Admissions

Jen Adams writes.

It takes a lot of time to be a genius. You have to sit around so much, doing nothing, really doing nothing.

Gertrude Stein, Everybody’s Autobiography (via vintageanchorbooks)

wanderingnewyork:

A passageway at the 190th Street-Overlook Terrace Station on the A Line

Somebody call Kubrick, quick. 

wanderingnewyork:

A passageway at the 190th Street-Overlook Terrace Station on the A Line

Somebody call Kubrick, quick. 

(Source: vintageanchorbooks)

Faulty Stars

From the New York Times review of the film adaptation of John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars:

"Though it is a tragic love story, it is also a perfect and irresistible fantasy. Hazel and Gus possess an absolute moral authority, an ability to assert the truth of their experience that few can share and many might covet. They know the meaning of their own lives, and try as it might, the movie can’t help but give cancer credit for this state of perfection. There is something disturbing about that, and also, therefore, about the source of some of the tears the movie calls forth. The loudest weeping you hear — including your own — may arise not from grief or admiration, but from envy."

I had cancer. I have been in full remission for over five years, and I lost a year of my life to chemo and CAT scans, wigs and tears. I’ve got scars on scars, inside and out. However, I have not read this book, nor do I intend to. I have not seen this film, nor do I want to. But I’m heartened: if TFIOS manages to put forth the idea that suffering a horrible, stupid, meaningless, agonizing, deadly disease can actually be a vehicle for understanding the meaning of one’s life, and even inspires envy in those who have not had this experience, then good. Good. It gets tiring trying to explain how retreating into pat platitudes about “God’s will” and “fighting the battle” only diminishes the lasting effect it can have on you. The only way out is through, and facing an enemy squarely, acknowledging the unfairness and randomness and seizing the bits of beauty to be found therein is the way to win. Any battle. 

It may be that the prospect of a true trial by fire is too terrifying for most. That’s fine. Maybe being “brave” isn’t the way through. Maybe letting yourself be terrified, letting parts of you die, is the way to truly thrive, instead. You should all be so lucky. 

wanderingnewyork:

Houses in Grasmere.

Oh, honey pie…

wanderingnewyork:

Houses in Grasmere.

Oh, honey pie…

nevver:

OK

Sometimes this happens. You will be ok.

nevver:

OK

Sometimes this happens. You will be ok.

nevver:

On a scale…

What if he says 5?

nevver:

On a scale

What if he says 5?

(Source: twitter.com)

nprontheroad:

Australian snowboarder Torah Bright let me hold her Olympic silver medal. It’s heavy.

This is one thing Sochi got right. Gorgeous design. I love the filigree detail at the edge—just a little trace of the ancient along with all that’s modern. Well done!

nprontheroad:

Australian snowboarder Torah Bright let me hold her Olympic silver medal. It’s heavy.

This is one thing Sochi got right. Gorgeous design. I love the filigree detail at the edge—just a little trace of the ancient along with all that’s modern. Well done!

(via npr)

New York friends, come and see another of Grosse’s pieces installed in the courtyard spaces along Myrtle Promenade at Jay Street/Metrotech. They look amazing protruding through the snow!

massmoca:

therhumboogie:

By Katharina Grosse, these huge, beautiful sculptural installations utilise their environment by being painted in situ making each set-up entirely unique. I feel torn between thinking of a martian landscape, or a Lovecraftian fifth dimension. 

Love these Katharina shots of her One Floor Up More Highly show in our Building 5.

(Source: mymodernmet.com, via npr)

I keep hoping. 

I keep hoping. 

(Source: screenshotsofdespair, via burkesbricolage)

nevver:

Common People, the Comic

(Source: forbiddenplanet.co.uk)

I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, “Kiss me harder,” and “You’re a good person,” and, “You brighten my day.” I live my life as straight-forward as possible.

Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.

I could be walking down the street one day, blasting Rihanna or Fleetwood Mac, jamming so hard that I don’t see the bus coming. I could be walking with a book in my hand, reading until the very end. I could be paying total and complete attention, imagine the impact before it arrives.

And I’d really, really rather not die with some confusing statement I said sitting in the phone or the thoughts or the memory of someone I know, care about, need.

I know how it is—we all want to be mysterious. None of us want to get hurt. None of us want to look desperate. So we wait to respond to texts, phone calls, emails, Facebook messages, Tweets. So we communicate our emotions in how we end our messages (no period this time? Really gonna get them.). So we say vague, half-statements and expect people to read our minds.

But what if we died?

What if the last thing you ever texted that girl was, “I don’t know, whenever,” when she asked when she should come over, even though you really really wanted to see her right now? What if you were head-over-heels in lust with some beautiful human in your Lit. class but you chose to wait 15 seconds before texting them back, only to never get the chance to text them at all?

Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.

But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.

And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.

We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.

We never know when the bus is coming.

Rachel C. Lewis  (via anditslove)

gets me every time. conventional gender norms be damned.

(via goawayfornow)

(via goawayfornow)

Through such experiments, Lee seems preoccupied by the need to make this familiar form something different from what we think it is, so that it can more capably capture a reality that has fast been veering into the unreal. It’s not just that the world outside the novel has made this jump, but also that we cannot evade the world’s strangeness when the storytellers, and the characters into which they breathe life, increasingly come from such different perspectives.

On Year in Reading alum Chang-rae Lee’s new novel (which you can buy with a nifty 3D book cover). (via millionsmillions)

Come see the 3D edition and talk with Chang-rae Lee at the MakerBot store, 298 Mulberry Street in Manhattan on Thursday, January 16 at 7:00pm.