Anonymous asked: Um hi, I'm an admirer of both your blogs and I just saw your post about Giulio Cesare (I saw the HD broadcast because I live rather far away and I am to young to drive 600 km unfortunately) and Alice's singer studio in which you mentioned you had written to Alice. I was wondering whether or not you could share said address as I was hoping to write to her as well (I am a bit of an Alice/Mezzos in general fanatic). Apologies in advance for imposing in any way. Keep up the lovely blogging!

Okay, so I left my letter at the stage door of the opera house (in that particular case, ROH).  It sounds like that might not be an option for you, so I think your next best bet is to write to her agent and ask the agent (you might have better luck with the European agent) to forward a letter. Agent contact at the official IMG website.

There’s no fanmail protocol; in my experience, hand delivering to the stagedoor is the only foolproof way to make sure it gets where it needs to go. Good news is Alice seemed properly touched and would most likely love to hear from you.

And thank you for the sweet note about my blogs! It’s nice to know that people enjoy my crazy sometimes.

20th May 2013 | 3 notes
"I am tired of trying to hold things together that cannot be held. Trying to control what cannot be controlled. I am tired of denying myself what I want for fear of breaking things I cannot fix."
– Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus (via colinfirth)

(Source: larmoyante, via mayathebea)

15th May 2013 | 9,799 notes

Doctor Who Cares? - A spinoff in which all is right with the ladies’ storylines and they take custody of the TARDIS every weekend to explore the universe together, defeating misogyny and laughing along the way

give me this show I want it give me it.

I mean, Neil Gaiman’s episode was fab, but with the all male writer’s team (MOFFAT!) the misogyny is starting to show through.

(Source: nobleknope, via tardispectre)

12th May 2013 | 40,649 notes

pricew:

Anthony de Mare performs Nico Muhly’s version of “Color and Light” from Sunday in the Park with George, part of The Liaisons Project.

I don’t know if it comes up here enough, but Sunday in the Park with George is my ACTUAL FAVORITE THING.

11th May 2013 | 54 notes
middleeasternpoetry: You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen — the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives, — I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, “Thieves, thieves, the curséd thieves.” Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me. And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.” Thus I became a madman. - Khalil Gibran

middleeasternpoetry:

You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen — the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives, — I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, “Thieves, thieves, the curséd thieves.” Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me. And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.” Thus I became a madman. - Khalil Gibran

5th May 2013 | 25 notes
"Someone spoke to me last night,
told me the truth. Just a few words,
but I recognized it.
I knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working
all day in the garden, moving rocks.
Now, I remember only the flavor —
not like food, sweet or sharp.
More like a fine powder, like dust.
And I wasn’t elated or frightened,
but simply rapt, aware.
That’s how it is sometimes —
God comes to your window,
all bright light and black wings,
and you’re just too tired to open it."
–

“Dust”, Dorianne Laux (via noxtalgic)

Ending poetry month with the beautiful poet who has a straight shot to what matters.

(via noxtalgic)

29th Apr 2013 | 31 notes

wordventures:

If you were coming in the fall, 
I’d brush the summer by 
With half a smile and half a spurn, 
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year, 
I’d wind the months in balls, 
And put them each in separate drawers, 
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed, 
I’d count them on my hand, 
Subtracting till my fingers dropped 
Into Van Diemens land.

If certain, when this life was out, 
That yours and mine should be, 
I’d toss it yonder like a rind, 
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing, 
It goads me, like the goblin bee, 
That will not state its sting. 

-Emily Dickinson

It took time for me to grow into Dickinson. I knew her from the famous poems, the ones that displayed an unflappable faith. And I resented her for her certainty.

But then I read a complete works, and Emily. When your doubt shines through, it’s so beautiful.

28th Apr 2013 | 11 notes