And now for something really weird. Really. Really. Weird.

ericclimbs wrote:I know next to nothing about comics but, on the advice of a friend many years ago, began collecting and reading Sandman by Neil Gaiman. Cool stuff. I think they are in the attic at my parents house back east - in acid free plastic sleeves of course.

Paximus wrote:

ericclimbs wrote:I know next to nothing about comics but, on the advice of a friend many years ago, began collecting and reading Sandman by Neil Gaiman. Cool stuff. I think they are in the attic at my parents house back east - in acid free plastic sleeves of course.

Dude I have to get you in to comics you would like them. I am not talking superman and shit, I mean the real obscure shit that only the diehards know about, deep, philosophical and artsy satire at its best. I fucking LOVE satire.

claudicici wrote:

The Kay wrote:Photography is really the only type of art I like. I'm not shocked by the picture(s), but what's the point? Usually a photograph shows something interesting. Maybe there are people interested in looking at a headless fat man with a tiny penis. I might not be "deep" enough to "get it." Are some of these done for no reason other than the "shock" value?

....let them speak to you.
it's not something you look at to decide wether or not you want to hang it on your wall.
art is something that speaks to you emotionally.
art understands what noone else does,it's the best feeling in the world to look at something and think he/she gets it ,this person felt that way and you are not alone.
dead bodies can speak so much clearer to me than a living person.
i can see empty shallow living people walking around all day long.
i can see a dead body and know everything that person felt.

blouAngel wrote:

tapu wrote:I just thought some people might not be as familiar with him as you are.

Well known in the art world usually isn't the same thing as well known like Elvis. All I meant to say is that if you are really interested in what he does, it isn't to hard to find more than you could possibly want to know.

I knew a young lady a few years ago who was very into Baudelaire and in particular his Les Fleurs du Mal. I gave her a copy of a small book on Joel-Peter Witkin for her birthday. It was very precisely wrapped in a carefully wrinkled and torn piece of black paper and had a small weathered bone and a few dried and faded old roses that were assembled into a bouquet and tied on to it with several bits of old string. I gave it to her one evening as I was saying good-bye to her for the night. She opened it later and was so freaked out that it took some very careful coaxing to get her to ever talk to me again. She has since found other reasons to never talk to me again.

From Les Fleur du Mal
La Destruction

Sans cesse à mes côtés s'agite le Démon;
II nage autour de moi comme un air impalpable;
Je l'avale et le sens qui brûle mon poumon
Et l'emplit d'un désir éternel et coupable.

Parfois il prend, sachant mon grand amour de l'Art,
La forme de la plus séduisante des femmes,
Et, sous de spécieux prétextes de cafard,
Accoutume ma lèvre à des philtres infâmes.

II me conduit ainsi, loin du regard de Dieu,
Haletant et brisé de fatigue, au milieu
Des plaines de l'Ennui, profondes et désertes,

Et jette dans mes yeux pleins de confusion
Des vêtements souillés, des blessures ouvertes,
Et l'appareil sanglant de la Destruction!

— Charles Baudelaire

Destruction

The Demon is always moving about at my side;
He floats about me like an impalpable air;
I swallow him, I feel him burn my lungs
And fill them with an eternal, sinful desire.

Sometimes, knowing my deep love for Art, he assumes
The form of a most seductive woman,
And, with pretexts specious and hypocritical,
Accustoms my lips to infamous philtres.

He leads me thus, far from the sight of God,
Panting and broken with fatigue, into the midst
Of the plains of Ennui, endless and deserted,

And thrusts before my eyes full of bewilderment,
Dirty filthy garments and open, gaping wounds,
And all the bloody instruments of Destruction!

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

claudicici wrote:

blouAngel wrote:

tapu wrote:I just thought some people might not be as familiar with him as you are.

Well known in the art world usually isn't the same thing as well known like Elvis. All I meant to say is that if you are really interested in what he does, it isn't to hard to find more than you could possibly want to know.

I knew a young lady a few years ago who was very into Baudelaire and in particular his Les Fleurs du Mal. I gave her a copy of a small book on Joel-Peter Witkin for her birthday. It was very precisely wrapped in a carefully wrinkled and torn piece of black paper and had a small weathered bone and a few dried and faded old roses that were assembled into a bouquet and tied on to it with several bits of old string. I gave it to her one evening as I was saying good-bye to her for the night. She opened it later and was so freaked out that it took some very careful coaxing to get her to ever talk to me again. She has since found other reasons to never talk to me again.

From Les Fleur du Mal
La Destruction

Sans cesse à mes côtés s'agite le Démon;
II nage autour de moi comme un air impalpable;
Je l'avale et le sens qui brûle mon poumon
Et l'emplit d'un désir éternel et coupable.

Parfois il prend, sachant mon grand amour de l'Art,
La forme de la plus séduisante des femmes,
Et, sous de spécieux prétextes de cafard,
Accoutume ma lèvre à des philtres infâmes.

II me conduit ainsi, loin du regard de Dieu,
Haletant et brisé de fatigue, au milieu
Des plaines de l'Ennui, profondes et désertes,

Et jette dans mes yeux pleins de confusion
Des vêtements souillés, des blessures ouvertes,
Et l'appareil sanglant de la Destruction!

— Charles Baudelaire

Destruction

The Demon is always moving about at my side;
He floats about me like an impalpable air;
I swallow him, I feel him burn my lungs
And fill them with an eternal, sinful desire.

Sometimes, knowing my deep love for Art, he assumes
The form of a most seductive woman,
And, with pretexts specious and hypocritical,
Accustoms my lips to infamous philtres.

He leads me thus, far from the sight of God,
Panting and broken with fatigue, into the midst
Of the plains of Ennui, endless and deserted,

And thrusts before my eyes full of bewilderment,
Dirty filthy garments and open, gaping wounds,
And all the bloody instruments of Destruction!

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

oh god how i wished i would ever get a gift like that..but is the aggeler poem a translation of the baudelaire one?...well anyways i welcome those demons,that poem makes me so mad.