m i c h a e l
@ninetimesfined.bsky.social
130 followers 120 following 800 posts
‘lives for the written word, and people come second, or possibly third’
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ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘Fate doesn’t hang on
a wrong
or right choice.

Fortune depends on
the tone
of your voice.

So sing
while you have time
Let the sun shine
down from above.

And fill you
with songs of love’

🖤🖤🖤

Fabulous tonight.
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘And I, too, felt ready to start life all over again… I laid my heart open to the benign indifference of the universe.’
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After having a word with myself, Albert now speaks for me too (until the next time obvs).
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘I want to sleep all day and night (i.e. not live but not quite die)’
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M O N D A Y
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
t h e c o m e d o w n
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ninetimesfined.bsky.social
s u s s e x d o w n s d e t o x
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saddlescombe farm
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘I had decided to allow no room in the universe for something which shamed and frightened me. I succeeded very well - by not looking at the universe, by not looking at myself, by remaining, in effect, in constant motion.’
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(at five times your average speed)
BAR’S OPEN
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
Channelling Parker from Point Blank (1967) is getting a rather mixed response today. Lots of people really don’t warm to uncompromising directness, do they?
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ninetimesfined.bsky.social
I remain a short walk from its doors and am very thankful for that. It’s still fab 🖤🖤🖤
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
I do love an almost empty cinema on a bright afternoon. It feels like an indulgent private showing.
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ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘Like a costume, my numbness
was taken away. Then
hunger was added.’
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Some late lunch Glück on the anniversary of her death.
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
W E D N E S D A Y • C O M P U L S I O N
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ninetimesfined.bsky.social
aren’t they? and she plays a vg Blanche 🖤🖤🖤
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘It’s only a paper moon
over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn’t be make believe
if you believed in me’
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Ann-Margret (between takes) as, the pathologically deceitful and delusional, Blanche DuBois (from a 1983 TV version of A Streetcar Named Desire).
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘The question I am left with is the question of her loneliness.
And I prefer to put it off.’
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Likewise.
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘It’s raining today
But once
there was summer and you
And dark little rooms
And sleeping late
afternoons’
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It’s illegal to play this song unless it is Autumn (and raining). So, here we are.
youtu.be/PuAvcEIdH1U?si…
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘’The birds are consulting about their migrations, the trees are putting on the hectic or the pallid hues of decay…’
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George Eliot: letter to Maria Lewis
(1st October 1841)
Photograph: @AnneKinnunen1 on X
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘Love can be born in a single glance.’
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Louis Malle’s ‘The Lovers’ (starring Jeanne Moreau scandalising 1958 France) is the late film (yes, AGAIN, what of it?)
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘Perhaps what I was registering was nothing more than the passage of time, to which one should pay great attention, lest one remain fixed in past expectations, without noticing how foolish one had become’.
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Sunday evening rumination.
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
Me, standing in the wreckage of my weekend.
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(Not really: it’s Gloria Swanson on the site of the old Roxy Theater in New York as it was being torn down in 1960. Her silent movie The Love of Sunya was the first film to play there when it opened in 1927.)
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.’
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Plath on recovering from a chaotic Friday night*

(*citation needed)
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘I don't want to know anything the way you do, with that death-derived certainty, that hopeless monotony, the same every day of your life, every night, and that deadly routine of lovelessness.’
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Duras is my Friday night life coach…
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
‘Did I ever walk the morning streets at twenty,
my limbs streaming with a purer joy?
did I lean from any window over the city
listening for the future
as I listen here with nerves tuned for your ring?’
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From Twenty One-Love Poems
Adrienne Rich
ninetimesfined.bsky.social
Tonight, on my small screen, Ingrid Pitt nibbles all and sundry in The Vampire Lovers (1970). The lucky buggers.
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ninetimesfined.bsky.social
A room with a view.
Margate, last weekend.
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