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the library project is a project creating a subtle dialogue about the issue of giving,lending and taking.as most of my pieces have a lifespan of a stutter in the street (either because of collectors or weather or the street cleaners), i thought i would try to embrace it and play around with the circumstances. before placing the pieces on the surface, i wrote "i let you borrow my heart for a while,let others borrow it as well", and then placed the piece over the writing,covering it.
the pieces in this series are applied with double sided tape (which can be easily removed) with some unpeeled scraps of tape on the cardboard left for the borrower to replace anwhere.i think its great if someone wants to take it home, but it raises the conflict of the fact that its in the street for the art to be shared with the people using it.therfore, whoever dispatches the piece can replace it in it original location, or even better, a new location,making him/her part of the arts existence and making it even more part of the collective reality than it was before.
French promotion card by Metropole Le Palais du Cinéma. Publicity still for L'ami de la Famille/A Friend of the Family (Jacques Pinoteau, 1957).
French comic actor and musician Darry Cowl (1925-2006) appeared in more than 150 films, often as a clown with a chronic stutter. Many of his comedies were not worth his talents, but at the end of his life, he made a glorious come-back and won the César twice.
For more postcards, a bio and clips check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
NECK
I touched her on the back of her neck
with such tenderness
that her skin kissed my palm
with a singular abandon
DANCE
she brushed her hair
stopped
stared
sung into the brush
cried
and started all over again
some kind of imbalance
and talent
part of me
wanted to help
part of me
wanted to dance
OUT
take me out
through the door
into the street
where the yellow lines
never meet
tell me then of rules
and compliance
and I’ll speak
of loneliness
and self violence
Women
be a gentleman
open doors for women
treat a woman better than you would a man
don’t cuss around a woman
make women feel special because they are
appreciate don’t salivate
no means no
these are the things my family taught me about women
they were right
if only society were in agreement with me
alas
EIGHT
legs heavy
Everest stairs
leading to my fate
8 to reach the top
8 to be done with it
a confrontation
that will lead to sadness
8 a vertical eternity
or at least so it seems
SCOOP
yesterday
you weren’t here
I felt
not hollow
but as if
i was being hollowed out
the cosmic melon scoop
KISS
remember your lips
swollen
with biology
hormonal ingenuity
your mouth was open
saying something stutter-rush
in anatomical resistance
something love lodged in your esophagus
but despite that
I believe you enjoyed yourself
BEDTIME
imaginations lover
dive below the covers
hold your breath
let excitement shudder
whisper silent goodbyes
to your land locked mother
as you swim the warm blanket’s currents
of color and wide wonder
IQ
the world did not stop turning
my IQ simply bottomed out
when I realized
I might have a chance
"love you make me"
to make you love me
lunar eyescape
ahh to walk
upon her eye
in its hazel foam fog
til i reached its black brine
through its tumble jungle bog
then slowly
loose my mind
after reveling in it all
BASTARD
she opened 15 mason jars
and cried in each one
for later she thought
preserves
ENTER
all the open doors are behind me now
what happens next…
metaphorical breaking and entering
what fun
POSTS
behind the fence
between the slats
a forbidden
but tasty past
STARS
last night
all the stars were out
even the once human
those souls this earth
with all its riches
could not contain
neither the saint
or the sinner
more frequency
more sound
those who are bent to believe
in all sorts of madness
the possibility of aquatic bees
peering as they will
on mortals
especially those in love
there is a kinship
in that time
for cautious considerates
turn to unihibititsts
exposing
the waves in their lengths
transparent flames all
consuming each other
in a passionate free for all
End
Winter’s scissors
will sever our cord
cold
devoid of pain
and beyond old
Cold
I’ve touched your soul
tundra well
cold hole
frostbite
you have an old magic
called apathy
I hate yellow flowers
the hall was lined with empty frames
60’s wall paper
the orange and greens screams
white frames
square forty by forty
ornate
orange blossom motive with teeth
spaced evenly
and one empty door frame
to an empty room
sun creeping in
STAIRS
she looked down the stairs
rooms
voices
mingling forming
curiosity
so real it was like a friends whisper
get a little closer
it was the after time
after they put her to bed
she shouldn’t be up
the after world
was pulling her down
one step after another
RAYS
she saw the last rays of the sun
swim under sand
to hunt and hide
till morning
AGE
I can feel your hand wither
the bones beneath
veins bas relief
so stretched
though too
I can feel your soul
resounding bell
giant
endless well
your a planet trapped inside a
crumbling shell
grandmother
FIVE
Excerpt from a meeting with my inner child
found him tied to a tree
binds cutting
five
had to be five
injured and scared
released him, held him
everything will most certainly not be alright
but I’m here
I’m not going anywhere
No one has ever made me so mad as myself
in light of that self acknowledgment
I’ve never wanted to hurt myself
no matter how stupid I got
Its just that I love me
you don’t go around hurting the ones you love
that’s what an asshole does
APPLES
at first I believed
myself to be the apple of your eye
but that was clearly impossible
for in the light
your pupils are slits
black daggers both
RIDE
You can trade lives
people float in and out
plastic Jesus on your dashboard
just tradition
not religion
and your cute
we’re talking
we’re not falling though
just two strangers
riding with Jesus
he’s wearing flowly blue
GREY DARK
The grating removed
peer down
into grey dark
a foggy dark
that turns men into beasts
climb down
be mad with us
the unsavory
but always sweet
HAPPY EASTER
crawled inside
the blood hall
died inside its walls
came walking out the other side
with both the great
and the small
BROKEN
I never did like the lullaby
when the bough breaks
I cried when they sang it,
so here is a short poem
to celebrate my dislike
BROKEN
the dawn broke
the bough broke
I’m broken
BIRDS
I climbed the spinal staircase
to feed the birds of your mind
flutter flutter
feathers
chirp
noisy beggars
JUPITER
A ball of magical gas
with rings and pretty things
in orbit about your stormy skin
PRIDE DUTY HONESTY
three tarnished copper eggs
sickly green shells
they use to be beautiful
pale cream
conjoined bells
but no one spread their feathers
none to shelter from the weather
birds inside
died
flightless
discarded in the heather
The Girl
Who was that girl
strapped to your arm
with thorny ropes?
Translucent skin
the nights own hair
and a tousled stare
I saw you whisper magic
mumble in shapes and symbols
the old rhythms
you led her
it might have been
a walk
but I saw in part
the divine dance
from that other time
you paraded her
while she smiled a mask
the beauty of that pretense
blinded the rest
I saw her tragedy
is that mother?
I wondered
in her earthly guise…
dear brother
BYE
in the middle
of that disconnect
discontent
when all your tears had be spent
I just wretched
wiped my mouth
screamed aloud
buried my love six feet down
walked out
not another sound
COLD
I just stare
the dreamsicle melts
melts orange
my hand covered completely in soft tangerine hues
encased a prehistoric mosquito in amber
cold sunlight drips from my hand
all five of my minds speak in stereo
the little blonde girl is beautiful
FERTILITY GOD
The black fled
but left behind
its inky scrawl
the paper carved
with a dark chisel
beneath natures green halls
the absence of day
the shunning of light
may your godhood shrivel
in manhood’s rite
a curse
cut in ancient shorthand
from a bitter woman barren
2 days before her last breath
BREATHE
inhale
exhale
something so commonplace
except when you do it
then its Tsiolkovsky’s concert for the cello
stare
listen
feel
think
I’m too young for this
MAGIC
glistening
glitter shine
the crunchy marshmallow
the naturally sweet lime
we so want
Mr bubble to be real
to come floating up out of the tub
to speak to us
in his rub a dub
we want magic
HEART
beneath and under her beauty
elegant wrappings
her heart was hollow
bird bones
fragile
built to fly
SENSE
hypersensitive
on the edge
skin thin
soul stretched it’s a drum head
don’t speak at me
mouth leak about me
20 thousand rubber-bands
snap
talk to me
FIRST KISS
kissed her by the rock
where the river fell and rolled
wrote something romantic
left it on the road
went back without her
went back to see
but there was nothing left
only phantoms
transparent memories
KITCHEN
cabinet doors open
tomatoes cut but still together
wine bottle not quite empty
vinegar and oil out of place
scissor and knife side by side
tea towel reflecting in stainless
plastic bags covering, hanging from the fridge
The thing about Julie
that really made me wonder
is how the lies in her eyes
looked just as beautiful as the
the truth in Michelle’s
MOMENT
exposed
laced with lust
I shy away
devour you
at the same moment
in time
my soul paper starts tearing
lengthwise
SKIN
once I slipped on your skin
and saw the world through your yellows and blues
its so much brighter than mine
it hurt my eyes
a note to the social butterfly
from the recluse in your life
the auditorium is filled
mounted speakers
with their dark woven faces
echo the podiums call
then I see
her ear, her hair
and I am so far away from her
separated by
mountain peaks of broken glass
that rise like pre-edenic giants
from the lonely neurons
that control my feelings of loss
NIGHT SKY
if I swore by the night
that pervasive darkness
and the shadows therein
if I promised their diamond studded sky
and the velvet that they lie upon
do you think I could kiss Jolene
SMALL STUFFED ANIMAL
Found it there
crushed on the pillow
flat
stretched
unformed
a small squeaky voice
terrorizes your mind
”help me please”
Lonely
a big red balloon
filled with he-li-um
so others can smile
you deflate me
MOM
pretty lady
in your pink and green
matching hand bag
perched there before me
I noticed
that one of those laugh lines
around your eyes
is definitely mine
HURT
If I could just weep while I sleep….
do you mind crying on my face tonight?
I can’t do both
GENTLE
my eyes are beds to the world
dark walnut frame
white duvet
black satin pillow case
where the tired might find rest
LUIGI'S HORSES
listen
the boxes of soul light turn
carousel speed
wooden steeds
painted on the inside
seem to gallop in place
it’s life
it’s going nowhere
and desperately wants
to be real
CEREMONY OF TRAVEL
vincentpettavel:
Up.
Pack.
Eat.
Leave.
Glorious routine in glorious unfamiliarity,
experiencing the culture shock,
or shock at the
lack of culture,
immersed in a world so
alien,
yet connected to reality by the
web of media.
Speaking of
‘Home’
and meaning only a bed.
Not thinking about those who once mattered,
feeling remorse when their face crops up
in sudden thoughts.
simply great
TILE DREAM
tiles on the ceiling
tiles within tiles
reddish pink patterns
rectangles forming thick lines
but from the bed
with the stove at the end
they appeared blue
so you got up
to look anew
SUMMER
givethekidabreak:
She flew kites in the summer
Wearing her favorite
Mustard colored shoes
Carefree slipping from her hair
Down to her shoulders
Wriggling their way to her fingers
That held on to strings she was sure
Would never leave her grasp.
this is really good esp how carefree becomes control
y
SHEETS
body
one million sheets of white paper wet
dizzy yet
tired
pressing on my eyes
I see light lines
luminosity in an otherwise
……………………………..darkened space
MY LOVE
there is something jet black in my soul
my love
Jacob ladder strand
wish it was mine
a bit of my sin soil
piece of my dark
i could make it
right with my Maker
set it alight with His spark
but it’s a foreign body my love
foreign rails and rungs
from you
US
what is between us is more than air
it’s dust and love
pain and despair
but what is in us is richer still
it’s the cold calculating hardness
of winter’s sudden chill
it is duty
which keeps us bound
keeps the between alive
and us invariably sound
RACE DAY
eyes squint
sneaker soles stick
on the hot black top
back drop: a cooler full of sun
race day
water ice
ice water hydrate
win
photo finish
finished
sweat slick
I am the sea
Hot Lanta
TWENTY TWENTY
after our separation
I was left with a lace sleeve
you a star just to the right of the moon
back then
when we gave them
we understood forever
twenty twenty
and blind
SADNESS
amid the slippery spaces
of our touch and tell
hair bound in fingers
and strewn clothes as well
there is an inexplicable sadness
a melancholy only heard in our sighs
OTHER
I drew close
painting in an art musuem
an etheral piece
delicate shades of blue
I found my self in
inner contemplation
whether she was a human at all
she was far too interesting
in appearance and poise
for something as crude
as mortaility
I drew closer still
DOLLAR
burn little light
burn for a dollar
I don’t want to wake
to see the groping hand
feel the holler collar
I don’t want to shake
in the night queens parlor
JOURNEY
camper van
silent sadness
hung like a broken disco ball from the roof
touching everyone with it’s unsparkle unshine
she ‘s gone
I whispered
move on
and tugged the gloom even tighter about me
MIRROR
my eyes on fire
everything smells like mirror glass
I’ll not let you
crawl through my skin again
I can’t handle
the dry numbness
nether again
AWOKEN
ting
glass rain drops
fall
in a coffee drip rhythm
score
all the while
my mind is too big
for my eyes
LINES
cracks feel like lines gone wrong
jagged little liars
full of spite and scorn
cracks in my skin on the your floor
they read red
they scream mending
but they only widen more
HEART
the gate to the left of purple
lies a stainless steel locket
that was once made of flesh
much like my heart
reach down below the pain to find it
After a stutter at the start of the climb up to Slochd Summit Black 5 No.44871 puts in a forgiving performance as it nears the top with The Great Britain VI.
My music was stuttering every minute and it took me all Saturday to track down the problem. Apparently built-in wireless on a Mac Pro running 64-bit Vista and playing music don't mix.
...for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
(Wilfred Owen, Anthem for Doomed Youth)
Técnicas modernas de neuroimagem estão revelando as bases neurais da gagueira e abrindo as portas para que a neurociência finalmente comece a entendê-la: bit.ly/bases-neurais
From stuttering to therapy for stroke survivors, the WSU Speech and Language Clinics provide speech-language services for community members of all ages.
Learn more: www.clas.wayne.edu/CSD/Wayne-State-Speech-and-Language-Ce...
From stuttering to therapy for stroke survivors, the WSU Speech and Language Clinics provide speech-language services for community members of all ages.
Learn more: www.clas.wayne.edu/CSD/Wayne-State-Speech-and-Language-Ce...
NEW YORK, NEW YORK - JULY 11: <> attend the 2022 Freeing Voices, Changing Lives Gala at Guastavino's on July 11, 2022 in New York City. (Photo by Jamie McCarthy/Getty Images for American Institute for Stuttering)
Yes, that thorny (cactusy, even) subject of legacy, you have brought that up before relative to misunderstanding with ‘him indoors’, and a certain kinship it might share with dreaded ‘beliefs’. The uncertainty of the structures that support them do seem to have become very stuttering. Maybe that becomes more obvious, even, in those suburbs you describe as, perhaps, supplying the best of two possible worlds, that space where the over-wrought tilled field meets the motorway to London. I guess that the reason why I couldn’t manage to accommodate that crossover point is that I have never driven, and never will. Pottering on my balcony I recognize the attractions of the verdant garden, that noble piece of land, that artfully under-cultivated border that might provide a waxed landing strip for passing flora and fauna, or the occasional Monsanto blow-in. I saw a shelf full of ‘Round-Up’ in our local garden centre a few days ago, and I was, verily, shocked. I have seen the documentaries and have looked at the lawsuits, generated by that singularly monstrous idea; an idea that has allowed the patenting of a (manipulated) living organism, that legacy, that sin. To find it on the shelves in this, supposed, bastion of Socialism, and proud generator of the first ‘Stock Exchange’, speaks volumes about bleed-through and trickle down. Trickle down the wind, indeed. If one errant corn, or maize, kernel crosses border from one farm to the next, and that virus gets mixed in with next season’s seed, then there is the danger that all the seed, thus contaminated, might fall subject to having to be defended by a cadre of, blindingly expensive, lawyers, as to ownership. It’s a thorny subject, this idea of patented life, this other legacy which might be achieving pre-dominance. There has to be a Pfaster way to undo ourselves, an exploitable, Teflon coated, escape route. I am with you there. One cannot help but feel the draught, loitering at this here exit.
It is a horrible ‘Legacy’ to be leaving. I wonder what ‘youth’ will make of that one, when they have sorted out their pronouns, and the conundrum as to which statues should fall, and, probably more tellingly, which should take their place. Iconoclasm would seem to be evincing its cyclical nature, yet again.
So that idea of “sorting out one’s (own) mess” becomes somewhat pressing, especially relative to other viruses. We might have been, collectively, pushed up against this anyway. We can ignore it; pretend it’s not happening and apply for a vaccine passport so we can enjoy contagion spreading on the sunny beaches of Portugal, or whichever sandy destination might temporarily turn green. But then the other man’s sand is always greener, even when it’s starting to develop an orange, Martian-like, hue. We can, alternatively, lock-down permanently, and turn into the Abelard and Heloise of the Anchorage Community. I find myself returning to that 'Hold'. I like the idea of us being, re-born, Virgin Snipers.
No, thankfully, legacy is not controllable. To try to do so would be a denial of what is to come. Death, thankfully, takes it out of your control, and it has to be put down in the knowledge that it can, or can not, be disposed of, according to the whims of time and fashion. It can as easily go in the (post-partum) skip, or to the pecuniary, hallowed, halls of Sotheby’s, or simply flip-flop between the dump and the gallery. I am not at all sure which would be better. That jury is currently out, and also none of my concern.
Perhaps they are the same, that skip, or dumpster, and that hallowed hall, eventually.
NEW YORK, NEW YORK - JUNE 12: <> attends the American Institute For Stuttering 17th Annual Gala Hosted By Emily Blunt on June 12, 2023 in New York City. (Photo by Craig Barritt/Getty Images for American Institute For Stuttering )
Use Me/Leave Me www.flickr.com/photos/spazzkid/sets/72157626056942301/
A recurring set. I see an unusual amount of abandoned grocery carts living in Alhambra. So much so that there's actually a service that picks up the stray carts and delivers them back to their respective locations. This is my own study in geometry and an exploration in the feelings of being used, abandoned, and isolated through the carts as a metaphor.
Time lapse from the Stratosphere Restaurant in Las Vegas. Took over 5000 shots over 1 hour and 30 minutes to make the time lapse Removed pictures I didn't want (like the pillars). The occasional size change during playback is from Movie Maker. Dunno why. Have a HD version but it keeps stuttering on Flickr.
and it's humbling
this pain you feel inside
and it's stuttering
these words that I must try
This photo took me to Texas State VASE, and got a Gold Seal Award.
Ferramentas modernas de neuroimagem estão abrindo as portas para a compreensão das bases neurais da gagueira. Saiba mais no artigo especial da revista Cerebrum: bit.ly/bases-neurais
American postcard by American Postcard, no. 36. Boris Karloff in Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935).
British actor Boris Karloff (1887-1969) is one of the true icons of the Horror cinema. He portrayed Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and Son of Frankenstein (1939), which resulted in his immense popularity. In the following decades, he worked in countless Horror films, but also in other genres, both in Europe and Hollywood.
Boris Karloff was born William Henry Pratt in 1887 in London, England. Pratt himself stated that he was born in Dulwich, which is nearby in London. His parents were Edward John Pratt, Jr. and his third wife Eliza Sarah Millard. ‘Billy’ never knew his father. Edward Pratt had worked for the Indian Salt Revenue Service and had virtually abandoned his family in far-off England. Edward died when his son was still an infant and so Billy was raised by his mother. He was the youngest of nine children, and following his mother's death was brought up by his elder brothers and sisters. As a child, Billy performed each Christmas in plays staged by St. Mary Magdalene's Church. His first role was that of The Demon King in the pantomime Cinderella. Billy was bow-legged, had a lisp, and stuttered. He conquered his stutter, but not his lisp, which was noticeable throughout his career in the film industry. After his education at private schools, he attended King's College London where he took studies aimed at a career with the British Government's Consular Service. However, in 1909, the 22-year-old left university without graduating and sailed from Liverpool to Canada, where he worked as a farm labourer and did various odd itinerant jobs. In Canada, he began appearing in theatrical performances and chose the stage name Boris Karloff. Later, he claimed he chose ‘Boris’ because it sounded foreign and exotic, and that ‘Karloff’ was a family name. However, his daughter Sara Karloff publicly denied any knowledge of Slavic forebears, Karloff or otherwise. One reason for the name change was to prevent embarrassment to his family. He did not reunite with his family until he returned to Britain to make The Ghoul (T. Hayes Hunter, 1933), opposite Cedric Hardwicke. Karloff was distraught that his family would disapprove of his new, macabre claim to world fame. Instead, his brothers jostled for position around him and happily posed for publicity photographs. In 1911, Karloff joined the Jeanne Russell Company and later joined the Harry St. Clair Co. that performed in Minot, North Dakota, for a year in an opera house above a hardware store. Whilst he was trying to establish his acting career, Karloff had to perform years of difficult manual labour in Canada and the U.S. to make ends meet. He was left with back problems from which he suffered for the rest of his life. In 1917, he arrived in Hollywood, where he went on to make dozens of silent films. Some of his first roles were in film serials, such as The Masked Rider (Aubrey M. Kennedy, 1919), in Chapter 2 of which he can be glimpsed onscreen for the first time, and The Hope Diamond Mystery (Stuart Paton, 1920). In these early roles, he was often cast as an exotic Arabian or Indian villain. Other silent films were The Deadlier Sex (Robert Thornby, 1920) with Blanche Sweet, Omar the Tentmaker (James Young, 1922), Dynamite Dan (Bruce Mitchell, 1924) and Tarzan and the Golden Lion (J.P. McGowan, 1927) in which James Pierce played Tarzan. In 1926 Karloff found a provocative role in The Bells (James Young, 1926), in which he played a sinister hypnotist opposite Lionel Barrymore. He worked with Barrymore again in his first sound film, the thriller The Unholy Night (Lionel Barrymore, 1929).
A key film which brought Boris Karloff recognition was The Criminal Code (Howard Hawks, 1931), a prison drama in which he reprised a dramatic part he had played on stage. With his characteristic short-cropped hair and menacing features, Karloff was a frightening sight to behold. Opposite Edward G. Robinson, Karloff played a key supporting part as an unethical newspaper reporter in Five Star Final (Mervyn LeRoy, 1931), a film about tabloid journalism which was nominated for the Oscar for Best Picture. Karloff's role as Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931), based on the classic Mary Shelley book, propelled him to stardom. Wikipedia: “The bulky costume with four-inch platform boots made it an arduous role but the costume and extensive makeup produced the classic image. The costume was a job for Karloff with the shoes weighing 11 pounds (5 kg) each.” The aura of mystery surrounding Karloff was highlighted in the opening credits, as he was listed as simply "?." The film was a commercial and critical success for Universal, and Karloff was instantly established as a hot property in Hollywood. Universal Studios was quick to acquire ownership of the copyright to the makeup format for the Frankenstein monster that Jack P. Pierce had designed. A year later, Karloff played another iconic character, Imhotep in The Mummy (Karl Freund, 1932). The Old Dark House (James Whale, 1932) with Charles Laughton, and the starring role in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932) quickly followed. Steve Vertlieb at The Thunder Child: “Wonderfully kinky, the film co-starred young Myrna Loy as the intoxicating, yet sadistic Fah Lo See, Fu Manchu's sexually perverse daughter. Filmed before Hollywood's infamous production code, the film joyously escaped the later scrutiny of The Hayes Office, and remains a fascinating example of pre-code extravagance.” These films all confirmed Karloff's new-found stardom. Horror had become his primary genre, and he gave a string of lauded performances in 1930s Universal Horror films. Karloff reprised the role of Frankenstein's monster in two other films, the sensational Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935) and the less thrilling Son of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939), the latter also featuring Bela Lugosi. Steve Vertlieb about Bride of Frankenstein: “Whale delivered perhaps the greatest horror film of the decade and easily the most critically acclaimed rendition of Mary Shelley's novel ever released. The Bride of Frankenstein remains a work of sheer genius, a brilliantly conceived and realized take on loneliness, vanity, and madness. The cast of British character actors is simply superb.” While the long, creative partnership between Karloff and Lugosi never led to a close friendship, it produced some of the actors' most revered and enduring productions, beginning with The Black Cat (Edgar G. Ullmer, 1934). Follow-ups included The Raven (Lew Landers, 1935), the rarely seen, imaginative science fiction melodrama The Invisible Ray (Lambert Hillyer, 1936), and The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945). Karloff played a wide variety of roles in other genres besides Horror. He was memorably gunned down in a bowling alley in Howard Hawks' classic Scarface (1932) starring Paul Muni. He played a religious First World War soldier in John Ford’s epic The Lost Patrol (1934) opposite Victor McLaglen. Between 1938 and 1940, Karloff starred in five films for Monogram Pictures, including Mr. Wong, Detective (William Nigh, 1938). During this period, he also starred with Basil Rathbone in Tower of London (Rowland V. Lee, 1939) as the murderous henchman of King Richard III, and with Margaret Lindsay in British Intelligence (Terry O. Morse, 1940). In 1944, he underwent a spinal operation to relieve his chronic arthritic condition.
Boris Karloff revisited the Frankenstein mythos in several later films, taking the starring role of the villainous Dr. Niemann in House of Frankenstein (Erle C. Kenton, 1944), in which the monster was played by Glenn Strange. He reprised the role of the ‘mad scientist’ in Frankenstein 1970 (Howard W. Koch, 1958) as Baron Victor von Frankenstein II, the grandson of the original creator. The finale reveals that the crippled Baron has given his face (i.e., Karloff's) to the monster. From 1945 to 1946, Boris Karloff appeared in three films for RKO produced by Val Lewton: Isle of the Dead (Mark Robson, 1945), The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945), and Bedlam (Mark Robson, 1946). Karloff had left Universal because he thought the Frankenstein franchise had run its course. Karloff was a frequent guest on radio programs. In 1949, he was the host and star of the radio and television anthology series Starring Boris Karloff. In 1950, he had his own weekly children's radio show in New York. He played children's music, told stories and riddles, and attracted many adult listeners as well. An enthusiastic performer, he returned to the Broadway stage in the original production of Arsenic and Old Lace (1941), in which he played a homicidal gangster enraged to be frequently mistaken for Karloff. In 1962, he reprised the role on television with Tony Randall and Tom Bosley. He also appeared as Captain Hook in the play Peter Pan with Jean Arthur. In 1955, he returned to the Broadway stage to portray the sympathetic Bishop Cauchon in Jean Anouilh's The Lark. Karloff regarded the production as the highlight of his long career. Julie Harris was his co-star as Joan of Arc in the celebrated play, recreated for live television in 1957 with Karloff, Harris and much of the original New York company intact. For his role, Karloff was nominated for a Tony Award. Karloff donned the monster make-up for the last time for a Halloween episode of the TV series Route 66 (1962), which also featured Peter Lorre and Lon Chaney, Jr. In the 1960s, Karloff appeared in several films for American International Pictures, including The Comedy of Terrors (Jacques Tourneur, 1963) with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre, The Raven (Roger Corman, 1963), The Terror (Roger Corman, 1963) with Jack Nicholson, and Die, Monster, Die! (Daniel Haller, 1965). Another project for American International release was the frightening Italian horror classic, I tre volti della paura/Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963), in which Karloff played a vampire with bone-chilling intensity. He also starred in British cult director Michael Reeves's second feature film, The Sorcerers (1966). He gained new popularity among the young generation when he narrated the animated TV film Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Chuck Jones, Ben Washam. 1966), and provided the voice of the Grinch. Karloff later received a Grammy Award for Best Recording For Children after the story was released as a record. Then he starred as a retired horror film actor in Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968), Steve Vertlieb: “Targets was a profoundly disturbing study of a young sniper holding a small Midwestern community, deep in the bible belt, terrifyingly at bay. The celebrated subplot concerned the philosophical dilemma of creating fanciful horrors on the screen, while the graphic, troubling reality was eclipsing the superficiality so tiredly repeated by Hollywood. Karloff co-starred, essentially as himself, an aged horror star named Byron Orlok, who wants simply to retire from the imagined horrors of a faded genre, only to come shockingly to grips with the depravity and genuine terror found on America's streets. Bogdanovich's first film as a director won praise from critics and audiences throughout the world community, and won its elder star the best, most respectful notices of his later career.”. In 1968, he played occult expert Professor Marsh in the British production Curse of the Crimson Altar (Vernon Sewell, 1968), which was the last Karloff film to be released during his lifetime. He ended his career by appearing in four low-budget Mexican horror films, which were released posthumously. While shooting his final films, Karloff suffered from emphysema. Only half of one lung was still functioning and he required oxygen between takes. he contracted bronchitis in 1968 and was hospitalized. In early 1969, he died of pneumonia at the King Edward VII Hospital, Midhurst, in Sussex, at the age of 81. Boris Karloff married five times and had one child, daughter Sara Karloff, by his fourth wife.
Sources: Steve Vertlieb (The Thunder Child), Wikipedia, and IMDb.
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The only time I ever notice neon signs are when they're completely broken, stuttering or only partly lit.
So much for marketing.
"Freedom" is rather a funny old name for a furniture store, don't you think?
I've never been entirely sure how most furniture equates with freedom. I mean, buying the more expensive items (at the non cashed up financial levels I operate at) often means placing oneself in debt.
Then there's the whole deal of adding more 'things' (and heavy ones at that) to your life, and with the bulk of furniture that frequently means you've purchased them to store a whole bunch of other 'things' in them. All of which you have to lug around every time you move.
I'm looking at YOU, umpteen bookcases!
Though at least with books, the content has the potential to set you free, or at least your imagination.
Still, in general, I'd say there's more chance of staying free by simply keeping your wallet in your pocket as you stroll on by, as opposed to ducking inside to purchase a wardrobe (do they still even make those?), 11 place dining setting, or an overstuffed how-the-hell-do-you-get-it-through-the-doors-anyway loungeroom chair.
I reckon.