His was the face of his century. He was the life of his century. Through his will and energy, and yes, genius, he encompassed as much as one man can; the joy and the anguish of his times; their romance, their horrors, and, of course, what laughter we could find in them. He was a flawed man, a haunted man, a tormented man. Which is to say, he was only human. But with this uncanny ability to reflect and refract our humanity back at us.
CHARLES Spencer CHAPLIN //April 16, 1889 —— December 25, 1977//
/strongfemme fatale: ain’t no southern belle | listen
“i ain’t no southern belle, no georgia peach. i guess all my good graces are too far out of reach.” for the anti-heroines of the backwoods and the bayous, well-versed in the secrets of the Deep American South.
(partially inspired by this)
little queen of spades — robert johnson | raise hell — brandi carlile | devil’s spoke — laura marling | thin line — honeyhoney | come to jesus — mindy smith | i am a master hunter (live) — laura marling | bottom of the river — delta rae | i put a spell on you — she & him | maneater — blue eyed blondes | nothin’ better to do — leann rimes | devil’s gonna get you — bessie smith
