April 2012
140 posts
One Bottle of Bombay Sapphire thanks. (A Surfeit of Clothing)
Written a day before posting
Hello Melbourne Airport Wi-Fi.
no i would not like to pay four dollars for 15 minutes of internet.
would you like it if i charged you a thousand dollars every time i threw my rubbish into a bin?
An exagerrated analogy i know, and not a very good one (aw hell, its terrible i won’t kid myself) but the internet… is a human right.
you know that no?
“That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth.
You can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.
And it’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, I’m still working on my rhythm.
My tongue gets tied sometimes, my throat gets dry, my hands start trembling.
Honestly, the only thing I’ve mastered is how to write a really good ending.
But I’m getting pretty tired of finish lines.
So this morning I bought a needle and thread, and started stitching you a sunrise.
And the seams are tattered and torn cos I got the cloth from from an old shirt
I was wearing the first time this world started tearing me open.
And I’ve been choking for my breath since then.
Have you ever spent a whole year hoping the morning wouldn’t come?
I’ve had a band-aid in one hand, and in the other, a gun.
Something’s been screaming “Fire, kid,” but something’s still screaming “Live”
so baby, write me a bridge away from this storm.
I don’t know the words to the song you were born to sing,
but I know your fingers will bleed when you play the chords
and maybe you’ll need me then like I need you now.
When I say that I miss you, I mean something more.
I mean I’ve been biding my time til you kiss me again.
I keep poems like secrets, then tell them when I’m tired of hiding who I am.
I am missing you most in the silence between songs on my favourite records.
Sometimes it takes so long for the music to start.
Is there a shoreline where the seaweed holds the rocks so tight they soften into sand?
Is it too late to say that’s how my heart feels in your hands,
like you could sift it through an hourglass, and pass it off as time?
Never stood still and neither did I. But I will. If you let me.
In your arms, I forget what the yarn knows of sweaters.
I forget how to hold myself together, so if I unfold now, like a love letter,
tell me you’ll write back soon. Tell me you’ll still come untethered.
I saw the moon last night for the first time in months.
She reminded me of you, slouching stubborn in the light.
I’d fight battles against the sun to rest against you tonight, to feel your breath on my pillow.
Those songbirds outside your window are dropping feathers like I dropped words.
I’m cold from all that came out wrong. I sleep alone now, even when I don’t.
I sleep backbone to floorboards cos they’re softer than regret.
Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go yet.
I traced your silhouette on the skyline.
Your crooked spine bent meadows into mountains I climbed to watch the sun set.
The sky never looked so gorgeous. All those fallen stars, sick and tired of being famous.
That man next door with his old violin. I swore his song could save us.” —Andrea Gibson, Yarn
You can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.
And it’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, I’m still working on my rhythm.
My tongue gets tied sometimes, my throat gets dry, my hands start trembling.
Honestly, the only thing I’ve mastered is how to write a really good ending.
But I’m getting pretty tired of finish lines.
So this morning I bought a needle and thread, and started stitching you a sunrise.
And the seams are tattered and torn cos I got the cloth from from an old shirt
I was wearing the first time this world started tearing me open.
And I’ve been choking for my breath since then.
Have you ever spent a whole year hoping the morning wouldn’t come?
I’ve had a band-aid in one hand, and in the other, a gun.
Something’s been screaming “Fire, kid,” but something’s still screaming “Live”
so baby, write me a bridge away from this storm.
I don’t know the words to the song you were born to sing,
but I know your fingers will bleed when you play the chords
and maybe you’ll need me then like I need you now.
When I say that I miss you, I mean something more.
I mean I’ve been biding my time til you kiss me again.
I keep poems like secrets, then tell them when I’m tired of hiding who I am.
I am missing you most in the silence between songs on my favourite records.
Sometimes it takes so long for the music to start.
Is there a shoreline where the seaweed holds the rocks so tight they soften into sand?
Is it too late to say that’s how my heart feels in your hands,
like you could sift it through an hourglass, and pass it off as time?
Never stood still and neither did I. But I will. If you let me.
In your arms, I forget what the yarn knows of sweaters.
I forget how to hold myself together, so if I unfold now, like a love letter,
tell me you’ll write back soon. Tell me you’ll still come untethered.
I saw the moon last night for the first time in months.
She reminded me of you, slouching stubborn in the light.
I’d fight battles against the sun to rest against you tonight, to feel your breath on my pillow.
Those songbirds outside your window are dropping feathers like I dropped words.
I’m cold from all that came out wrong. I sleep alone now, even when I don’t.
I sleep backbone to floorboards cos they’re softer than regret.
Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go yet.
I traced your silhouette on the skyline.
Your crooked spine bent meadows into mountains I climbed to watch the sun set.
The sky never looked so gorgeous. All those fallen stars, sick and tired of being famous.
That man next door with his old violin. I swore his song could save us.” —Andrea Gibson, Yarn
Reckless Kids (Bezhang Remix)
MGMT and Crystal Castles
reckless kids (bezhang mashup)//mgmt + crystal castles
ALERT: Hoenn Appreciation Post.
THEY HAD A FLOATING CITY.
THE IMPOSSIBLE ISLAND. SURE, WHY-NOT?
INTRODUCING THE VERY FIRST FIELD SANDSTORM.
LETS JUST ADD A SUPER COOL HM ALLOWING US TO MAGICALLY BREATHE UNDER WATER.
I’M PRETTY SURE THIS IS THE FIRST IN GAME CUTSCENE.
INVENTED DOUBLE BATTLING Y’KNOW. CASUAL.
CREATED POST-GAME BADGES.
And I mean come on, guys. The Acro bike. Life or life?
This is a good post.
Best game, best region. 10/10 good post would read again
YES. LOVE AND WILL NEVER FORGET.
I adored Sapphire and Emerald <3 Best region.
Not to mention how fucking cool Sootopolis would be to live in????? Or all the mysterious caves and islands that had basically no purpose, the hideouts in trees, man emerald was the best game.
“
I think it’s great for two people to be together. That is a good number. I think, that to keep it alive though, you can’t spend every day together. It wears out the magic, Love means nothing to me if it’s not fortified with fierce, painful longing, brief explosive instances of furious passion and intimacy and then a sad parting for a time. In that way, you can give your life to it and still have a life of your own.
I think some couples spend too much time together. They flatten out the potential for experience by constant closeness. Passion builds over time like steam. Let it rage until it’s exhausted and then leave it alone to let it build up again. Why can’t love be insane and distorted? How can it be vital if it has the same threshold as normal day-to-day experience? Why can’t you write burning letters and let your nocturnal self smolder with desire for one who is not there? Why not let the days before you see her be excruciating and ferment in your mind so on the day you go to the airport to pick her up, you’re nearly sick with anticipation? And then when desire shows the first sign of contentment, throw it back it its cage and let it slowly build itself back into a state of starved fury. Then when you are together, it all matters. So that when you look into her eyes, you lose your balance, so that when she touches you, it feels like you have never been touched before. When she says your name, you think it was she who named you. When she has gone, you bury your face in the pillow to smell her hair and you lie awake at night remembering your face in her neck, her breathing and the amazing smell of her skin. Your eyes go wet because you want her so bad and miss her so much.
Now that is worth the miles and the time. That matches the inferno of life. Otherwise you poison each other with your presence day after day as you drag each other through the inevitable mundane aspects of your lives. That is the slow death that I see slapped on faces everywhere I go. It’s part of the world’s sadness that’s more empty than cold, poorly lit rooms in cities of the American night.
” —H. Rollins
“Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts.”
—Albert Einstein
In defence of obscure words →
bbc.co.uk
Both general readers and specialist critics often complain about my own use of English - not only in my books, but also in my newspaper articles and even in radio talks such as these. “I have to look them up in a dictionary”, they complain - as if this were some kind of torture.
Victor. . .
Y U SO MISANTHROPIC RITE NOW?!?! w.w
“Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”. Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others.”
—Timothy Leary
