What?!
The Libertine
"Allow me to be frank at the commencement. You will not like me….You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we go on", "An announcement: I am up for it, all the time. That is not a boast or an opinion, it is bone hard medical fact. I put it round you know. And you will watch me putting it round and sigh for it. Don't, It is a deal of trouble for you and you are better off watching and drawing your conclusions from a distance. Ladies, do not despair, I am up for that as well. And the same warning applies. But later when you shag – and later you will shag, I shall expect it of you and I will know if you have let me down…Feel how it was for me, how it IS for me, and ponder. 'Was that shudder the same shudder he sensed? Did he know something more profound? Or is there some wall of wretchedness that we all batter with our heads at that shining moment?!' ……That is it. That is my prologue… I do not want you to like me.." -Stephen Jeffreys…………………………………(SUBMISSIONS TO kvanrade@gmail.com)
Month: July, 2011
July 30, 2011
Camilla Akrans Shoots The Max Azria Spring 2011 Campaign
Model: Veronika Klottonova
July 29, 2011
‘SPLASH’ Featuring Hana Jirickova For Tank Magazine | Summer 2011
Photography: Chris Heads
July 29, 2011
Happy 25th Birthday Today To The Lovely Mariana Idzkowska!!!
(oh, yeah, it’s Alice Dellal’s Birthday too…blah blah blah…something hipster…blah blah)
July 29, 2011
Ode To The Orchid
My orchid-
Fair,
Sits and waits
For my tranced gaze.
My delicate flower-
Fair,
She has silken flesh
Wonderful to touch.
She looks to the sun,
Reaches out,
And I see despair
In her eyes.
For she knows
Only days go by
And all petals
Will strike the ground.
Scent of an angel,
Looks of a goddess,
She smiles at the sun,
Wipes away her despair.
For she knows
Of her worth
And she knows
That for just one day:
I will love her,
And she will be my orchid fair.
Just as I wonder
whether it’s going to die,
the orchid blossoms
and I can’t explain why it
moves my heart, why such pleasure
comes from one small bud
on a long spindly stem, one
blood red gold flower
opening at mid-summer,
tiny, perfect in its hour.
Even to a white-
haired craggy poet, it’s
purely erotic,
pistil and stamen, pollen,
dew of the world, a spoonful
of earth, and water.
Erotic because there’s death
at the heart of birth,
drama in those old sunrise
prisms in wet cedar boughs,
deepest mystery
in washing evening dishes
or teasing my wife,
who grows, yes, more beautiful
because one of us will die.
-Sam Hamill
