homme et vous

 The instinct and the hand drawing shadows on the page.

Karl Lagerfeld se dessine

 

 TOKYO FASHION WEEK FRW 2013

 

FACETSASM

Carine Roitfeld Hosts Ball in Paris

Kate Moss rocked the dance floor on Tuesday in a jaw-dropping sheer jumpsuit from Saint Laurent, freshly picked from the runway. Karl Lagerfeld, Riccardo Tisci and Jessica Chastain were also swinging it at the Shangri-La Hotel in Paris to celebrate the second issue of Carine Roitfeld’s magazine CR Fashion Book, which has a dance theme.

http://www.wwd.com/eye/parties/carine-roitfeld-hosts-ball-6836595

 

FALL 2013 MENSWEAR

 

MONCLER GAMME ROUGE

Dsquared2

Tokyo Fashion Week FRW 2013

Dressedundressed

 

 

 

London Fashion Week Fall 2013

Burberry Prorsum

Hwan Park

Elena Crehan

Hampus Berggren

 

 

Jeremy Scott NYC Fall 2013

Siki Im

 

Tim Coppens

Fall 2013

Alexander Wang Men’s RTW Fall 2013

 

Saint Laurent Men’s RTW Fall 2013

Comme des Garçons Homme Plus Men’s RTW Fall 2013

 

Ann Demeulemeester Men’s RTW Fall 2013

Valentino Men’s RTW Fall 2013

 

Thom Browne Men’s RTW Fall 2013

Yohji Yamamoto Men’s RTW Fall 2013

 

Raf Simons Men’s RTW Fall 2013

 

 

Hermès Men’s RTW Fall 2013

Jean Paul Gaultier Men’s RTW Fall 2013

Juun.J Men’s RTW Fall 2013

Givenchy Men’s RTW Fall 2013

 

http://cgi.ebay.com.au/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=321059953240&ssPageName=STRK:MESE:IT#ht_2671wt_1186

Volare

She says to me:

My Daddy had multiple personality disorder…

He was born when “Volare” came out.

Do you remember that song?…Volare

From Flatbush to Paris and at home

It seemed like everyone was singing Volare.

In the big Apple all the Degos,

They were going:

“Volare oh oh

Cantare oh oh oh oh”.

In Queens all the pizzerias

Had that song playing on the jukebox…

Even this widow I knew from Long Island

Would be singing Volare. Volare. Volare…

Before she got on all four.

Back on a stage in Las Vegas Dino did his version of Volare

Drink in one hand a cigarette in the other….man what a scene,

The ladies with their beehive hairdo swooned to the music

As their dates in black jackets and skinny ties drank bourbon over ice.

They drove cars made of shiny steel with radios…

That could take them all the way to the moon,

Silver swirl sticks and embroidered cocktail napkins,

The scent of top shelf liquor and cherry wood

Floating through the room,

The time of conspicuous consumption…

Angry Russians, stereophonic sound and bad shoes.

Forty-five years have gone by, she says:

We went to the moon, looked at the World

From up there and came back with a pocket full of sand,

Now … We have jetliners flying into buildings,

Setting the place on fire…

We used to dress up in our father hand me downs

Turned it inside out so the cloth would look like new.

Sometimes the jackets

Had two breast pockets….

That’s how we set trends back then…who knew?

…And here I am now, she says,

I am living on the other side of this wall,

Another of those walls built to separate

A mother from her child,

The guardian from the guarded,

The right from the wrong,

The black from the white,

The piss from the food…

Volare, Volare, Volare.

Today I move from room to room

Looking for a new plan of action

Hoping to throw a switch and shed some light on

This black hole with no end in sight.

Long before the day blows through the windows,

In the land of frozen entrees and fair politics

There is a meeting taking place

For the just assessment of empty promises.

Pockets full of coins,

Pebbles washed to shore by the tides of a sea

That bubbles over with rage

Wanting to swallow this land,

(Wanting still to sing)  Volare…Volare, Volare.

To die on a long and narrow beach…

She looks at me with sadness in her eyes…

She is boiling water;

She has some pasta left in her cupboard

She wants to cook.

This new Century: is it the end of time?

I can’t do this anymore…

I don’t want another tollbooth in the middle

Of my living room

I am going down this road for free.

I want to eat what’s mine,

I am taking back the trees and the sun

I am going down to the river

…whispering secrets about the sea.

Let the World be peaceful and free.

Let the World be young once again,

Be young.

Damn this preoccupation with borders and settlements.

Let everyone come to the banquet under the jasmine tree.

Leave God in peace.

Forget about the Pope…

Let the Queen Ride bare assed across the pavement

Let her crawl down from her throne.

Let her explain to us what it is to die.

Volare, oh oh, Cantare oh oh oh…

Can you smell your own death as it comes in the night?

Do you know how to close your eyes and say goodbye?

I am a prisoner looking to escape from this hell, that’s who I am.

Will you let me go? Do you remember Rome?

The snow falling soft and gray over the balconies and Churches

While the bag pipers played their Christmas songs.

Rome giving life to the dieing.

I am getting my tattoo and I’ll soon be gone.

She drops the pasta in the boiling water.

We were Animals from the West destined to live in the East.

She says to me…

Having drinks with the locals,

Coming out of our skins, like snakes in the sun,

Seawater in our hair.

That early summer afternoon after the cockfight,

With my tongue in your mouth. I repeated those words to myself

Over and over again louder and louder each time.

Volare, Volare, Volare.

I remember she says: that Mexican Joint on Rose Avenue

Where we discussed the Ancient Greeks and their inventions.

Heroin on the streets of Florence and some third rate play you had seen.

Do you remember wanting to kiss in the car

In the parking lot of K-mart?

While the junkies and the homeless

Ate the remains of fast food flesh off the bone.

The outside? Not much different from the inside…

Gunpowder smell in my hand. Salt and honey your skin.

Kissing with tongues swelled up by the Tequila.

When I was a child sucking on sugar cane in the jungle,

Bathing down in the billabong, sleeping under the stars.

Throwing cares to the wind. I remember singing sometimes:

Volare nel blue dipinto di blue.