caseymoore

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Hospitals are creepy in black and white.

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Good morning.

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My night. #setlife

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Dirty White Boys by Stephen Hunter

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Woman In A Huipil by Enrique Alférez.

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WPA Bridge in City Park.

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Abandoned but beautiful.

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The pier at Lasalle's Landing on The Mississippi River in Kenner. LA.

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The Mississippi River today. (at Rivertown)

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One of my favorite panels/lines from Warren Ellis’ Ignition City.

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Coffee? Yes, please.

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Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night

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Casey At The Bat by Ernest L. Thayer

Casey At The Bat by Ernest L. Thayer The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play, And then when Cooney died at first,  and Barrows did the same, A pall-like silence fell upn the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast; They though, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that- We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat." But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake; So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to bat. But Flynn let drive a single, tot he wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball; And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred, There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third. Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell; It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell; It pounded on the mountain and  recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face. And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded  when he wiped them on his shirt; Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance flashed in Casey's eyes, a sneer curled Casey's lip. A now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped- "That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said. Form the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore; "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand; And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew; But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two!" "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!" But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate, He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate; And now the pitcher hold the ball, and now he let's it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

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The Sailor Boy by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The Sailor Boy By Alfred, Lord Tennyson He rose at dawn, and fired with hope,     Shot o'er the seething harbour-bar, And reach'd the ship and caught the rope,     And whistled to the morning star. And while he whistled long and loud     He heard a fierce mermaiden cry "O boy, tho' thou are young and proud.     I see the place where thou will lie. "The sands and yeasty surges mix      In caves about the dreary bay, And on thy ribs the limpet sticks,      And in thy heart the scrawl shall play." "Fool," he answer'd, "death is sure      To those that stay and those that roam, But I will nevermore endure      To sit with empty hands at home. "My mother clings about my neck,      My sisters crying, 'Stay for shame;' My father raves of death and wreck,-      They are all to blame, they are all to blame. "God help me! save I take my part      Of danger on the roaring sea, A devil rises in my heart,      Far worse than any death to me."

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Richard Curtis: BAFTA Screenwriting Lecture