Childhood | Thomas Bernhard, 1963

Thomas Bernhard with his mother, Bavaria, 1938

“Childhood is still running along beside us like a little dog who used to be a merry companion, 
but who now requires our care and splints, and myriad medicines, to prevent him from promptly
 passing on.” It went along rivers, and down mountain gorges. If you gave it any assistance, the
 evening would construct the most elaborate and costly lies. But it wouldn’t save you from pain
 and indignity. Lurking cats crossed your path with sinister thoughts. Like him, so nettles would
 sometimes draw me into fiendish moments of unchastity. As with him, my fear was made palatable 
by raspberries and blackberries. A swarm of crows were an instant manifestation of death. Rain
 produced damp and despair. Joy pearled off the crowns of sorrel plants. “The blanket of snow 
covers the earth like a sick child.” No infatuation, no ridicule, no sacrifice. “In classrooms, simple
 ideas assembled themselves, and on and on.” Then stores in town, butchers’ shop smells. Façades 
and walls, nothing but façades and walls, until you got out into the country again, quite abruptly, 
from one day to the next. Where the meadows began, yellow and green; brown plowland, black 
trees. Childhood: shaken down from a tree, so much fruit and no time! The secret of his childhood 
was contained in himself. Growing up wild, among horses, poultry, milk, and honey. And then: 
being evicted from this primal condition, bound to intentions that went way beyond himself. 
Designs. His possibilities multiplied, then dwindled in the course of a tearful afternoon. Down 
to three or four certainties. Immutable certainties. “How soon it is possible to spot dislike. Even 
without words, a child wants everything. And attains nothing.” Children are much more inscrutable
 than adults. “Protractors of history. Conscienceless. Correctors of history. Bringers-on of defeat.
 Ruthless as you please.” As soon as it could blow its own nose, a child was deadly to anything it 
came in touch with. Often—as it does me—it gives him a shock, when he feels a sensation he 
had as a child, provoked by a smell or a color, but that doesn’t remember him. “At such a 
moment you feel horribly alone.”

Thomas Bernhard, Frost, 1963


I Want to Write About You | Halina Poświatowska, 1935-1967

Halina Poświatowska, 1957

I  want to write about you
With your name to prop the crooked fence
The frozen cherry tree
About your lips
To form curved stanzas
About your lashes to lie taht they are dark
I want
To weave my fingers through your hair
Find a nook in your throat
Where with a muffled whisper
The heart defies the lips
I want
To mix your name with stars
With blood
To be inside you
Not to be with you
To vanish
Like a raindrop soaked into night

Halina Poświatowska, I want to write about you


Like a Sea Anemone Under the Tide | D.H. Lawrence, 1928

Egon Schiele, Couple enlacé, 1917 

“His body was urgent against her, and she didn't have the heart anymore to fight...She saw his eyes,
 tense and brilliant, fierce, not loving. But her will had left her. A strange weight was on her limbs. 
She was giving way. She was giving up...she had to lie down there under the boughs of the tree,
 like an animal, while he waited, standing there in his shirt and breeches, watching her with haunted
 eyes...He too had bared the front part of his body and she felt his naked flesh against her as he came
 into her. For a moment he was still inside her, turgid there and quivering. Then as he began to move, 
in the sudden helpless orgasm, there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her. Rippling,
 rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of
 brilliance, exquisite and melting her all molten inside. It was like bells rippling up and up to a
 culmination. She lay unconscious of the wild little cries she uttered at the last. But it was over too
 soon, too soon, and she could no longer force her own conclusion with her own activity. This was
 different, different. She could do nothing. She could no longer harden and grip for her own satisfaction
 upon him. She could only wait, wait and moan in spirit and she felt him withdrawing, withdrawing and
 contracting, coming to the terrible moment when he would slip out of her and be gone. Whilst all her
 womb was open and soft, and softly clamouring, like a sea anemone under the tide, clamouring for 
him to come in again and make fulfillment for her. She clung to him unconscious in passion, and he
 never quite slipped from her, and she felt the soft bud of him within her stirring, and strange rhythms
 flushing up into her with a strange rhythmic growing motion, swelling and swelling til it filled all her
 cleaving consciousness, and then began again the unspeakable motion that was not really motion, 
but pure deepening whirlpools of sensation swirling deeper and deeper through all her tissue and
 consciousness, til she was one perfect concentric fluid of feeling, and she lay there crying in
 unconscious inarticulate cries.”

“She was like a forest, like the dark interlacing of the oakwood, humming inaudibly with myriad
 unfolding buds. Meanwhile the birds of desire were asleep in the vast interlaced intricacy of her body.”

 D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover, 1928

Egon Schiele, Couple enlacé, 1917                                          Egon Schiele, Couple enlacé, 1917 


Alphabetarion # Smell | Bret Easton Ellis, 1991

María Morgui’s project ‘habitar’ Light

“And though the coldness I have always felt leaves me, the numbness 
doesn't and probably never will. This relationship will probably lead
 to nothing...this didn't change anything. I imagine her 
smelling clean, like tea...” 

Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho, 1991


Weaving Sounds / The Multi-instrumentalist | Brian Jones, 1942-1969

 Ivan Keeman, Brian Jones on sitar

Brian Jones was an English musician, best known as founder and the original leader 
of the Rolling Stones. Initially a slide guitarist, Jones would go on to play a wide variety of 
instruments on Rolling Stones recordings and in concerts, such as rhythm and lead guitar, 
various keyboard instruments such as piano and organ, marimba, harmonica, sitar, wind 
instruments such as recorder, saxophone, oboe, and numerous others.

Brian Jones  

Not Fade Away · Rolling Stones · 1964
Brian Jones plays harmonica

Brian Jones and Keith Richards developed a unique style of guitar play that Richards refers to 
as the "ancient art of weaving" where both players would play rhythm and lead parts together 
without clear boundaries between the two roles.

Under My Thumb · The Rolling Stones · 1966
Brian Jones plays marimba

Brian Jones, 1965                                                                Brian Jones, Ian (Stu) Stewart, c 1965

Brian Jones was a talented multi-instrumentalist, seemingly at home on any musical instrument. 
For many Rolling Stones tracks prior to 1969, for any instrument except the standard rock 
instrumentation of drums, guitars, piano, or bass, Jones would be the one playing it.

Examples of Brian Jones' contributions are his slide guitar on "I Wanna Be Your Man", 
"I'm a King Bee", "Little Red Rooster", "I Can't Be Satisfied", "I'm Movin' On", 
"Doncha Bother Me" and "No Expectations". 

Brian Jones can also be heard playing Bo Diddley-style rhythm guitar on "I Need You 
Baby" and on "Please Go Home", the guitar riff in "The Last Time"; 

sitar on "Street Fighting Man" and "Paint It Black"; organ on "Let's Spend the Night 
Together"; marimba on "Under My Thumb", "Out of Time" and "Yesterday's Papers"; 
recorder on "Ruby Tuesday" and "All Sold Out"; saxophone on "Child of the Moon" and 
kazoo on "Cool, Calm And Collected"; Appalachian dulcimer on "I Am Waiting" 
and "Lady Jane", 
Mellotron on "She's a Rainbow", "We Love You", "Stray Cat Blues", "2000 Light Years 
from Home", and "Citadel"; 
and the autoharp on "Ride On, Baby" and on "You Got the Silver". He also played the 
oboe/soprano sax solo in "Dandelion".

Brian Jones also played harmonica on many of the Rolling Stones' early songs.

Brian Jones played alto saxophone on The Beatles song "You Know My Name", 
which was released in March 1970, eight months after his death.

 Brian Jones plays a Gibson Firebird on stage at the Marine Ballroom 
on the Steel Pier, Atlantic City, 1966
Brian Jones                                                                                          the Rolling Stones

Paint It Black · the Rolling Stones · 1966

Brian Jones was able to develop a tune from the sitar in a short amount of time (Jones had had a
background with the instrument as far back as 1961), largely due to his studies under Harihar
Rao, a disciple of Ravi Shankar. Not long after a discussion with George Harrison, who had
recently recorded sitar on "Norwegian Wood", Jones arranged basic melodies with the instrument
that, over time, morphed into the one featured in "Paint It Black"

Jones purchased a dulcimer while touring the US with the Stones. He then commissioned
Vox to build him an electric version, which became the Vox Bijou.

Brian Jones 

Something Happened To Me Yesterday · The Rolling Stones · 1967

Brian Jones whistles and plays trumpet, trombone, and tuba

Dandelion · The Rolling Stones · 1967

Brian Jones plays mellotron, saxophone and oboe  

Brian Jones, 1967

The recorder is a woodwind musical instrument in the group known as internal duct flutes-flutes 
with a whistle mouthpiece, also known as fipple flutes. 

I Am Waiting · the Rolling Stones · 1966

 Brian Jones plays dulcimer

Brian Jones with his dulcimer

The dulcimer was first brought to his attention in March 1966 when Jones began 
listening to recordings of Richard Farina. 

The Rolling Stones, Royal Albert Hall Concert,  Backstage, 1966  

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