Werner Herzog’s advice for filmmakers is pretty sound advice for—well—everyone.
Always take the initiative. There is nothing wrong with spending a night in a jail cell if it means getting the shot you need. Send out all your dogs and one might return with prey. Beware of the cliché. Never wallow in your troubles; despair must be kept private and brief. Learn to live with your mistakes. Study the law and scrutinise contracts. Expand your knowledge and understanding of music and literature, old and modern. Keep your eyes open. That roll of unexposed celluloid you have in your hand might be the last in existence, so do something impressive with it. There is never an excuse not to finish a film. Carry bolt cutters everywhere. Thwart institutional cowardice. Ask for forgiveness, not permission. Take your fate into your own hands. Don’t preach on deaf ears. Learn to read the inner essence of a landscape. Ignite the fire within and explore unknown territory. Walk straight ahead, never detour. Learn on the job. Manoeuvre and mislead, but always deliver. Don’t be fearful of rejection. Develop your own voice. Day one is the point of no return. Know how to act alone and in a group. Guard your time carefully. A badge of honour is to fail a film-theory class. Chance is the lifeblood of cinema. Guerrilla tactics are best. Take revenge if need be. Get used to the bear behind you. Form clandestine Rogue cells everywhere.
—Werner Herzog
—from Werner Herzog: A Guide for the Perplexed: Conversations with Paul Cronin
pruritus. noun. Literally, severe itching without apparent cause. Figuratively, a potent desire, lust or yearning. From Latin prūrīre (to itch). See also: prurient, or particularly lascivious, itching, desire.
“They tackled a maddening medical condition called ‘idiopathic intractable pruritus ani’. Most people, including most doctors when they are talking informally to each other, use the less-formal name: ‘persistent butt itch’. It is one of a wide class of medical conditions that sound humorous until you experience them yourself. And then they still sound funny, which perhaps adds to the discomfort.” (Marc Abrahams)
“I cannot belabour the point too ardently (and after the lessions of experience I speak from inspiration) that fetid spirits is the thief of prurities, so none of your twenty rod cherrywhisks, me daughter.” (James Joyce)
“He insisted that as he touched those chains he experienced a pruritis in his finger-nails and pins and needles in his arms, accompanied by a violent temptation in his mind to beat up an officer or two of the law, provided they were not tonsured.” (François Rabelais)
For some, February is a month of letter-writing. For others, that’s just a coincidence that can serve a greater cause. → Two families are asking for cards and letters for their sick children. Read their stories and get their postal address: Brandon’s Fight and Bubby Everson.
Beautiful. → Eva Jospin’s cardboard Forests
I don’t often use the word “female,” but this article prompted me to think about how and when I do. Offered, without rejection or endorsement, as grist for the mental language mill. → “The Problem With Calling Women ‘Females’”
Speaking of language peevery, I have fallen victim to this mistake (in the relative sense; I’m more descriptivist than prescriptivist) too often. → Read about one man’s war to eliminate the phrase “comprised of” from Wikipedia.
Today in 1894, lexicographer Eric Partridge is born in New Zealand. Partridge became particularly interested in slang during his experience fighting (and being wounded) in World War I, leading to the publication of Songs and Slang of the British Soldier 1914–18 and later many classic works including A Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English. I can say without hyperbole that Partridge’s books Shakespeare’s Bawdy and Usage and Abusage: A Guide to Good English changed my language-related life (which is to say: my life). While some of the slang in Partridge’s work is necessarily outdated, the clarity and beauty of his own thoughts and language will never grow old.
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