imagine he might have improved his chances in the area of getting laid itself? Wasn’t getting laid itself a thing almost everyone deserved? Wasn’t it what made the world go around? Even for a funny little polio victim whose arms and legs didn’t really amount to arms and legs at all, and whose wife had been fucked out of her mind by a Frenchman for a year and a half?
But every night, as he struggled out of his Brooks Brothers clothes - oh, yes, and fuck you too, Brooks Brothers, with the terribly tactful bastards in your fitting room (‘I expect you’ll want it taken in quite a bit here, sir, am I right? And the trousers taken in quite a bit here? Am I right? And here?’) - every night, as Jack Draper crawled wretchedly naked into his marriage bed, he knew his wife would not join him there. He even knew, with a cripple’s resignation and a drunkard’s terrible calm, that she would probably never join him there again.

A Good School, Richard Yates

As many as 15 percent of freshmen at America’s top schools are white students who failed to meet their university’s minimum standards for admission, according to Peter Schmidt, deputy editor of the Chronicle of Higher Education. These kids are “people with a long-standing relationship with the university,” or in other words, the children of faculty, wealthy alumni and politicians.

According to Schmidt, these unqualified but privileged kids are nearly twice as common on top campuses as Black and Latino students who had benefited from affirmative action.

Ten myths about affirmative action (via linzyxxxxx)

This is EXTREMELY blatant on college campuses. The fact that these things need to be clarified is sad.

(via newwavefeminism)

Legacy is the real affirmative action…and yet we don’t see certain types of entitled people suing to dismantle that.

(via invisiblelad)

(Source: sociolab, via octupusjam)

coralblue-number3:

reverseracism:

myintrovertedmind:

« The Real Africa : Fight The Stereotype » by Thiri Mariah Boucher

P.R.E.A.C.H.

I personally love this.

Someone finally said it. People act like Africa is one big country with one race. 

I don’t know how many times I’ve had to say all of these things. Including in a class on African political history, the worst class I’ve ever taken because the “professor,” that incompetent son of a bitch, treated the continent as if it were one big country, while indulging the rest of the class in their ignorance and failing to see the terrible consequences and realities of colonialism and its aftermath.

(via octupusjam)

As I do every year, here’s a happy birthday/memorial to Ingmar Bergman - what would’ve been his 96th. I know I’ve said it before, but each year the sentiment grows stronger and stronger: Bergman is the greatest filmmaker in the history of the medium, as well as one of the single greatest influences in my life. Everyone should be so lucky as to find an artist with a vision that helps them articulate the way they see the world; someone whose work, after each viewing/reading/listening, leaves you with the feeling of “Yes, that’s how I feel! That’s what I’ve been trying to say!” I’ve learned more about myself, and other people, from Bergman than any other artists - maybe with the exceptions of a certain director (take a guess), Roth, Yates, and Fiona Apple. I don’t think I would have as firm a grasp on my place in the universe - as firm a grasp as any could have - if it weren’t for his films. They are the images and words that have always been with me, and always will be. They are the ideas and nightmares that haunt me, torturous in their delivery of understanding, but forever a source of solace. Bergman is Love and Suffering, God and its absence, Loneliness and Light desperately reaching out into darkness, Death and more Death. And it all began many years ago with The Seventh Seal, a film that, still to this day, brings me comfort.

When it comes to pure aesthetics and the art of filmmaking, no director in the era of sound has used silence, literally and metaphorically, with as much skill, and to such perfection, as Bergman. And yet, few directors are peers when it comes to the use of sound and music. And don’t even get me started on light, in both b&w and color film, and his mastery of the image, the closeup, the abstract and symbolic, the terrifying. There are no equals (thanks to the unrivaled Sven Nykvist). Consider the parade of flagellants in The Seventh Seal, the reds of Cries & Whispers, the Christmas dinner in Fanny & Alexander, the anxious waiting for the spider-god in Through a Glass Darkly, and Max von Sydow wrestling a tree out of the earth in The Virgin Spring. Then there’s Persona. Film was pushed to its fullest capacity and capabilities in 1966 when Persona was released. Everything that has come after is an attempt at understanding, an emotional and visual reaction, an interpretation of this film that cannot be fully understood, only felt. While I believe Fanny & Alexander is the only perfectly-directed film we have, Persona is our finest; one of the 20th century’s greatest art pieces.

So I end with a line from Scenes From a Marriage that I hope will summate (a failed attempt, I know) this moment:

"We’re pitiful, self-indulgent cowards that can’t connect with reality and are ashamed of ourselves."