#nusch knows
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You’re untrustable
I know you wouldn't be if you could choose
Now I’m doing time
“That was just a bait and switch.”
Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know
Well, now they know
“You will not control the threesome. We formed a new religion.”
No sins as long as there's permission and deception is the only felony
Please don't play that song on me again, I'lI explode
I might know what you mean when you say you fall apart
“The reason so many people are here is about to walk out on that stage right now.”
Don't be all up on my french toast when that butter come ((when the TR —or perhaps someone pretending to be her— told me she was my twin sister for 36 lifetimes, I went to milk and roses and she told me what to order, and was adamant about the French toast.that was in May.)
Then you had the nerve to say you're hurt and I'm just like, 'you know what you chose'
There's several different levels to Devil worshippin': horse's heads, human sacrifices, cannibalism, candles and exorcism, animals
Look at me, entrancer!
I got the urge to move
I wander through each chartered street and mark in every face I meet, marks of weakness, marks of woe (mark linkous) but mostly, through midnight streets I hear how the youthful harlot's curse blasts the new-born infant's tear
You keep on building the lies that you make up for all that you lack
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness~~oh, this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees in the arms of the angel
(Both these are really nice; the ref to mark seeing himself in each person he passes, and that each time I fall, katie cradles my head. Fwiw, mark linkous is the only spirit who asked to be taken off the wall)
(Oh yeah one of the women who did black magic on me is in london)
We're supposed to be a land of liberty
We are thoroughly tongue tied
More chances to get Together
Now all your friends are gathered; we are thoroughly shattered
Our collective memories we jog as we negotiate the fog
When you get down to the truth, it hurts me
Wishful, sinful, wicked you
Can't escape the blue
Do you follow me?
Then follow me to:
Further complications in store.
Did you reel it like a rabbit
And did you see me sing this song
Where did it all go wrong
We travel on together searching for the end
Yes it really really really could happen
No one here is alone
“Don’t think about the fact that there might be police around.”
Arrest that dude
“Dude I don’t think I can ride with you.”
Must have been a ghost that passed out
Hey you’re not a criminal but you do need to relax
This bed blows up in three minutes
You can store a mattress too…. in the fucking bedroom(the mattress they did their satanic shit on is against the wall)
I’m never gonna love again
Can we start all over again
The more that you see the less you seem to be free
And when I wrote it down I felt like such a clown but you understood; I knew you would
“…and I’m ready to shape the scheme of things.”
Just as long as I can see, I'll never stop this vision flowing
“Tell me the cost. I can pay.”
The sky's above our heads, the sea's around our legs
“What if I told you none of it was accidental?”
Strategy sets the scene for the tale
It was all by design
'Cause I'm a mastermind
Now I’m never gonna let you go
Out amongst the walking wounded, every face on every train is you and me and him and her, some days I think I could go insane
You were thinking ahead to a future you must have known deep down would not include you
My brain fails
My knees fail
My words fail
It happens today
She's gonna make them well aware
She's an angry gal
Day-In Day-Out
Shootin her with video-drugs-bullets and promises
They love to see me lonely, hate to see me happy
Call me what you want, she call me "daddy"
Something keeps love away and I can feel it
You claim you're not involved but you're in up to your neck
You said it would last, but I guess we enrolled in 1984
I keep seeing this picture of you
Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow
I find it hard to tell you.
You’re trapped
But you can't stick your neck out
We are rid of you at last
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hii 5 + 15 + 27 for ines x ava 👀
Hiiiii 💞
5. How do they sleep?
Inés is the big spoon in all her relationships 😌 it might take a while for Ava to be truly comfortable with it, but not as much as Inés thought.
15. What habits or characteristics have they picked up from each other?
Ava is a bit "softer" with other people. Inés is incredibly good with people, so Ava unconsciously started to be more mindful of how she talked to others. On the other hand, Ava gave Inés enough confidence in herself to stand her ground and be a bit more direct and less worried on how people perceive her.
27. What interests do they share? For interests they don't share, do they ever participate anyway?
I don't know if it counts like "interests" but they are both cact people and Inés used her cat Nusch to taste the waters and see if Ava was actually cool (she was; Ava is Nusch favourite pillow). Both of them like classical rock too, but would rather listen to it privately at home than at a concert.
As for interest that they don't share, Inés will eventually learn a lot about cars and bikes and will maybe consider get a better a car know that she has the knowledge to choose a decent one. Ava will put up with Inés rom-coms, "everything could be resolved if they had one conversation" (Inés couldn't believe her ears).
Couple questions
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Geduld bedeutet nicht, alles passiv zu ertragen. Es bedeutet, weitsichtig genug zu sein, um auf das Endergebnis eines Prozesses zu vertrauen. Was bedeutet Geduld? Es bedeutet, auf den Dorn zu schauen und die Rose zu sehen, auf die Nacht zu schauen und die Morgenröte zu sehen. Ungeduld bedeutet, so kurzsichtig zu sein, dass man das Ergebnis nicht sehen kann. Den Weisen und den Vorrausschauenden geht die Geduld nie aus, denn sie wissen, dass es Zeit braucht, bis die Mondsichel voll wird. Patience does not mean enduring everything passively. It means being far-sighted enough to trust in the end result of a process. What does patience mean? It means looking at the thorn and seeing the rose, looking at the night and seeing the dawn. Impatience means being so short-sighted that you cannot see the result. The wise and the foresighted never run out of patience, for they know that it takes time for the crescent moon to become full. Paciencia no significa soportarlo todo pasivamente. Significa ser lo suficientemente previsor como para confiar en el resultado final de un proceso. ¿Qué significa paciencia? Significa mirar la espina y ver la rosa, mirar la noche y ver el amanecer. La impaciencia significa ser tan corto de miras que no puedes ver el resultado. A los sabios y previsores nunca se les agota la paciencia, pues saben que la luna creciente tarda en llenarse. Paciência não significa suportar tudo passivamente. Significa ser suficientemente clarividente para confiar no resultado final de um processo. O que significa paciência? Significa olhar para o espinho e ver a rosa, olhar para a noite e ver o amanhecer. Impaciência significa ser tão míope que não se pode ver o resultado. Os sábios e os previdentes nunca perdem a paciência, pois sabem que é preciso tempo para que a lua crescente fique cheia. © Joachim Nusch Seminare, Workshops, Vorträge und Ausbildungen joachim-nusch.de Vital Self Meditation meditierstduschon.de | vitalselfmeditation.com Chat auf WhatsApp über +49 173 7755180 https://vimeo.com/vitalselfmeditation https://www.youtube.com/@jnusch #Meditation #Mentaltraining #Ayurveda #Veda #Vedanta #Gita #Frieden #BhagavadGita #Empowerment #Potentia https://www.instagram.com/p/CoeT5D0oKEP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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Hey Jakk hey.
I don’t know what exactly is going on, but I put on my favorite songs of 2016. I don’t think I’ve listened to that playlist but once, and the first song that played was love rescue me. Remember all the times I sang that in public? It was literally the moment where I learned that bono was into god. I started finding that a lot of the music I loved had references to the Bible.
Sorry for sending you scripture this morning but I heard loud and clear to send it to you. I think you would agree that it’s timely. I don’t read passages every day but I totally admit that I’m kinda studying it randomly, and I’m usually blown away by the pertinence.
Never in a million fucking years did I ever think I would say that.
But I’m concerned.
I’m concerned because I have been insanely anxious all day. And it’s world meditation day. So what’s up? First uncle tony said I was feeling whatever is in your system. Then they had me sing these old Lana songs that have references.
You know what references I’m talking about. Lyrics that I have never gotten before. Remember when you said if we ran off together you could see us living in a trailer park on heroin? I kinda hated that you said that because I hate needles, but today I got
It. The trailer park reference In “yayo”, the song psychic Jakk most liked
Me
To
Sing of lana’s, I always thought it was about you thinking that was all we could amount to, together.
But it Was about you needing *me* to take you out of the trailer park.
And then, just now at the tree, the tree told me to sing.
Lana, specifically.
AGAIN.
So I hit shuffle on a playlist
That is almost 11 hours long, and black beauty played.
Remember when I sang that in front of
Your
House in the spring of 2017? Psychic Jakk told me it was life and death. So I sang in front of
Your apartment at 1 in the afternoon in fucking hipster Greenpoint.
I got so many stares. But I did it anyway.
Well just now, singing with my hands on the tree, my necklace broke about halfway through. They’re the beads of Ogun, the god of war, to ward off attacks.
I’m very curious about this. The only other times necklaces have broken have been times we’ve broken through
Something. Like the pendulum on the red rosary breaking when I finally called you after only using psychic communication for 5 months.
You know, because I was told I couldn’t use the phone. Or the internet because the government and the mafia were watching us.
(My poor mother didn’t hear my
Voice for 3 months.)
So. *i’d* say that that necklace breaking when I’m singing the same song they made me sing in front of your house in 2017 apparently to
Save your life, well, I’d say that’s very........
Curious, as Steel says.
It could mean you’ve been shot. It could mean you’re dying from alcohol poisoning or a drug overdose. It could also mean you’ve decided to blow this pop stand,
Take that as you will.
Or it could just be a coincidence.
I’ll leave it to you Jakk. You tell us what’s up.
Tell somebody.
After all I’m just the psychic girlfriend who was
Forced out
Of
Your life.
What do I know?
“Israel’s Misery
1 What misery is mine! I am like one who gathers summer fruit at the gleaning of the vineyard; there is no cluster of grapes to eat, none of the early figs that I crave. 2 The faithful have been swept from the land; not one upright person remains. Everyone lies in wait to shed blood; they hunt each other with nets. 3 Both hands are skilled in doing evil; the ruler demands gifts, the judge accepts bribes, the powerful dictate what they desire— they all conspire together. 4 The best of them is like a brier, the most upright worse than a thorn hedge. The day God visits you has come, the day your watchmen sound the alarm. Now is the time of your confusion. 5 Do not trust a neighbor; put no confidence in a friend. Even with the woman who lies in your embrace guard the words of your lips. 6 For a son dishonors his father, a daughter rises up against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law— a man’s enemies are the members of his own household. 7 But as for me, I watch in hope for the LORD, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me.”
#black beauty#lana del rey#psychic jakk#ogun#u2#depression#mental health month#scripture#resonance#pertinence#nusch knows
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A look at tango. (Una mirada al tango). By Ernesto the Monkey Cabral, 1926. We’ve seen Cabral before. One of the great Mexican illustrators of the 20th century. A master of line and elegance… Think how daring – and codified – Tango was in 1926…
Monet’s garden at Giverny during Emil Bührle’s visit in 1951. Photo by Walter Dräyer. Monet’s house and gardens were not yet open to the public I believe.
Monet’s garden and bridge at Giverny. 2016.
Japanese wood-block. Late 19th century, at Monet’s house. At the beginning of the Meiji era, when Japan was opened to the West by force, western artists discovered the art of Japanese woodblocks. A totally new style. Most impressionists, as well as Van Gogh and Gauguin were fascinated by this new technique. Monet’s house is full of those. They are probably originals while all the paintings are copies. The artist here is probably Utagawa Hiroshige.
Helmut Newton, c.1967, for Vogue. An homage to Hollywood’s Films noirs. Paris 2019, at the expo “Fil Noir”. Helmut Newton was born in Berlin in 1920, died in Los Angeles in 2004. Referred to as an Australian photographer of German origin. 🙂 He did get around, didn’t he? He was one of the best photographers of the second half of the 20th century.
Mexico de colores. Mexico in colous. By Erik Rivera, 2016. Contemporary Mexican artist. An interesting touch.
“Tennis steps”. Pasos de Ténis, Ernesto Cabral. 1927. Now think back. 1927… Those young women, born around 1905, are out to play tennis. Showing their legs! Knees! Practicing a sport! Their mothers wore a corset, and fainted all the time according to literature.
Buddha doing the gesture of teaching (Vitarkamudra) China, Qing dynasty. Mid-1700’s. Musée Guimet, Paris.
Soldier children. A very disturbing expo at the musée Guimet last year. (And I am always careful with adjectives…) By Pharrell Williams and Japanese artist Mr. Just Mr. The graphic style is very “manga”. Disturbing nonetheless.
No art post could be complete without Van Gogh. Atelier des lumières. Paris. 2019. (Or without Gauguin… need to locate my Orsay pictures)
L‘enfant couronné by Maillol (1861-1944). When Maillol paints this portrait in 1982, he is barely 31. He will later be remembered by his sculpture, but he was a great painter. Left is the “original” painting as it can be seen at the Musée Maillol. Right is the same shot after a Photoshop automatic balance of tones and colours. Were those the colours Maillol painted and later faded over a century?
A typical Maillol sculpture. Musée Maillol, Paris.
Fashion photography, by Dora Maar, mid 30’s. Compare to Maillol’s statue above.
Nusch Eluard, c-1935, by Dora Maar. Nusch (little nut in Alsatian) was Paul Eluard’s wife.
Sur mes cahiers d’écolier On my schoolboy’s notebooks
Sur mon pupitre et les arbres On my desk and the trees
Sur le sable de neige On the sand of snow
J’écris ton nom… I write your name…
…
Et par le pouvoir d’un mot And by the power of a word
Je recommence ma vie I start my life anew
Je suis né pour te connaître I was born to know you
Pour te nommer To name you
LIBERTE FREEDOM
Eluard wrote this poem in 1941, during WWII and the Occupation. Published and circulated clandestinely, it was Eluard’s contribution to the Résistance. Some say the poem was strongly influenced by his wife, Nusch. And that her name was the other name he would “write” on his schoolboy’s notebooks. Nusch Eluard died in 1946, just after the war. She was part of the most prominent group of artists and intellectuals of the “between two wars” Paris.
Brussels, 1932, by Cartier-Bresson (1908-2004). One of Cartier-Bresson’s first European travels as a young and promising photographer. Below: Spain 1933.
The 30’s in Europe, and elsewhere, were fraught with economic crisis and civil war. The Spanish Civil War lasted from 1936 to 1939. In 1933, this man slept in the streets of Madrid, using his suitcase as a pillow. Millions were on the street in Europe and the US. The Spanish Civil war was in many ways a “rehearsal” for WWII.
Catrinas, Dolores Olmedo museum, Mexico city, 2019. The Catrinas (Catherine) are the symbol of death in Mexican culture. Always very elegant.
The life of Buddha as King Nemi. Burma, 19th century. Musée Guimet. In one of his previous incarnations, Buddha was King Nemi. He traveled with Shakra, King of Heaven to observe Heaven and Hell, the punishments and rewards of each.
Spain 1933. By Cartier-Bresson. That was Spain a century, a “minute” ago. The Civil war would soon rage, but already young fathers slept in the streets of Madrid, holding on to their children.
Thank you for visiting Equinoxio’s virtual Re-Art museum. I wish our Time-Space shuttle could move forward. And reassure us that we are not in the middle of the dress rehearsal of a major… “mishap”.
My very best wishes to all those in “coronavirus” lockdown in the world. An apology to China, whom the rest of the world has left pretty much alone to deal with their sh…, I mean, “problem”. Oh, now it’s reached our shores, eh? Damn!
A special commendation to the “leaders of the free world” who superbly ignored the signs, made no planning whatsoever, and are now left holding the ball… (Well, WE are left holding the ball)
And the Oscar of Stupidity goes to… Boris Judas Johnson, who recommended to carry on mingling, so as to “develop herd immunity”. Can’t very much shut down the pubs can we? In psychoanalytic terms, he has just revealed his hand. “Herd immunity”? To him (and others, assuredly), we’re just “cattle”.
Mexico is going into progressive lockdown this week. Stay home and stay safe.
Presentation. Art. World. Beauty A look at tango. (Una mirada al tango). By Ernesto the Monkey Cabral, 1926. We've seen Cabral before.
#Buddha#Cartier-Bresson#Dora Maar#Erik Rivera#Ernesto Cabral#Helmut Newton#Hiroshige#Maillol#Monet#Nusch Eluard#Paul Eluard#Pharrell Williams#Van Gogh
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Yo, Adrienne
By SALA ELISE PATTERSONFEB. 25, 2007
It happens all the time. A beautiful young woman decides she wants to become a model and asks a photographer friend to take some head shots. Seventy years ago this ordinary series of events took an unlikely turn. That was because the beautiful woman was black; the photographer was her lover Man Ray; and one of the photographs landed in the September 1937 issue of Harper’s Bazaar, making her the first black model to appear in a major fashion magazine.
The story begins in Paris around 1936, when a young dancer from Guadeloupe named Adrienne Fidelin met Man Ray. He was 46 and, judging from pictures of her at the time, she was in her mid-20s. An enchanting, high-spirited beauty, Fidelin — who was known as Ady — became Man Ray’s lover, model and muse. The exact circumstances of their meeting, as with many details of her life, remain elusive. What is known is that she was dancing with a French company with ties to Guadeloupe and that the two were inseparable. Fidelin met Man Ray at the height of the Surrealist movement and was quickly embraced by his close-knit circle of artist and writer friends.
She met, socialized and vacationed with Pablo Picasso and Dora Maar, Paul Éluard and his wife Nusch, Max Ernst and Leonora Carrington, and Lee Miller and Roland Penrose. In his autobiography, Man Ray describes how the group welcomed her, which is confirmed by dozens of snapshots and arty portraits of Fidelin looking at home in the company of her hedonistic and frenetically creative new friends.It’s not clear when Fidelin began to nurture modeling aspirations.
But judging from the comfort she displayed in front of Man Ray’s camera and her willingness to play whatever role he asked, by 1937 she was ready for the glossies. During those years, Man Ray was making his living as a photographer for a number of American magazines and was one of Bazaar’s principal photographers. Bazaar’s publisher, William Randolph Hearst, prohibited photographs of blacks in the magazine — a not-uncommon stance at the time. The magazine’s feisty editor, Carmel Snow, took pleasure in challenging Hearst on the race issue. (That year, Snow commissioned photographs of the opera singer Marian Anderson.) It is hard to know what role if any Snow played in Fidelin’s case, yet somehow her picture got in.
As the Man Ray scholar Wendy Grossman relates, the photographs were inspired by an exhibition of headdresses from the Belgian Congo that Man Ray had seen at the Galerie Charles Ratton in Paris earlier that spring. Four photographs were selected for the two-page spread, headlined “The Bushongo of Africa Sends His Hats to Paris.” On the left were three images of white women, alongside text by Paul Éluard; Fidelin’s photograph filled the entire right page. Although the pictures were all head shots, it’s hard not to notice how Fidelin looms large, sequestered on the opposite page. Grossman points out that Fidelin “wears not the Western garb of the other models but is decked out in African jewelry with her bare skin exposed. These cultural markers of her otherness lend an exotic and sexualized air to the image underscored by the classic come-hither pose of her arm crooked behind her head.”
The fact that she was fetishized as “other,” in addition to her relationship to Man Ray, undoubtedly played a role in her breaking the color barrier. Perhaps less obvious are the role that Fidelin’s light complexion played and the fact that she may not have been seen by the editors as really being black. She was from the Caribbean, after all, and spoke French; that is, she was not black American. Nevertheless, Fidelin was not to appear again in a fashion magazine.
Fidelin and Man Ray parted ways in 1940, when he fled France for the States during the Nazi occupation while she chose to remain in Paris to care for her family. She later married, and the last thing on record is that she was dancing at a “Negro” club on the Champs-Élysée. It was not until the postwar years that black models appeared with any frequency in fashion magazines. Even then, they appeared almost exclusively in black publications like Ebony, which was founded in 1945. The American fashion industry was particularly reluctant to use black models. Early successes like Dorthea Towles Church had to flee to Paris to get work. Vogue did not put a black model — Beverly Johnson — on its cover until 1974. And Naomi Sims, considered the first black supermodel, didn’t even start modeling until 1967.
True, we’re well acquainted with black models like Naomi Campbell and Alek Wek, but where and how are they featured? Are they still being used to illustrate, through juxtaposition, a European ideal of beauty? Or are they, like Ady Fidelin, relegated to the opposite page?
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Lee Miller The Poet Paul and Nusch Éluard, Paris 1930
I. Soon
Of all the springtimes of the world
This one is the ugliest
Of all of my ways of being
To be trusting is the best
Grass pushes up snow
Like the stone of a tomb
But I sleep within the storm
And awaken eyes bright
Slowness, brief time ends
Where all streets must pass
Through my innermost recesses
So that I would meet someone
I don’t listen to monsters
I know them and all that they say
I see only beautiful faces
Good faces, sure of themselves
Certain soon to ruin their masters
II. The women’s role
As they sing, the maids dash forward
To tidy up the killing fields
Well-powdered girls, quickly to their knees
Their hands -- reaching for the fresh air --
Are blue like never before
What a glorious day!
Look at their hands, the dead
Look at their liquid eyes
This is the toilet of transience
The final toilet of life
Stones sink and disappear
In the vast, primal waters
The final toilet of time
Hardly a memory remains
the dried-up well of virtue
In the long, oppressive absences
One surrenders to tender flesh
Under the spell of weakness
III. As deep as the silence
As deep as the silence
Of a corpse under ground
With nothing but darkness in mind
As dull and deaf
As autumn by the pond
Covered with stale shame
Poison, deprived of its flower
And of its golden beasts
out its night onto man
IV. Patience
You, my patient one
My patience
My parent
Head held high and proudly
Organ of the sluggish night
Bow down
Concealing all of heaven
And its favor
Prepare for vengeance
A bed where I'll be born
V. First march, the voice of another
Laughing at sky and planets
Drunk with their confidence
The wise men wish for sons
And for sons from their sons
Until they all perish in vain
Time burdens only fools
While Hell alone prospers
And the wise men are absurd
VI. A wolf
Day surprises me and night scares me
haunts me and winter follows me
An animal walking on the snow has placed
Its paws in the sand or in the mud
Its paws have traveled
From further afar than my own steps
On a path where death
Has the imprints of life
VII. A flawless fire
The threat under the red sky
Came from below -- jaws
And scales and links
Of a slippery, heavy chain
Life was spread about generously
So that death took seriously
The debt it was paid without a thought
Death was the God of love
And the conquerors in a kiss
Swooned upon their victims
Corruption gained courage
And yet, beneath the red sky
Under the appetites for blood
Under the dismal starvation
The cavern closed
The kind earth filled
The graves dug in advance
Children were no longer afraid
Of maternal depths
And madness and stupidity
And vulgarity make way
For humankind and brotherhood
No longer fighting against life --
For an everlasting humankind
VIII. Liberty
On my school notebooks
On my desk, on the trees
On the sand, on the snow
I write your name
On all the read pages
On all the empty pages
Stone, blood, paper or ash
I write your name
On the golden images
On the weapons of warriors
On the crown of kings
I write your name
On the jungle and the desert
On the nests, on the broom
On the echo of my childhood
I write your name
On the wonders of nights
On the white bread of days
On the seasons betrothed
I write your name
d'azur On all my blue rags
On the sun-molded pond
On the moon-enlivened lake
I write your name
On the fields, on the horizon
On the wings of birds
And on the mill of shadows
I write your name
On every burst of dawn
On the sea, on the boats
On the insane mountain
I write your name
On the foam of clouds
On the sweat of the storm
On the rain, thick and insipid
I write your name
On the shimmering shapes
On the colorful bells
On the physical truth
I write your name
On the alert pathways
On the wide-spread roads
On the overflowing places
I write your name
On the lamp that is ignited
On the lamp that is dimmed
On my reunited houses
I write your name
On the fruit cut in two
Of the mirror and of my room
On my bed, an empty shell
I write your name
On my dog, young and greedy
On his pricked-up ears
On his clumsy paw
I write your name
On the springboard of my door
On the familiar objects
On the wave of blessed fire
I write your name
On all harmonious flesh
On the face of my friends
On every out-stretched hand
I write your name
On the window-pane of surprises
On the careful lips
Well-above silence
I write your name
On my destroyed shelter
On my collapsed beacon
On the walls of my weariness
I write your name
On absence without want
On naked solitude
On the steps of death
I write your name
On regained health
On vanished risk
On hope free from memory
I write your name
And by the power of one word
I begin my life again
I am born to know you
To call you by name: Liberty
-- Paul Éluard, “The Human Face”
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Reposting an appropriate photo from my Tumblr to write this: I don't want to be cheesy, but I've been feeling so much gratitude for my life and the people (and animals) in it right now! It's not like I never feel bad, but I can barely believe how miserable I was even just a few years ago. If you need support or friendship or help or just a kind ear/word, even if we don't know one another that well (or at all), please do get in touch - it seems unfair to possess good feels and not spread them out to others. (Credit: Nusch Éluard and Sonia Mossé, musvintes and artists. 1936, by Man Ray)
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CosmiCulture 15
Ain't No Gentleman At All
The Legba Cafe had a blue neon sign with a blue spider crawling towards the entrance. Its entrance was arched, its walls grey stone with carved arabesques. There were small blood red bottle windows. Inside was a long marble bar, with patterned ornate black swirls and flowers, midnite blue barstools, a large seating section, every table with a red candle, and a small stage. There were bongos on the stage and electric horns and a synthesized upright bass and a woman in ersatz tribal African dress dancing.
At the bar was Cornelius Kuti, with hair done up like horns and a beard as though trimmed by a large knife. He wore a crisp clean white suit, with no shirt. He had a necklace of skulls, not real skulls, but carved of real human bones. He was from Nigeria, then Haiti, then Rocket City during the war. He leaned at the bar and watched his patrons. They seemed entertained enough.
"Mr. Kuti," it was Harry, the bartender. He wore a silver suit and had silver hair and a bronze face, a strange smile. "Mr. Kuti, we are out of rum."
"Run in the back and grab a case, I'll watch the bar." Cornelius walked behind the bar and mixed himself a Sterling's gin and tonic. He squeezed half a lime into it and started stirring as he watched a woman with green hair, in a black turtle neck tucked into black high waisted jeans, walk into the bar and sit down.
"Campari, s'il vous plais."
His dark brown eyes bore down into her green ones. He studied her for a moment, took a long sip of his gin, and slammed the glass down on the bar.
"You should know not to come in her, Jeanne."
"I had no choice."
"I want nothing to do with your organization."
"I am being followed."
"By who?"
"Nusch's men."
Harry returned with the rum. Cornelius grabbed Jeanne deSmarte's arm. "I'll be in the office."
His office was wood-paneled. Behind the desk were two crossed machetes. The desk was large and ashen. There was a gazelle skin for a rug and a stuffed goat's head over the door. Cornelius threw Jeanne into the chair and sat down behind the desk.
"You led Nusch's men here?"
"Of course not, I gave them the slip."
"Why would you ever come here?"
"You gave us the information on the jewel. You are one of us."
"That information came from the gods. I am not one of you. I am not a member of GUESS."
"You know no gods, Kuti."
There was a commotion out in the bar. Cornelius got up. "I know more gods than you can count, Mademoiselle deSmarte." He parted a painting of feasting lionesses, and through a peephole saw a man, in a blue ascot cap and pinstripe gangster suit and a red-haired woman in green sweater and blue jeans hassling Harry. "Who are these assholes?"
Jeanne came and looked through the hole. "The man is Teddy Angel Face, the woman Hot Leggs Holly. They work for the Queen."
"The slip, eh?"
Jeanne shrugged
Harry was panicking and pointing towards the office. Jeanne pulled out her gun. Cornelius smacked her hand. "Put that damn thing away."
"You think they won't be armed?"
"It's not them I'm worried about."
They forced their way into the office, Teddy with his zapgun pointed directly at Cornelis.
"Step away Kuti, it's not you we want."
Cornelius rammed Teddy right into Hot Leggs, knocking them both over. Hot Leggs hit her head on the wall, went limp. Cornelius grabbed one of the machetes. Teddy came at him. Cornelius slashed his chest. His white suit turned red.
Jeanne walked over and nudged Hot Leggs with her foot. "She's still alive."
"Yes, and she will stay that way."
"Whatever for?"
"For sacrifice, Mademoiselle deSmarte, I think you will be seeing just how many gods I know."
<---Backwards Onwards--->
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Elton John Collected Famous Photos for 25 Years. Now, You Can See Them on Display in London
Dorothea Lange 1895-1965. Migrant Mother 1936. Photograph, gelatin silver print on paper. 318 x 241 mm. The Sir Elton John Photography Collection
In 1991, Sir Elton John was, as he describes it, "completely ignorant” about photography. Now, over 25 years later, he possesses one of the most expensive big-name collections of nearly 8,000 fine art photographs in existence today. There are two ways you’d be able to see them in person: either as a guest in the legendary pop star’s home, or as a visitor to Tate Modern’s exhibition The Modern Eye, on display until May 2017.
This new exhibition is part of a long-term relationship formed between Tate Gallery and supporters Sir Elton John and David Furnish. Over two years in the making, visitors can now see nearly 200 modernist photographs from 60 artists, with prints by the artists themselves dating from the 20s to the 50s. Those artists include legends like André Kertész with “Underwater Swimmer,” Dorothea Lange with “Migrant Mother,” and Edward Steichen with “A Bee on a Sunflower.”
Man Ray 1890-1976. Glass Tears 1932. Photograph, gelatin silver print on paper. 229 x 298. The Sir Elton John Photography Collection © Man Ray Trust/ADAGP, Paris and DACS, London 2016
“Once I started collecting it, I became avaricious about it,” John says in a short video surveying the inner halls of the enthusiast’s home. "I moved to Atlanta and built a place here. It subsequently became an 18,000 square foot apartment. I didn’t need the space, I just wanted room to put the photographs on the walls! That’s how it kind of became the love of my life, in art terms anyway.”
The musician also owns a series of prints from one icon in particular. “Man Ray is one of the most iconic artists from the modernist period, and Sir Elton has a very impressive collection of his photographs ranging from classic portraiture to his more experimental darkroom solarizations and rayographs,” exhibition curator Shoair Mavlian tells The Creators Project.
André Kertész 1894-1985, Underwater Swimmer, Esztergom, Hungary, 30 June 1917. Photograph, gelatin silver print on paper. 32 x 45 mm. The Sir Elton John Photography Collection © Estate of André Kertész/Higher Pictures
The exhibition is arranged in order of theses prominent during the modernist period. One section, for example, is titled "Bodies," and looks into the experimental approach of capturing the human form with a camera. “These experiments,” Mavlian tells us, “included zooming in close-up and fragmenting the body, transforming and isolating parts so that it is seen in terms of its shape and form.”
John hopes that his collection will affect those who know little about the art form, just as he was affected. “I want the general public, who might not know anything about photography, like me in 1990, to see these wonderful images on the wall, that people took a long time ago, that still have relevance, and still scream out at you: this is a beautiful piece of art.”
Man Ray 1890-1976. Nusch Eluard 1928. Photograph, gelatin silver print on paper. 175 x 225 mm. The Sir Elton John Photography Collection. © Man Ray Trust/ADAGP, Paris and DACS, London 2016
Herbert Bayer 1900-1985. Humanly Impossible (Self-Portrait) 1932. Photomontage, bromoil gelatin silver print with gouache and airbrush on paper. 394 x 295 mm. The Sir Elton John Photography Collection
To learn more about the exhibition, visit the Tate Modern website.
Related:
North Africa's Biggest Street Art Ever: Last Week in Art
London's Young People Respond to the Tate Britain Collection
Pictorialism: The Movement that Birthed Modern Photography
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While everyone’s lost, the battle is won, with all these things that I’ve done
Piggy knows when it looks up from its nose
And I looked outside at the corner boys… Oh, where did you go?
“ so this is where they are shown.“
Hear the voice of God on the radio
It’s the old man, he’s got all the money
Rollin and Ridin and Slippin and Slidin, it’s magic and you and your sweet desire, you took me
its a livin thing, it’s a Terrible thing to lose
You are an expert at sorry and keeping the lines blurry
Everything‘s changed
listen to yourself churn
world serves its own needs, don’t misserve your own needs
And the government for a higher and a combat site with the furies breathing down your neck
Reporters baffled, trumped, tethered, cropped, save yourself serve yourself, world served its own needs, listen to your heart bleed, every motive escalate, automotive incinerate, light a candle, a tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies.
Offered me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline.
This week dragged past me so slowly
 the anticipation has got me glued
As if you held in your hands the smoking gun and on the floor lay the one you said you loved
If you seek an explanation while I’m afraid there is not one. See you all I have are excuses – – my daddy.
I’ve lost about everything Lord, look what state I’m in
Call katie
But her mother said
And when you’re old and gray you will remember what they said: that two girls are too many, threes a crowd and four, you’re dead
 I could have turned you into a priestess.
You got so much more to say
someone help them
 I only threw this party for you I was hoping you would come through Dj with your favorite tunes birthday cake in August
Hit me right back
But I was just a kid
Oh, how the press still hounded you 
The banners and flags of our possible pasts lie in tatters and rags
Sometimes I lie to get what I want
 I have to warn you I’m never gonna set you free
 like a bat out of hell how does it feel with your wild ideas and your hands off the wheel
I’ve been on the other side. Then you call me in. You think I am your possession.
I’ve been drinking down your pain.
Mama got it all in hand now.
I am an M-I-L-F don’t you forget
The old man has all the money
Write out of romance
I’ve prove it all night
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I’ll love you till you call the cops on me
Bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark
Made a stew , my own home recipe will see you through
I’m all locked up in this dark place my head won’t leave my head alone my mind in knots, my stomach reeling in concern for what I’ve done. It’s got me living in fear
 how I wish I didn’t smoke or drink to reason with my head
needle to the vein please leave this needle in my vein my friend(it auto corrected to needle in my pain).
Love is the key we must turn.
Truth is the flame we must learn.
Freedom the lesson we must learn.
Do you know what I mean?
Her life was saved by rock ‘n’ roll
I am the concierge chez-moi, honey
Won't let ya in for love, nor money
(Get out of my house!)
With my key I (lock it)
No stranger's feet will enter me
I clean the stains away
This house knows all I have done
This house is full of m-m-my mess
This house is full of m-m-mistakes
This house is full of m-m-madness
This house is full of, full of, full of fight
With my keeper
Traditions I can trace against the child in your face won’t escape my attention
Something happens and I’m head over heels
And this is my four leaf clover
one open mind
Thought that I was gay, my uncle was
A preconceived idea of what it all meant for those who like the same sex has the characteristics
and you can be cured with some treatment
playing God and God loves all his children it’s somehow forgotten
our culture founded from oppression and that holy water that you soak in is poison
with a veil over our eyes we turn our back on the cause of war
 Rose on the back, she turned me right on ain’t nothing will last but she tell me ride on
and Rose on the back, she tell me write on (Rose was what Blond liked me to call her)
You always loved this time of year does fallen leaves fly undisturbed now cause you’re not here
 more and more people joined the painful exodus
It was the beginning of the route of civilization, of the massacre of mankind.
Jess
Men don’t know but the little girl understand
Girls have an image to but when they get mad at you there’s no telling what they’ll say to hurt you
why you wanna go and tell a lie on me
They are going to believe his story
You can’t put yourself in a position to be neglected and disrespected; you have to do what’s not expected.
Took a while, but I made it through
If I could show you the hell I’ve been to
And all those people I thought knew me well after all that time, they couldn’t tell I lost my soul, was just a shell. There was nothing left that I could lose.
 eat me and record it
Beefing with you bitches really getting kind of boring
I drop a picture, now these bitches feel attacked
You had a vision they couldn’t see so they put you down but everything that you said would happen, it came around
When the voices came, you cut your hair but you’re still confused
And if you shoot, you better hit your mark
Got a crush on tragedy
Pledge all your allegiance to me
Got a crush from kicked in teeth
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Call me Lazarus
Neptune City, Baby
Her world collapsed early on a Sunday morning
Baby can you break the curse?
You always say your name like I wouldn't know it's you
I've found a way
A way to make you smile
At my most beautiful
I let you sleep
If you could only see the beast you've made of me
My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out
The ropes have been unbound
Like some child possessed
Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers
Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters
A man who is pure at heart and says his prayers by night may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright
If you could only see the beast you've made of me
I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground
Hurricane Gloria in excelsis deo, that's my bird in my tree
My dog and my man and my music is my holy trinity
You've got the teeth of the hydra upon you
You're dirty, sweet and you're my girl
Now her mother pines her heart away
Looking for her child in the big black smoke
Bookmark! No, I swear. Check it tonight.
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You, who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good-bye
Teach your children well
Your father's hell did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they fix, the one you'll know by
Don't you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you
And you of tender years (Can you hear and do you care)
Can't know the fears (And can you see)
That your elders grew by (We must be free)
And so please help (To teach your children)
Them with your youth (What you believe in)
They seek the truth (Make a world)
Before they can die (That we can live in)
Teach your parents well
Their children's hell will slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they fix, the one you'll know by
Don't you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you
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