Grandfather clock,
your pendulum sways
Like a hanging necktie
or an impatient noose.
You ache the world
to snuff the silence
Of stillness and what
comes after last hour.
Are people the same,
does clockwork grind
Our body turntable
mechanically til rust?
Or, disembark
from pendulum’s swing
To dangle in wind
like leaves afloat.
We have no metal
we have no cogs
We are rivers
of blood latticework.
Five becomes nine
in spreading frost,
Time iced, but we
live melodic chimes.
We are different,
we do not tick
Forever in fear
of last trivial tock.
Time is a joke.
the cuckoo sings,
We face the clock,
we pay the toll.
make a necklace!
Only if Thom had taken my virginity on stage as he crooned the song “Nude.” Then it would be a love locket.
- June 2
- , 2012
-
Holden Caulfield:
Hey I just met you
-
Holden Caulfield:
and this is crazy
-
Holden Caulfield:
but anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.
-
Holden Caulfield:
so don't even call me, you're a phony
It’s called the border between heaven and earth.
Hey, my life is complete now,
Marry me Thom Yorke.
- June 1
- , 2012
Me and the worlds greatest best friend and broster at RADIOHEAD! It’s the only band I like more than nickelback.
(tumblr bombed again)
- May 31
- , 2012
I’ve been listening to Radiohead since January of 2010. I began my foray into music late, but they are what dragged me in and kept me searching. They are, definitively, one of the greatest cultural influences pressed into my life, like how you push leaves into the spines of books to age in freshness forever. They’re planted in me, the music will remain living while I’m slowly leafed yellow. Are they somber? Sure. Depressing? Depends. Existential? Exactly. Beautiful? Bet your ass they are.
I’m seeing Radiohead tonight.
I’d say I’m a little excited.
(Source: blooth, via far-off-destination)
Soul Meets Body- Death Cab For Cutie
Anonymous asked:
We all live in a yellow tangerine...
I wish I could, Ringo. But all I can ask for now is someone who looks like tangerine trees and smells of marmalade skies. Everywhere else has failed.
Oh yeah, someone who likes good music would be appreciated too. Just another Day in the Life, here.
Who dare proclaim that there is beauty in words
That is universal, sadly entombed by design?
How dare you assume that words could roll down
Conveyer belt books to manufactured minds?
“Lilly”, to you, is a word of rose spring,
Paired syllables, like lovebirds, sit perched on your tongue.
But “fuck” is too human, the most versatile of veins
That comes flexing in hues and flashing in hums.
What other word spouts such fluid emotion?
Where incandescence, white sparks in the night
And fury, out pouring raw relentless,
Converge like rivers and make love intertwined.
Is it not life? I know 206 meanings behind “fuck”
One definition per bone— weighing down upon body
One pleasure per sigh— spearing light into soul.
And one word that hears all, sees all, speaks all. A whole
language of passion under this sea of chagrin;
Our vernacular oracular is social sin, but “fuck,”
these letters twist like blood beneath skin
We can never be without such a word so within.
No prose carves figure eights in stone,
Where empathy is caved behind word defined walls,
Only feelings exist, with words rippling against current and
trickling true beauty into “fuck” after all.
“Damn, dude.”
A book of would’s, could’s, and should’s that are buried in the bubbling murk of possibility; submerged in the innate mystery of whatever the human spirit, in all its virtue and fatality, pretends to be.
So read it.
- May 29
- , 2012
