“You may gather from my article what Ulysses has done to a supposedly balanced psychologist,” Carl Jung wrote in his blistering review of James Joyce’s Ulysses a decade after the publication of the trailblazing novel that had unbalanced literature and pioneered a new literary aesthetic of stream-of-consciousness narrative. Initially rejected in English-speaking countries, Ulysses had ignited the global literary imagination thanks to the visionary publisher Sylvia Beach (March 14, 1887–October 5, 1962), founder of Paris’s iconic bookstore Shakespeare and Company. Beach had taken a chance on the controversial and creatively daring novel when she published it in France on James Joyce’s fortieth birthday in 1922, but she didn’t anticipate the magnitude of the furor with which the book would be met. In his influential review, T.S. Eliot lauded it as “the most important expression which the present age has found… a book to which we are all indebted, and from which none of us can escape.” Writing and Publishing coutersy of Sylvia Beach
The Guardian: “Shoppers in the Netherlands will get the chance to visit Europe’s first plastic-free supermarket aisle on Wednesday in what campaigners claim is a turning point in the war on plastic pollution. The store in Amsterdam will open its doors at 11am when shoppers will be able to choose from more than 700 plastic-free products, all available in one aisle. The move comes amid growing global concern about the damage plastic waste is having on oceans, habitats and food chains. Scientists warn plastic pollution is now so widespread it risks permanent contamination of the natural world. Earlier this year, a Guardian investigation revealed that UK supermarkets were a major source of plastic waste, producing 1m tonnes a year. And for the past 12 months, campaigners have been calling for all supermarkets to offer a plastic-free aisle…” [when will these critical changes come to the US?]
New York street photography by Carrie Boretz from the 1970s, '80s, and '90s—before the city was sanitized.
↩︎ The GuardianIce Huts
↩︎ Richard Johnson
Paintings of tranquil household interiors by Zsofia Schweger.
Birds Sleep in Giraffe Armpits, New Photos Reveal National Geographic
In his short film Dance Dance, director Thomas Blanchard represents all four seasons by showing flowers blooming, submerged in water that freezes over, burning, and shrouded in clouds of colorful inks. I could have watched the flowers freezing over part for many more minutes. (via colossal)
I come from Australia, mate
“We die. That may be the meaning of life,”Toni Morrison asserted in her spectacularNobel Prize acceptance speech. “But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.” We do language not merely with our words — which are themselves events— but with the lived and living presence behind them. “Words mean. Words point. They are arrows. Arrows stuck in the rough hide of reality,” Susan Sontag wrote in contemplating the conscience of words. If words are the arrow, we ourselves — our interior landscapes, our outward actions, the authenticity of our lives — are the bow.
In Lyrics By Sting, the singer described the view from his 16th-century Wiltshire manor house: via Fields of Gold: The Best of Sting 1984-1994 by Sting on Apple Music
Emma Alberici: from hard partying clubhead to hard hitting journalist
You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we walk in fields of gold
So she took her love for to gaze awhile upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down among the fields of gold
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we walk in fields of gold
So she took her love for to gaze awhile upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down among the fields of gold
Will you stay with me, will you be my love among the fields of barley?
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we lie in fields of gold
See the west wind move like a lover so upon the fields of barley.
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth among the fields of gold
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we lie in fields of gold
See the west wind move like a lover so upon the fields of barley.
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly and there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left we'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold
But I swear in the days still left we'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold
Many years have passed since those summer days among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down among the fields of gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky when we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold, when we walked in fields of gold
See the children run as the sun goes down among the fields of gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky when we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold, when we walked in fields of gold