Dran in Paris, France
She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon.
You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.
She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here."
Neil Gaiman, “Strange Little Girls”
From Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders
— Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
— Edgar Allan Poe, “Annabel Lee”
First Communicant, Photographed by W.S. Bradshaw of 103, Newgate Street, London
[Photo from the collection of Beniah Brawn]
The White Stripes
From Get Behind Me Satan
— Cormac McCarthy, The Road
Margaret Joyce’s First Communion
Travellers’ Encampment, Fingas, Ireland, 1991
From Mary Ellen Mark by Charles Hagen
Fashion Show at the Institute of Arts and Crafts
From Leonard Freed: Worldview
Fernando B. Miranda in his studio working on a sculpture.
Photographer unknown, circa 1870
[via the Smithsonian Institution]
"Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder."
—E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web
[photo via Vintage Photo]
"There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won’t remember and that she can’t even let herself think about because that’s when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.
You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.
Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.
Whenever it rains you will think of her.”
— Neil Gaiman, “Strange Little Girls” from Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders
[photo via Vintage glam!]