i should be playing kentucky route zero but instead i’m just staring at this scene. it’s a beautiful looking game
i want to go there.
Robert Ross. The Americans killed his horse in 1814. So he burned down the White House and Capitol. He was killed a month later by two Yank snipers in Maryland. After he died, his body was stored in a 586L barrel of Jamaican rum. He lies in Halifax, N.S.
There’s this moment in the (surprisingly watchable) Shooter where Mark Wahlberg, playing a sniper on a mission to destroy the nefarious U.S. gov’t operatives who tried to set him up for an assassination, says, “I don’t think you understand how serious this is. They killed my dog.” Sold the whole movie to me right there.
“Far back on the side of the head, and low down, near the angle of either whale’s jaw, if you narrowly search, you will at last see a lashless eye, which you would fancy to be a young colt’s eye; so out of all proportion is it to the magnitude of the head.” (via “One Drawing For Every Page” of course)
It reminds me of one of the great images in Tony Millionaire’s design for Penguin Classics’ book jacket. I’ve seen “the eye” referred to alternately as a “mirror” or “window” to the soul. When we look at animal eyes how much are we realizing the existence of their souls and how much projecting our own incorrect ideas of what that is? Related: Thinking about that scene in Michael Clayton.
Wild Horses by Chris Friel (source)
Horses are scary. Just wandering around out there in the middle of nowhere.
Just wait until they team up with the insects. Brains and brawn (insects are stupid, yes, but: hive mind).
So, it’s a cloud of flies and beetles and gnats coagulated into the form of a man or a squid or wolf riding black and squirmy atop a wild horse running through the streets demanding this and that.
Probably a top hat on one or both or all of them.
I’ll be (not-so) strangely relieved when every effort to destroy it fails.
