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captain sunbeam

@captainsunbeam / captainsunbeam.tumblr.com

There are many ways to tell a story. Here are some of them.
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Harry Dean Stanton: Partly Fiction

David Lynch: How would you describe yourself? Stanton: As nothing. There is no self. [laughs] Lynch: How would you like to be remembered? Stanton: Doesn’t matter.

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My dad did not sound sad when he said goodbye at the end of our phone call tonight for the first time in maybe 10 years and for that I'm eternally grateful for everything that's going on in my life and everything that's going on in his.

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self vs. identity, as if "a self is something you just *have*" lol

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...and I learned another thing, which is that just because someone is eating the ashes of your protagonist doesn't mean you stop telling the story.

Miriam Toews, All My Puny Sorrows

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There is a woman crying in the parking lot.

"Um, excuse me. Are you OK?" 

Startles. "What, fuck...oh, ha, sorry. Yeah, there's..." Trails off. 

We're both quiet for a moment. It's dark and I don't have my glasses on, so I squint and I'm not sure, but I think she squints back. 

"Do you think...could I...do you have an extra one of those?" 

"Oh uh, yeah." Pull a cigarette out of the pack and stretch an arm through the balcony railing toward her. She reaches up. We don't quite meet. 

"Drop it, I guess?" Surrounded by puddles. 

"I hope you're better at this than me." Drop it. We both will it to land, and it does. 

"Ah haha!" Shouts, jumping a bit. We both laugh. 

"Shit. Light?" 

Drop the lighter, which misses and skitters off into the darkness, but it's orange, so she finds it easily. Lights the cigarette, exhaling a huge plume in the damp air and the streetlight's beam. 

Puts the question on her face and mimes tossing up. 

"Sure." 

Toss. 

The lighter sails up and comes down to crack me right in the eye. 

"Aw fuck!" we each hiss, almost in unison. 

"I'm sorry!" 

"It's OK." Rub my eye. 

Quiet, cars driving by, the scrape of her shoes idly twisting on the asphalt. Takes a big, snuffling breath. 

"Um, thanks.” Glance and away, scrape, scrape. “I'm gonna..." Trails off, pointing vaguely. 

"Sure?" 

"Yeah." 

"OK." 

Sit back against the door. Walks toward the street.

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In the privacy of the bathroom, where he removed himself for a pause, he felt giddy, liberated and captive both. The bathroom was a confined space but he was hardly confined; nothing was tawdry to him, nothing filthy despite its superficial patina of dirt--or rather he forgave it for its tawdriness. The peeling stickers on the wall, graffiti, wet floors with patches of wet toilet paper adhering […]. All these elements were part of the story, the grounded earth before the flight. This was the instant of exulting, and even the grimy walls could not dull his exhilaration.   The room was a holding pen, a split moment. Outside the room was the rest of his existence. For years he had been detached and now in a stroke of time he was not. He would move, he would touch--no one would think to impede him, they would see him go and be glad--he could be anything. Do not embarrass yourself, he told himself strictly, but could not help smiling. There she was at the bar: their faces met before he got there.   This was how he lost his autonomy -- he had moved along at a steady pace and then he was flung.

 How the Dead Dream, Lydia Millet

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themadeshop

Alright! So, to be completely frank, it’s gotten a bit overwhelming each year taking orders and sending out all the Linear Calendars; so this year we decided to do a special limited run of just 100.

Also, as you may know 2016 is a leap year, so we thought we’d do an extra special limited leap-year edition. I’ve hand-drawn the calendar and we are embossing each with gold leaf foil on a deep navy french paper.

You can order them here. We hope everyone who really wants one can still get one this year, but unfortunately we are just too busy to do unlimited runs anymore. Thanks!

This will be my fourth Made Shop linear calendar, and by far the prettiest!

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The Texas landscape in the opening shots of Blood Simple (left, 1984) and No Country for Old Men (right, 2007)

I originally tagged this 2012 post “I want to go back.”

Happy Texaversary to me.

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