(Source: lastdaysofmagic)
Grace: Two days ago he asked me if I liked music. Like music is something people don’t like. You know, he posed the question like it was some great conversation-starter. “Grace, do you like music?” It was painful. Burt: I don’t know, I wish somebody would ask me that sometime, you know? ‘Cause that’s a probing sort of intelligence, I think.
— Away We Go
Sun is bad for you. Everything our parents said was good is bad. Sun, milk, red meat … college.
— Alvy Singer, Annie Hall
November like a train wreck – The sky is a thick, cold gauze – – Or maybe I’ll visit beautiful Donna, I know there are some people out there with a gun and a bottle full of hate, But I hate those people back and my happiness would kill them and I force myself toward pleasure,
as if a locomotive made of cold
had hurtled out of Canada
and crashed into a million trees,
flaming the leaves, setting the woods on fire.
but there’s a soup special at the Waffle House downtown,
and the Jack Parsons show is up at the museum,
full of luminous red barns.
the kickboxing queen from Santa Fe,
and roll around in her foldout bed.
who think I am supposed to end up
in a room by myself
a locked door and my slack mouth open
like a disconnected phone.
from the core of my donkey soul
and the hatred makes me strong
and my survival is their failure,
so I shove joy like a knife
into my own heart over and over
and I love this November life
where I run like a train
deeper and deeper
into the land of my enemies.
— Tony Hoagland, Reasons to Survive November
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
The Taking Off Of Pants by Nils Folke Valdemar.
Do you like the sound of summer rain? Do you like pop songs on your brain, do you like it when they just go away? Do you like discovering awesome bands, do you like mix tapes from your friends? Do you like nights that never end? Do you like when you miss your ride and someone gives you a backie on their bike? If you don’t like silly things like that, well, what do you like?
I will never, ever grow tired of this song. I loved it when I was seventeen, I’ll love it when I’m seventy. I like to think that I will always enjoy silly things and that cute, simple pop songs will always make me smile on cold November nights.
Given a long enough time, of course, a wide enough frame, there is nothing said or done, ever, that isn’t ironic in the end.
— Mrs. Horrible Morrible, Wicked by Gregory Maguire
The Secret to More Energy: Tap the Geyser of Your Gifts →
An unused gift (or one you don’t take all the way to harvest) will quietly annihilate your life. It’s not that you’ll keel over because you didn’t start taking photographs or sing. But you will walk off kilter. Your heart will sag with an extra thousand pounds. Your voice will crack when you say your name. There is something unrighteous about not doing what you came here to do.
