ok i’ve drank like 3 bottles of this “no more tears” shampoo but it still hasn’t worked
‘We’re at that age now where everyone’s slept with everyone else,’ he had explained to his assembled guests. ‘There might have been royal dynasties of Persia that were more incestuous but I think apart from that our social circle is the limit. The phrase “permutational exhaustion” wouldn’t be out of place. Now, some people say it’s tiresome and we should all make new friends. I think it should be celebrated.’ And he started handing out bundles of coloured string. ‘Look around the room. If you see somebody you’ve gone to bed with, then you tie yourselves together at the wrists with one of the ten-foot pieces of string. And if you see somebody you’ve gone to bed with repeatedly on some sort of joyless petit bourgeois pseudo-marital basis – if you see someone you’ve “gone out with”, in other words – then you tie yourselves together at the wrists with one of the five-foot pieces of string. The result will be no more awkward in practice than any other party – just rather more tangible. And after tonight, every other party you ever go to will seem carefree in comparison.’
There was a baffled pause. Then, to Loeser’s disbelief, everyone started to do as they were told. They must have realised it would be a good story the following day. Before long, Zinnemann’s drawing room was a great rainbow spider’s web. The point of the colors was to make it easier to trace a string from its beginning to its end, and indeed several liaisons were revealed that had not previously been public. Every guest was dragged this way and that by their past loves, held in quivering strummable tension by their old conquests, so thoroughly entangled in a universal met of erstwhile romance that they would have to duck under somebody else’s heartbreak just to cross the room for a drink. There was such a thing as symbolism that was too bespoke, thought Loeser – but the real problem was that Marlene wasn’t here, and nor, as it happened, were any of his other four, so he had no string around his wrists and he looked like a eunuch. He couldn’t tolerate that, even if it was virtually true. So he crawled out of the room on his hands and knees and got a cab over to the Fraunhofens’ in Schlingesdorg.
I lob my bombs at him with the most seductive smiles I can muster.
Voilà. Nous avons un cadavre sur le dos, mais on ne s’en débarasse pas comme ça.
leisure
(Source: alittlebithigh, via suburbanaut)
Tobias Kaspar, Hydra Life, 2013
New Order, 1987
(via nickandthecandlestick)
On being a Gallery Owner/Art Dealer
Carol Greene / Owner / Greene Naftali Gallery
“I have a gallery for the artists. It’s not about selling as much work as you can as quickly as you can and it’s not about pressuring them to make more work quickly to take advantage of the market”
“I do shows all the time where I’m not going to make any money”
“Some of the best artists I’m working with aren’t even making anything material”
“If you show great artists, eventually you’re going to sell it”
“If you want to make a great gallery and you want to keep your best artists, you have to be ready to cut out the ones that aren’t holding up”
Bob Monk: ”Don’t you feel like being an art dealer is such a special and wonderful thing? Like when you wake up in the morning you feel… Carol Greene: “… the crippling anxiety?!?”
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Tobias Kaspar, Looking at Das Leonardo Di Caprio Album, 2009
