In this clip from Request Performance, Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce swap roles; Bruce plays Sherlock Holmes and Rathbone plays Watson.
It seems
our own impermanence is concealed from us.
The trees stand firm, the houses we live in
are still there. We alone
flow past it all, an exchange of air.
Everything conspires to silence us,
partly with shame,
partly with unspeakable hope.
‘You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?’
‘No, indeed!’
‘You’ll be interested to hear that I am engaged.’
” —
From Charles Augustus Milverton, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
(via sherlockslashgoggles)
I finally got into Pottermore! (Moonblade121) (And even though the website is being awful I managed to get sorted.)
Of course, I am in Ravenclaw. Somewhat surprisingly and certainly uncharacteristically I am feeling the all the feelings about it. I just love Ravenclaws so much….damn. single tear.gif
I love everyone in this bar….etc.
Here is my unusual wand:
Apparently fourteen and a half inches is super long (standard range is like 8 to 14 inches) and vine is an unusual wood. It seems fairly appropriate that my wand (see: Phallus/ego…etc.) should be so..erm…extravagantly large….and hard.
Anyway.
If all a top physicist knows
About the Truth be true,
Then, for all the so-and-so’s,
Futility and grime,
Our common world contains,
We have a better time
Than the Greater Nebulae do,
Or the atoms in our brains.
Marriage is rarely bliss
But, surely it would be worse
As particles to pelt
At thousands of miles per sec
About a universe
Wherein a lover’s kiss
Would either not be felt
Or break the loved one’s neck.
Though the face at which I stare
While shaving it be cruel
For, year after year, it repels
An ageing suitor, it has,
Thank God, sufficient mass
To be altogether there,
Not an indeterminate gruel
Which is partly somewhere else.
Our eyes prefer to suppose
That a habitable place
Has a geocentric view,
That architects enclose
A quiet Euclidian space:
Exploded myths - but who
Could feel at home astraddle
An ever expanding saddle?
This passion of our kind
For the process of finding out
Is a fact one can hardly doubt,
But I would rejoice in it more
If I knew more clearly what
We wanted the knowledge for,
Felt certain still that the mind
Is free to know or not.
It has chosen once, it seems,
And whether our concern
For magnitude’s extremes
Really become a creature
Who comes in a median size,
Or politicizing Nature
Be altogether wise,
Is something we shall learn.W H Auden
La Horse-Serge Gainsbourg
This is just one of my favorite things.
French cowboy kitsch.
It’s been 4 solid months of rock n’ roll reporting from us here at GET BENT, so we’re giving away 4 solid records today thanks to the solidest dudes over at Southpaw. Well, okay. It’s 2 sets of 2, but hey, we (probably) all passed kindergarten, so 2+2 is… On the menu is the colored 7“‘s…
Sherlock Holmes: only pretending to need a flatmate since 1887.
From The Norwood Builder, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
(via sherlockslashgoggles)
How fucking cute is this though? What BFFs.
