All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel…. Think about it. There’s escaping from the wolves, fighting the wolves, capturing the wolves, taming the wolves. Being thrown to the wolves, or throwing others to the wolves so the wolves will eat them instead of you. Running with the wolf pack. Turning into a wolf. Best of all, turning into the head wolf. No other decent stories exist.

I’m not sentimental by nature. Sure I miss the Keystone Cops, and Mack Sennett, and Stan and Oliver and the rest. But I don’t moon over the past. I don’t have time. One Easter Sunday I went to a party at Mary Pickford’s house. Everybody from silent films was there. I tried to have fun, but I discovered we had nothing to talk about. I like The Beatles, for instance, and some of them had never even heard a Beatles record. They haven’t kept up with the times.

- Buster Keaton, 1965

(Source: railwayshoes, via polyhymnia)

The side effects of the chemo wouldn’t kick in for at least a week, so she spent her days with Delia powering through a TV pilot they were writing for Scott Rudin… Because of my mother’s tremendous sense of will and a modest dose of steroids, the script was finished before the chemo was.

And there’s something else. On a regular basis, I will be walking around, going about my business, and I’ll see the Empire State Building or the Brooklyn Bridge and it’ll suddenly hit me again. My God. I live here. In a city some people dream their whole lives of just seeing once. That’s pretty goddamn magical.

from this post about “on not being middle class in New York City” (via remnant)

——

as much as i bitch and moan about the lack of in-unit laundry or having to haul my groceries home with me on the subway, having had the opportunity to live in this city these last few years has been pretty fantastic. i’m going to miss it a lot.

(Source: lajoiedevivre, via nogreatillusion)

On March 13, 1995, in the small Scottish town of Dunblane, a forty-three-year-old man, Thomas Hamilton walked into a primary school with four handguns and opened fire, methodically killing sixteen children and one adult teacher before killing himself. The unprecedented massacre of children led, within two years, to legislation that imposed a total ban on the private ownership of handguns in the United Kingdom. Today, no one in the United Kingdom can privately own a handgun or a semiautomatic weapon. There was not much hand wringing or heated debate over this legislation. It was discussed, and enacted, with overwhelming public support, in response to the mood of national shame and grief over the killings.

He’s brutal, brutal. He’s expedient delivery of brutality. And you know, he’s a big dude. He’s a big dude who’s incredibly clinical, in the fact that he has a result-based and orientated fighting style. The result is clear…It’s: f**k off and die…It’s not about fighting. It’s just about carnage with Bane. He’s a smashing machine. He’s a wrecking ball. The style is heavy-handed, heavy-footed, it’s nasty. Anything from small joint manipulation to crushing skulls, crushing rib cages, stamping on shins and knees and necks and collarbones and snapping heads off and tearing his fists through chests, ripping out spinal columns. It’s anything he can get away with. He is a terrorist in his mentality as well as brutal action. So he’s horrible. A really horrible piece of work.