isn't it rich?are we a pair?me here at last on the ground,you in mid-air.send in the clowns.isn't it bliss?don't you approve?one who keeps tearing around,one who can't move.where are the clowns?send in the clowns.just when i'd stopped opening doors,finally knowing the one that i wanted was yours,making my entrance again with my usual flair,sure of my lines,no one is there.don't you love a farce?

to a current's ear --

lucile hadzihalilovic - innocence - 2004sound from opening creditstitle - emily dickinson - i think that the root of wind is water

now light blue, now green, almost always pellucid

a still every 60 seconds from larry gottheim's fog line - 1970,including first and lastthe image of the railroad on the shore of the pond figures an ambiguity at the heart of walden. man-made power, the machine with its fire, smoke, and thunder, is juxtaposed to the waters of walden, remarkable for their depth and purity and a matchless, indescribable color - now light blue, now green, almost
ron rice - chumlum - 1964music - angus maclisemusic director - tony conradsoundtrack(this is the first in the sound/music from film series)

univers du western - lonely are the brave

david miller - lonely are the brave - 1962(landscape photography)kirk douglas - john w. "jack" burnswhiskeygena rowlands - jerry bondigeorge kennedy - deputy sheriff gutierrezwalter matthau - sheriff morey johnsoncarroll o'connor - hintonwilliam schallert - harrybill raisch - one arm(he was stand-in for burt lancaster)cinematography by philip h. lathrop *music by jerry goldsmith *screenplay by

first we must deal with the light of nature, then with nature of light

trees found in saul levine's note to patti - 1969title from stan brakhage's a moving picture giving and taking bookfrontier press - 1971

equivalent (series)

peter hutton - boston fire - 1979peter hutton - new york portrait, chapter ii - 1980-81alfred stieglitz - equivalent (series) - 1925-1931

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by its own delicacy, caressed

more sluggish the snowy hive,clearer the window’s crystal,
on a chair, a turquoise veil,thrown there, carelessly, lies.

a tissue, self-intoxicated,as if it never felt winter’s
touch, experiencing summer’s,
by its own delicacy, caressed:

and, if in icy diamonds
frost is eternally streaming,
here — it’s dragonflies flickering,
blue-eyed, living, and gone.osip mandelshtam - the stone - translated

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