you are never, ever too old to play on a playground. on the contrary, now you can play when the other kids have gone to bed and have every, every, EVERY part of the playground to yourself (and the lucky few you invited to come along).
if that doesn't make you happy, i don't know what will.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Friday, May 09, 2008
Thursday, May 08, 2008
song of the day (no, actually of yesterday and of the day before, but hey, my blog, my rules)
song of yesterday:
José González - Storm
(as the sky started lying down on the lands, covering itself in earthen rust-gold colors, going all Steinbeck on me, this is what started playing, and it attached itself to nothing, as there were no clouds to grab on to, and by attaching itself to nothing, it attached itself to everything. no, there was no storm. but i did touch some grass, just because i wanted to. and it was great.)
(by the way, there's a tiny fly sitting on my laptop, looking at the screen. i hope it understands english.) (hello tiny fly!) (god, i'm an idiot.) (and proud of it!)
(the fly is now walking toward my left hand. makes typing difficult, because i don't want to crush it. not that you'd notice.)
song of day before yesterday: (now she/he/it is on my scrollpad. woops, it jumped on my spacebar. i guess it likes the trampoline-effect of me typing.) (yes, i am wasting your time -- were you expecting anything else?)
Underworld - 8 Ball
(actually, the sentence "today, i saw a man using an empty whiskey flask as a walkie-talkie" at first seems to be Karl Hyde's standard gibberishy-jabberwocky, but i actually find it quite... endearing. there seems to be something sad in it, even though Hyde sings it without negative emotions -- a sadness ascribed to that man who is not all there, a man who is child-like in his twisted imagination. an empty whiskey flask - he probably emptied it himself, or he found it on the street and liked its shape, making him even more innocent - and now sees it as a means for communication, while it is that very act of using the flask as a walkie-talkie that cuts him off from the rest of this world. and who might he be trying to reach? someone like him? his mother? a pair of arms that might welcome him? an ear that would understand him, a mouth that would tell him that everything is going to be okay? sad, sad, sad. or maybe it's just me. but isn't everything me -- for me?) (i also like the intense subtility of this song, by the way)
(the fly is now crawling at the edge of my screen. i guess she likes it here. either that or she's a spy from Microsoft studying every Macbook out there.) (no, that was not a funny joke.)
(yes, i've decided that the fly is a she. why? because i can thus make it seem i'm attracting da ladiezzz. hurray!)
...this post makes no sense, does it? oh well.
(for your information, i can't find the fly any more.) (oh wait, she's sitting on my pants.) (bye, fly)
José González - Storm
(as the sky started lying down on the lands, covering itself in earthen rust-gold colors, going all Steinbeck on me, this is what started playing, and it attached itself to nothing, as there were no clouds to grab on to, and by attaching itself to nothing, it attached itself to everything. no, there was no storm. but i did touch some grass, just because i wanted to. and it was great.)
(by the way, there's a tiny fly sitting on my laptop, looking at the screen. i hope it understands english.) (hello tiny fly!) (god, i'm an idiot.) (and proud of it!)
(the fly is now walking toward my left hand. makes typing difficult, because i don't want to crush it. not that you'd notice.)
song of day before yesterday: (now she/he/it is on my scrollpad. woops, it jumped on my spacebar. i guess it likes the trampoline-effect of me typing.) (yes, i am wasting your time -- were you expecting anything else?)
Underworld - 8 Ball
(actually, the sentence "today, i saw a man using an empty whiskey flask as a walkie-talkie" at first seems to be Karl Hyde's standard gibberishy-jabberwocky, but i actually find it quite... endearing. there seems to be something sad in it, even though Hyde sings it without negative emotions -- a sadness ascribed to that man who is not all there, a man who is child-like in his twisted imagination. an empty whiskey flask - he probably emptied it himself, or he found it on the street and liked its shape, making him even more innocent - and now sees it as a means for communication, while it is that very act of using the flask as a walkie-talkie that cuts him off from the rest of this world. and who might he be trying to reach? someone like him? his mother? a pair of arms that might welcome him? an ear that would understand him, a mouth that would tell him that everything is going to be okay? sad, sad, sad. or maybe it's just me. but isn't everything me -- for me?) (i also like the intense subtility of this song, by the way)
(the fly is now crawling at the edge of my screen. i guess she likes it here. either that or she's a spy from Microsoft studying every Macbook out there.) (no, that was not a funny joke.)
(yes, i've decided that the fly is a she. why? because i can thus make it seem i'm attracting da ladiezzz. hurray!)
...this post makes no sense, does it? oh well.
(for your information, i can't find the fly any more.) (oh wait, she's sitting on my pants.) (bye, fly)
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
useless post (just like all the rest) (but actually it's about all my posts, in a way. or the entirety of this blog. so it's about nothing. oh well)
i wanted to write something for my blog today. and here i am, doing it. and frankly, it's rather stupid. because i started with an intention, not with an idea.
sometimes i fear that things might die on me if i don't feed them enough. friendships, novels i am reading, talks i was having oh so many days before, etc. the same accounts for this blog.
my intention never really was to write periodically, or rather just periodically. if Divine Inspiration came to me, so be it, i would write. if not, so be it, i wouldn't write. but here i am, facing a blank which i want to fill only for the sake of filling it, afraid things might drift away, and i will soon find myself marooned somewhere, empty-handed, with a blog that is a waste land, its handful of inhabitants having fled, leaving this page to sink into cyber-oblivion. (yes, that is a word now. i can decide on such matters, for i have an MA in languages. i have the power. muhahaha!)
i guess no one wishes to disappoint. and to those who don't care, or don't seem to care, i say: i don't believe you. not at all. no sirree.
i don't like to disappoint either. i don't want people (you know who you are) sighing that once again there is no new post, because i hope to provide everyone with everything they need. (not to say that people need these posts, but hey, you know.) (maybe i should allow myself to indulge in illusions of grandeur every once in a while.) (okay, here goes: i know that people need these posts like they need to hear the constant breathing of their firstborn asleep while... never mind. no one believes that. on with the post!)
but i actually began writing this blog not for other people, but for myself. yes, i AM a selfish bastard. let me quote from the second post i ever wrote, more than two years ago.
"i guess it's just some "place" where i can dump all my thoughts and ideas. do i then think that anybody cares? about my ideas? amid the myriads of other blogs? nah, not really. why bother then? writing for myself can be satisfactory in its own right. and if anyone stumbles upon this web page and does not feel the urge to vomit (or, to blog?) while reading my writings, then things might not be too bad after all. so far, so good." (the link to vomit-to blog can be found in that very same post, but i didn't paste it here, for the sake of relevance) (oh lord. i am the master of digressions.)
i guess that still is true. if you like this: fine! if you don't read this: fine! if you are not there and i am talking to myself in the dark: eh... fine?
new posts will follow. new posts will always follow. but they have to follow my whim. because this might be the only place where i can follow my whim. and do stupid things. like write what i write, even though no one might ever read all of this.
it is what it is. it will be what it will be. yes, i am apologizing to my millions and billions of readers for taking so much time to post. yes, i shouldn't be apologizing because writing just for the sake of delivering posts is worse.
and i just gladly filled a void.
sometimes i fear that things might die on me if i don't feed them enough. friendships, novels i am reading, talks i was having oh so many days before, etc. the same accounts for this blog.
my intention never really was to write periodically, or rather just periodically. if Divine Inspiration came to me, so be it, i would write. if not, so be it, i wouldn't write. but here i am, facing a blank which i want to fill only for the sake of filling it, afraid things might drift away, and i will soon find myself marooned somewhere, empty-handed, with a blog that is a waste land, its handful of inhabitants having fled, leaving this page to sink into cyber-oblivion. (yes, that is a word now. i can decide on such matters, for i have an MA in languages. i have the power. muhahaha!)
i guess no one wishes to disappoint. and to those who don't care, or don't seem to care, i say: i don't believe you. not at all. no sirree.
i don't like to disappoint either. i don't want people (you know who you are) sighing that once again there is no new post, because i hope to provide everyone with everything they need. (not to say that people need these posts, but hey, you know.) (maybe i should allow myself to indulge in illusions of grandeur every once in a while.) (okay, here goes: i know that people need these posts like they need to hear the constant breathing of their firstborn asleep while... never mind. no one believes that. on with the post!)
but i actually began writing this blog not for other people, but for myself. yes, i AM a selfish bastard. let me quote from the second post i ever wrote, more than two years ago.
"i guess it's just some "place" where i can dump all my thoughts and ideas. do i then think that anybody cares? about my ideas? amid the myriads of other blogs? nah, not really. why bother then? writing for myself can be satisfactory in its own right. and if anyone stumbles upon this web page and does not feel the urge to vomit (or, to blog?) while reading my writings, then things might not be too bad after all. so far, so good." (the link to vomit-to blog can be found in that very same post, but i didn't paste it here, for the sake of relevance) (oh lord. i am the master of digressions.)
i guess that still is true. if you like this: fine! if you don't read this: fine! if you are not there and i am talking to myself in the dark: eh... fine?
new posts will follow. new posts will always follow. but they have to follow my whim. because this might be the only place where i can follow my whim. and do stupid things. like write what i write, even though no one might ever read all of this.
it is what it is. it will be what it will be. yes, i am apologizing to my millions and billions of readers for taking so much time to post. yes, i shouldn't be apologizing because writing just for the sake of delivering posts is worse.
and i just gladly filled a void.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
happiness # 28
the smell of freshly baked bread
...
being able to smell freshly baked bread
...
being able to smell freshly baked bread and being able to buy it
...
being able to smell freshly baked bread, being able to buy it, and being able to forget that so many other people can't
...
...
being able to smell freshly baked bread
...
being able to smell freshly baked bread and being able to buy it
...
being able to smell freshly baked bread, being able to buy it, and being able to forget that so many other people can't
...
Monday, April 14, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
sad yet beautiful; beautiful yet sad
the lines
"And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers,
But all that lives is born to die"
"And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers,
But all that lives is born to die"
song of the day (wednesday or thursday, but actually somewhere in between)
Orbital - Mock Tudor
(definitely listen all the way to the end: the final notes are almost like whispers and despite this being a detail, it does so much for the song, even though it didn't need much more. everytime i remember Mock Tudor, i remember the 'whispers' first. and then i want to play it in its entirety again, just to end up with those final notes. perhaps just like life -- i'll be able to tell you when i die.)
(definitely listen all the way to the end: the final notes are almost like whispers and despite this being a detail, it does so much for the song, even though it didn't need much more. everytime i remember Mock Tudor, i remember the 'whispers' first. and then i want to play it in its entirety again, just to end up with those final notes. perhaps just like life -- i'll be able to tell you when i die.)
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
We Are Not
We are not
stuffed men
We are not
pawns
We are not
leaning in
the winds of amnesia
No
we're not
empty-handed,
staring at the
sky
We are not judging
We are not to judge
We are not to be blamed
We think
We
can sigh only
and think of
what we are not
No, we are not
nothing, no
we are not
Do not forget us
for we
are
not --
stuffed men
We are not
pawns
We are not
leaning in
the winds of amnesia
No
we're not
empty-handed,
staring at the
sky
We are not judging
We are not to judge
We are not to be blamed
We think
We
can sigh only
and think of
what we are not
No, we are not
nothing, no
we are not
Do not forget us
for we
are
not --
Monday, April 07, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
