Friday, August 19, 2011

Vogue






13








Tracy: Hit me. I'm serious, I can't feel anything, hit me! Again, do it harder! I can't feel anything!

Monday, August 8, 2011

W.
















Taxi Driver

All the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. I go all over. I take people to the Bronx, Brooklyn, I take 'em to Harlem. I don't care. Don't make no difference to me. It does to some. Some won't even take spooks. Don't make no difference to me






Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man... June 8th. My life has taken another turn again. The days can go on with regularity over and over, one day indistinguishable from the next. A long continuous chain. Then suddenly, there is a change




Listen, you fuckers, you screwheads. Here is a man who would not take it anymore. A man who stood up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit. Here is a man who stood up.




Travis Bickle: Faster than you, fucking son of a... Saw you coming you fucking... shitheel.
[Reholsters]
Travis Bickle: I'm standing here; you make the move. You make the move. It's your move...
[Draws]
Travis Bickle: Don't try it you fuck


A Clock Work Orange











I Was Cured ALRIGHT

Victims......Aren't We All

People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.







Mother is the name of God on the
lips and
hearts
of all children.












Believe In Angels





If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on
is to
never stop loving them.

Buildings burn, people die, but real
love is forever.


The Severed Garden


"Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.”- Jim Morrison