Taken with instagram

Taken with instagram

Carly Simon, You’re So Vain

seemed appropriate

bold colors

My walls bleed your colors, but lighter

To represent the spark ignited.

We’re forty-three halves.

Where there are symbols in the washed out sands,

A sad story is flushed out by waves,

And down the twisted system, I’ve been,

But no one has let me breath.

Now all birds are mine, blue and red.

I see the years reflected in mirrors,

Marinating in the same mistakes.

Tasting the same, bitter and vinegar,

The sweets are splattered on the kitchen table,

All for me. All for me.

You’ve given it all to me.

Because I took the sand and waves

And tastes and treats from a far away land

And like an ancient treasure map,

The right symbol is drawn

It’s where I’ve always been,

All the birds. Blue and red.

All for the forty-three halves of me.

blue to red

Cracked wings and sad beaks

Of frozen doves suspended in sky,

Fly like tortured ellipses from

Time dancing around fires.

Charred remains of patterns

Mold into distorted shapes.

Songs melt and silence waits

Till cooled off answers are made.

The doves are now stars,

Like dust in the darkness,

the sky turns red.


So I FB-posted an article about “Girls” that I thought was great, because it was like: “Hey, this is a TV show, let’s settle down about its significance and its implications,” and it immediately triggered a vicious, personal comments war between two people I do not know and who I don’t think know each other, and the experience led me to an important revelation which I would like to share with you:

daveholmes:

We should all turn off our televisions and close our laptops and go outside and move our limbs and play with each other and laugh and smooch and wrestle, because we are all going to be dead in what will seem like 45 minutes and we are going to stay that way until the end of an infinite number of forevers. 

Have a great weekend!

Nick Offerman would say the same thing. I’m off to go work at a store I love.

Come buy records.

Taken with instagram

Taken with instagram

everyone everywhere should see this.

tune-yards, bizniz

iheartclassics:

Mark Twain…clothed in his words!

iheartclassics:

Mark Twain…clothed in his words!

my two favorites

my two favorites

(Source: thechocolatebrigade)

trublood:

True Blood Season 5: Waiting Sucks - Sookie/Alcide

Taken with instagram

Taken with instagram

my simple wave

I can’t help but act like the buoy

On the freshest of lakes,

Like the ones I used to stick my feet in,

Tip-toeing on the rocks,

Playing a musical game and splashes

Meant poetry.

I remember it like yesterday,

Because it pretty much feels like yesterday,

Meeting you and wondering

What sorts of waters

I’d find myself floating in.

I’m used to storms telling me truths,

Enlightening me with thrashes

And greener grass on the other side.

But this time the sky was brighter than blue

And I saw the fish in clouds,

Rearranged the pink to look like green

So everything seemed alive again.

The patterns came in every shape and color

And music meant more,

So that when I saw you again,

Every song was a page in my book

That you were reading.

You are as far from me as you can be,

But I know when you’re close again,

I’ll have a second chance

To show you my jiggle,

My dance, and no matter what

Would happen thereafter,

I knew I’d crossed the bridge

And explored the place

Between hope and happiness.

Home is floating to the music

You and I will create, together or alone,

Doesn’t matter.

Maura, other best song covered by a fan.

So good.  Also, where does this man live?

Call me, maybe.

Oh Land - Maura, this is especially for you.

Truth in Blue

I don’t sit often in sunshine’s way; I don’t believe in its truth.

Melancholia’s depth is the deepest to dig.

Some heart must be placed on a pedestal down there

And all the veins must be keeping this earth breathing.

I expect the mechanism isn’t natural,

With clouds and fog and blue acting as a kryptonite

We haven’t learned to read.

Monsters without claws haunt the so-called waken state,

And the tiny world

Sits idle while it tilts

Full of filth and fear,

As simple rose to wilt would,

In time for reason

To align with rhyme and rear its fat thighs.

I don’t think as well when I’m hot,

This punished place and all its injustices

Are too heavy to rise up, stuck in could ground

I only feel when I am cold.

So how do I find a real heart

when it must be stored

Somewhere cold

and wait for someone

To love till it melts,

till it has to start all over again?