Thursday, May 14, 2009
_Lost_ Religion is Different from Real Religion
Many people on the Internet are kind of thinking that Esau is Cerberus. I am inclined to believe this as well.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
We Use Love to Build Kevin Barneses
Pandora just played me "I Want to Have Fun," by of Montreal. Which has the exact same melody as "The Actor's Opprobrium".
Now that, my friends, is a juxtaposition. I want to go around singing, "When one is licking the knife, it's such a beautiful sight," except it's not actually that much more funny than the actual lyrics of "The Actor's Opprobrium" without all of the context.
Now that, my friends, is a juxtaposition. I want to go around singing, "When one is licking the knife, it's such a beautiful sight," except it's not actually that much more funny than the actual lyrics of "The Actor's Opprobrium" without all of the context.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Not a Curse
There is no slight exhaled breath out in the vault of space.
White needlepoint stars never prick through a midnight blue sky.
Naked long-tressed goddesses can never be seen on the beach.
We do not lie surrounded by green grass to fall asleep.
No faint noise birthed from children's games can ever hold us up.
No quiet wind will ever pull us softly into darkness.
There is no city through which we can make dreams manifest.
There is no cave through which birds fly forever to the river.
There is no river through which water meanders to the sea.
There is no mountain through which earth stretches out towards the sun.
No matches ever light our hearts with thunder-fetching fire.
We do not swing, forever and ever,
Higher and higher.
We climb no ladders.
The milkmaid does not call.
No one picks up the phone.
Human voices do not wake us.
We do not drown.
Problems are salt.
Nothing is an ocean.
White needlepoint stars never prick through a midnight blue sky.
Naked long-tressed goddesses can never be seen on the beach.
We do not lie surrounded by green grass to fall asleep.
No faint noise birthed from children's games can ever hold us up.
No quiet wind will ever pull us softly into darkness.
There is no city through which we can make dreams manifest.
There is no cave through which birds fly forever to the river.
There is no river through which water meanders to the sea.
There is no mountain through which earth stretches out towards the sun.
No matches ever light our hearts with thunder-fetching fire.
We do not swing, forever and ever,
Higher and higher.
We climb no ladders.
The milkmaid does not call.
No one picks up the phone.
Human voices do not wake us.
We do not drown.
Problems are salt.
Nothing is an ocean.
Labels:
books,
call me call me,
dalemark,
dwj,
e. m. forster,
hitherby dragons,
jenna moran,
music,
of montreal,
passage to india,
poetry,
prufrock,
skeletal lamping,
stevie smith,
t. s. eliot,
yoko kanno
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