July 2011
61 posts
...with a little help from my friends
The Allure of BBC period dramas
I’m not going to lie, BBC period dramas are like crack for me. I just can’t get enough of the complicated (if sometimes formulaic) plots, the decadent costumes, dashing actors and lovely actresses all playing their part in a usually slow dance of insinuation and misunderstanding. It always works. 100% of the time.
There is so much to love, and often many layers which are only...
Love, love, love You’re a whore You’re a whore You’re a whore Love, love, love, love ‘Cause we bruise you and abuse you But time after time You take us back And kiss us hard on the mouth
Love, love, love You’re a whore You’re a whore You’re a whore Love, love, love, love ‘Cause we cheat you and mistreat you And beat you and bruise you And use you...
How do I get Closer to you When you keep It all on mute How will I know The right way To love you Usually the queen Of figuring out Breaking down a man Is no work out But I have no clue How to get Through to you
Depeche Mode – Enjoy The Silence
Words like violence Break the silence Come crashing in Into my little world Painful to me Pierce right through me Can’t you understand Oh my little girl
All I ever wanted All I ever needed Is here in my arms Words are very unnecessary They can only do harm
Vows are spoken To be broken Feelings are intense Words are trivial Pleasures remain So does the pain...
“Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”
G.K. Chesterton
Sylvia Plath – Mad Girl’s Love Song
“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you...
We do no want merely to see beauty, though God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words - to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. That is why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses and nymphs and elves that, though we cannot, yet these...
Things aren’t all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsay able than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life.
- letters to a young poet
“Sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested.” - Hunter S. Thompson
Always keep your pockets full of confetti
ready to throw into the air for… the days you wake up without your alarm clock.the smiles you get from strangers.when your shampoo is on sale.hitting every single green light.when you see your Love.your favorite song coming on the radio.when you get mail.when you get hugs from your family. when you’re with your best friends. … and especiallywhen you realize you...
“You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words, who is willing to create a place where your imagination can wander. We build this place with the sand of memories; these castles are our memories and inventiveness made tangible. So part of us believes that when the tide starts coming in, we won’t really have lost anything, because actually only a symbol of it...
A warning to lovers
What then kills love? Only this: Neglect. Not to see you when you stand before me. Not to think of you in the little things. Not to make the road wide for you, the table spread for you. To choose you out of habit not desire, to pass the flower seller without a thought. To leave the dishes unwashed, the bed unmade, to ignore you in the mornings, make use of you at night. To crave another while...
Ebay
^^ never happens to me. :(
Asleep
I can’t stand to see your eyes when they’re aiming at the floor, But the worst is knowing I’m the reason for your bitter heart. And with my head in my hands, I’m thinking of the things I’ve done so wrong Though it’s what I deserve, never take the melody from my song. ‘Cause you’re a lullaby playing through the tragedy That I listen for to brighten...
Who is that girl I see staring straight back at me?
Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it puts out the little, it kindles the great.
“Tears are words that need to be written.”
It feels good to be home.
Full Version
Hello, darlings! I just had to share this amazing passage with you: “Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental...
Desiderata
– written by Max Ehrmann in the 1920s –
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit.
...
I should be packing. I don’t want to. At all.
So sunburned…
All my life I’ve made mistakes. Smalland cruel. I made my plans.I never arrived. I ate my food. I drank my wine.The slow dance doesn’t care. It’s all kindness like childrenbefore they turn four. Like being held in the armsof my brother. The slow dance of siblings.Two men in the middle of the room. When I dance with him,one of my great loves, he is absolutely human,and when he turns to dip meor I...
What you should know to be a poet
all you can about animals as persons.
the names of trees and flowers and weeds.
names of stars, and the movements of the planets and the moon.
your own six sense, with a watchful and elegant mind.
at least one kind of traditional magic:
divination, astrology, the “book of changes”, the tarot;
dreams.
the illusory demons and illusory shining gods;
kiss the ass of the devil...
This be the verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
by fools in old-style hats and coats,
who half the time were soppy-stern
and half at one another’s throats
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
and...
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
I want a simple life
Simple, and happy, with a healthy dose of strife
Filled with dancing and summers by the lake
And a beloved to kiss when I awake
Love, we're going home now...
…where the vines clamber over the trellis: Even before you, the summer will arrive, on its honeysuckle feet, in your bedroom. Our nomadic kisses wandered over all the world: Armenia, dollop of disinterred honey: Ceylon, green dove: and the Yang Tse with its old Old patience, dividing the day from night. And now, dearest, we return, across the crackling sea Like two blind birds to their wall,...
One look at these and I’m filled with food lust.
Must. Bake. Something. NOW.
Silentium Amoris
As often-times the too resplendent sun Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won A single ballad from the nightingale, So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail, And all my sweetest singing out of tune.
And as at dawn across the level mead On wings impetuous some wind will come, And with its too harsh kisses break the reed Which was its only instrument of...
I’m drinking up every second of this summer like it’s ambrosia.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight, And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart Open to me! For I will show you places Nobody knows, And, if you like, The perfect places of Sleep.
e.e. cummings
(my favorite poem of all time)
I’m off to the beach
