Jean-Luc Godard and Louis Malle weigh-in on AU HASARD BALTHAZAR upon its first release.
you say you miss my hair
by Bushra Rehman
(For bald girls everywhere)
Don’t you see
that now the entire night
and the light
are my hair
That the fences on delancey street
the old columns
the broken figures and statues
that now these are my hair
(your soft hands on my head are my hair)
The broken english of a mother
running across the street
the newsstands
the mailboxes
the telephone lines
they’re all getting
caught up in my hair
And all of brooklyn bridge behind me
the twin towers, the hot pink top
of the empire state building, the water
turning from blue to black, the tiny
green point of the statue of liberty
have all become my hair
All the streets
and what I feel for you
are my hair
See, if you touch me again
you’ll feel the whole world
run through your fingers
San Francisco. Spring 2010.
San Francisco. Spring 2010.
San Francisco. Spring 2010.
Conrad Meadows. Summer 2011.
Chinook Pass. Summer 2011.
There’s a really lovely lingering feel to the scent of cilantro and oranges. A moment of romance when you peel an orange segment into pieces and parts, and the juices run down your fingers, through your palms, and onto a naked table below. You bring the fruit to your mouth, the scent of cilantro on your fingers from a meal having been prepared just minutes before, and you indulge yourself into the sticky sweetness of a perfectly ripe orange. That is when, amongst the chaos of a city, you can feel connected to Earth and the blessings of life and food it has given us so we may be able to create, indulge, and enjoy.
Nederlands Dans Theater. Jiri Kylian. Petit Mort. 1991.
