File this under: “reasons why I should have invested in a vinyl player by now.” Phuck yeah Defeater. These dudes are awesome.
http://www.bridge9.com/read/2671/defeater-announces-live-on-bbc-radio-1-digital-and-vinyl-release
File this under: “reasons why I should have invested in a vinyl player by now.” Phuck yeah Defeater. These dudes are awesome.
http://www.bridge9.com/read/2671/defeater-announces-live-on-bbc-radio-1-digital-and-vinyl-release
Classical piano station on Last.fm
— Robert Wright—Time Magazine 1994.
Every now and again I’ll hear a song that makes me feel. And I mean really feel, hard. This wonderful feeling of insignificance, like a single stone in a stretch of beach, like a teenager staring up at a starry summer-night sky. It’s a depressive feeling, yet paradoxically beautiful. I love it. It’s sad but very grounding. It puts things in perspective.
One so illusive—Beau Navire
Disclaimer:it’s not for everyone. I share the feeling more so, the song itself less.
Today my professor said to the class (jokingly): “Gentlemen, never play scrabble unless there’s sex at the end of it”
I want to write poems again. I’m inspired enough to keep jotting down ideas on my arms and random pages in random books and tablets. But I’m still not writing
My poem got reblogged by one of the tumblr poetry tag blog things—I’ve made it!
She retreated like summer into fall,
that magical season when
for three paradoxically short months
everything but innocent childhood bliss is suspended;
that majestic season wherein
catching fireflies in mason jars,
laying beneath the stars counting constellations,
gathering ‘round sweaty bonfires with beer,
are all the best ways to spend the hours.
and with a sudden breath of wind
the trees drop their leaves
as if to say ‘playtime’s over’
and she retreated into fall
with nothing but a breath
I am not guided by my heart.
It keeps in motion an ocean inside of me
And everything else is strictly metaphorical.
I am not guided by eyes.
They see what they want, not what is,
But never catch the ideal they search for between blinks.
I am guided by that for which
There are no words;
An energy, a force, an intuition.
Like a single glowing stone in a quarry,
To which I flock, curious,
But otherwise unaware,
And each footstep was mine.
Also, I cut my hair.
Note:my friends had a damned good time over it too, said I look like Skrillex. I dont even like dub-step—fun fact
Went to the bookstore today and said to myself: don’t buy any books. I bought four. Why does this keep happening? I’m a book-hoarder.
On the bright side, I got an awesome book on meditative yoga, something I’ve been wanting to get into
Some day soon I’ll start again with this poetry thing. Promise.
Last night I spent five hours writing notes to someone with my typewriter. There’s something majestically wonderful about that thing
Saturday night was the Supermoon, biggest and brightest moon of the year. I missed it, so I shot it tonight instead. Close enough
and they don’t smile back. For a few months now I’ve made an effort to smile at anyone I make eye-contact with—as opposed to just quickly looking away or pretending I didn’t see them. Then recently, within the past few weeks, I smile and say hello. I don’t go way out of my way, nothing unnatural.
People’s reaction to this is disheartening. They’re not only surprised I say hello, but they give me this terrible look that says I’m breaking rules that aren’t supposed to be broken. What kind of place is this anyway? I’d say—according to my unofficial reports—roughly 1 in 6 people smile back, and maybe 1 in 15 say hello back.
I’m just listening to Gandhi.
there will never be a band better than this
One of my favorite paintings I’ve done. (Taken with Instagram)
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Was fucking fantstic! Here’s what I saw: