Sunday, October 24, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/09/arts/music/09lennon.html?_r=1&ref=music
in honor of Mr. Lennon's 70th birthday, here's an article from the New York Times that you should read.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
misery.
I don't know what happened. It was perfect, it was good, it was 100% fine, and now it's downhill.
I don't understand what's going on, I don't understand what he's trying to tell me. I don't understand him anymore. I'm losing him.
It's unfair, it's confusing. I feel like I'm always the one being pushed aside and underestimated. No, I'm not the funny one, I'm not the hot one either. But I'm the one, and he knows it.
I guess I just acted selfish. My selfishness complimented his ignorance, I guess. I'm not really sure anymore. I try to put a smile on my face, and it's there, for that 10 minutes. Then it runs away, and he sits in the middle, and I'm on the side. Alone. Taken for granted. Upset.
That made me feel horrible, my heart sank as he moved to my right. It felt like he didn't care.
I cried it all out, but it's still not enough.
It's 10 minutes of bliss to a night of misery.
I don't understand what's going on, I don't understand what he's trying to tell me. I don't understand him anymore. I'm losing him.
It's unfair, it's confusing. I feel like I'm always the one being pushed aside and underestimated. No, I'm not the funny one, I'm not the hot one either. But I'm the one, and he knows it.
I guess I just acted selfish. My selfishness complimented his ignorance, I guess. I'm not really sure anymore. I try to put a smile on my face, and it's there, for that 10 minutes. Then it runs away, and he sits in the middle, and I'm on the side. Alone. Taken for granted. Upset.
That made me feel horrible, my heart sank as he moved to my right. It felt like he didn't care.
I cried it all out, but it's still not enough.
It's 10 minutes of bliss to a night of misery.
Friday, October 1, 2010
the drunkeness of romance.
“Romance”
Edgar Allan Poe
1829
Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been- a most familiar bird-
Taught me my alphabet to say-
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child- with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings-
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away- forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
I adore this poem. The overdose of romance is written to stimulating perfection.
Edgar Allan Poe
1829
Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been- a most familiar bird-
Taught me my alphabet to say-
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child- with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings-
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away- forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
I adore this poem. The overdose of romance is written to stimulating perfection.
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