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I love persian women

and who the hell could blame me?

Music Blawwwwwwg

It’s about time I got back to doing this.

Hopefully it won’t die out like last time.

http://bambiibambii.blogspot.com/

“Do you recall its name?

As it suggested beck and call,

This face and heel will drag your halo through the mud

Ash of Pompei erupting in a statue’s dust

Shrouded in veils because these handcuffs hurt too much

Still scalping this ticketless applause

And when they drag the lake there’s nothing left at all

Sutured contusion

Beyond the anthills of the dawning of this plague

I’ve lost my way

Even if this cul de sac would pay to reach inside a vault

Whatever be the cost

Sterling clear blackened ice

And when they drag the lake there’s nothing left at all

I’ve defected, I’ve defected

This is my last incision

The stitches have defected.”

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Midi & the Modern Dance - Eleanor’s Song

this song makes me so damn happy.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Bowerbirds - Bur Oak

welcome, fall.

“If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime’s argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star, like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are, how fragile we are”

You know, it sucks

But there ain’t nothing you can do, and that is a completely true statement. Actually, it’s a false statement, because there are an infinite amount of things you can DO, you just can’t know the outcome, and analyzing the situation, understanding that there’s a 99% chance that most or anything my mind can comprehend doing can and will fail, I have absolutely no choice but to give up. Giving up can mean two things, simultaneously or not, depending on who you are and how you work life to your advantage: moving on, and/or hating yourself for it. I’d prefer to take the former route, because it is clearly healthier, and it is clearly the right decision, and I will clearly be happier and not have to spend my days in an obsessive state of listening to melancholy music and playing video games to take me into some other fantasy. So I will do just that, and as much as I just wanted to type “if I can,” it is undeniably CLEAR that I can, and thus I will. I suppose this is a farewell. Actually, to be honest, it’s not even a hearty farewell. It’s more of a “haha, fuck you” type of thing. I intend on playing music, writing endlessly, and spending time with the people I love tonight, and I think that’s plainly enough to take me into a state of ecstasy. Hating life is so overrated.

utter perfection.

“Whatever it is you think you are, you aren’t.”

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Kidcrash - I

fucking bliss.

one of the greatest musical acts to ever exist.

You know in time as much would’ve happened to us,

our feelings blow out like a lamp light.

Scribbling

Allow me to write;

Scribble the nervous animosity of nervousness out through these fingertips;

Let me live in the goddamn dictionary of who and why,

Why and how, how and dare you betray this ardor of mine?

For ardor knows no gardener apt to deliberately absorb this genesis

that has intrinsic value upon us both, and that is where you lie dead, my dear,

knowing that you do not know that the value is valuable, oh valueless being.

I cringe, oh I cringe like a dead man who lives, lives in the despair of knowing that he will not be freed of the abundant glory of what may exist.

Oh, thine eyes annihilate my nature, the nature that only existed in consequence with the ardor that naturally sowed itself into my bosom,

oh those rainbows of divine death.

Ladies and gentlemen, I realize that I speak like a melodramatic Shakespeare here, but the certain intent of my specifically chosen tongue is only customary, and if I may add, I write so that I may express, and the reality of the art of expression is not that one may define the pretexts in which one’s condition is in abode, but rather to freely and spiritually define the indefinable, and to draw pleasure and ease from expressing the inexpressible. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, I speak truth through lies.