Wednesday, February 27, 2013
This Was Posted in the (Platonic) Friendship Section...It's Pretty Damn (Neo-)Platonic...So Wild....Great Basis for a Movie...
Ok, so I know this may sound a little weird, but I am very interested in
leaving Harrisburg and going out west somewhere for good. I really
would love to find someone to come with me. I want to go for good. I
have an idea of where I'd like to go. It is cheap to live there, so we
could find a cheap place to live and find jobs. I do not have a lot of
money, but what I have may cover gas and some food etc. It will be very
nice if you pitch in as well. I want to leave and never come back, so if
you want to too that's great. Please do not send me an email asking why
and expect an explanation and you not be interested. However, if you
are interested hit me up and we can meet and discuss what we want to
do. I am looking to make this happen within the next few weeks. I
honestly do not care if you are a male or female, just please be
somewhere around my age and not old. I want someone that I can get along
with and enjoy hanging out with.
Kirsten Prout
has the most adorably sad face on earth.
I'm sure of it.
I'm watching Tell Me No Lies (2007) on Lifetime for like the third time.
So many of those close-ups of her with the pouty lips are to-die-for.
And she has the perfect voice to go along with it. A strange sort of warble that sounds like she just got awoken from a deep sleep after crying in a dream.
Someone should do a series of paintings (Chuck Close size) of stills from this "troubled kid" movie.
Those lips!!
I think she's older than in the movie in this pic, but it gives you an idea what I'm talking about.
I'm sure of it.
I'm watching Tell Me No Lies (2007) on Lifetime for like the third time.
So many of those close-ups of her with the pouty lips are to-die-for.
And she has the perfect voice to go along with it. A strange sort of warble that sounds like she just got awoken from a deep sleep after crying in a dream.
Someone should do a series of paintings (Chuck Close size) of stills from this "troubled kid" movie.
Those lips!!
I think she's older than in the movie in this pic, but it gives you an idea what I'm talking about.
Lee,
You know I think Jason Mraz is one of the greatest guys on the planet, but now I'm beginning to think he's psychic too with the lyrics here (even "You took care of the cat already").
You probably can guess my favorite line. It's quite simple: "Come back to me." He sings it as a plea not a demand.
So much vulnerability in this man's voice.
But then he can do a castrato turn in the middle of a song and make it sound like it fits there perfectly.
You probably can guess my favorite line. It's quite simple: "Come back to me." He sings it as a plea not a demand.
So much vulnerability in this man's voice.
But then he can do a castrato turn in the middle of a song and make it sound like it fits there perfectly.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
I Submitted Fiction to a Magazine I Like
Stop the presses.
I'm actually getting things submitted again.
Let's see if sobriety helps me get more things accomplished.
I hear 'tis so.
I'm actually getting things submitted again.
Let's see if sobriety helps me get more things accomplished.
I hear 'tis so.
The Only One
My love introduced me to this wonderful singer/songwriter.
I think this is my favorite song by him.
I think this is my favorite song by him.
won't you celebrate with me? (Homo Version)
after Lucille Clifton
what i have wrecked into
a kind of life? i had no morals.
born in babylon
both nonnonwhite and inner black woman
what did i see to be except a shelf?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
craigslist and play,
my one hand fisting tight
my asshole; come celebrate
with me that everyday
some trope of gay vanity has tried to kill me
and has failed.
won't you celebrate with me
won't you celebrate with mewhat i have wrecked into
a kind of life? i had no morals.
born in babylon
both nonnonwhite and inner black woman
what did i see to be except a shelf?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
craigslist and play,
my one hand fisting tight
my asshole; come celebrate
with me that everyday
some trope of gay vanity has tried to kill me
and has failed.
Poem from the Joyful Heart of Vanished Native Peoples
We love the Dawn
and we love the Day.
We love the apple
and its shining core.
We loved singing
and cutting off tongues ("Yay!")
We love you imagining
our colorful ways
in social studies courses
for morons,
and we love
our blessed extinction
dancing circles around
your Impoverished One.
and we love the Day.
We love the apple
and its shining core.
We loved singing
and cutting off tongues ("Yay!")
We love you imagining
our colorful ways
in social studies courses
for morons,
and we love
our blessed extinction
dancing circles around
your Impoverished One.
Post-Apocalyptic Love Poem
Circling the corner
is mostly all I do.
The pigeons go
through the crazy snow
and swinging traffic lights,
unobservant.
My cat wakes me,
pretending it's dawn
and it's still night's
dark asshole.
You wake me, stupid cat,
when my lover
is just a donut hole
in the night somewhere,
and I say even the Mayans
who built those lousy motels
with the cheap calendars
on the walls
can go to Hell.
is mostly all I do.
The pigeons go
through the crazy snow
and swinging traffic lights,
unobservant.
My cat wakes me,
pretending it's dawn
and it's still night's
dark asshole.
You wake me, stupid cat,
when my lover
is just a donut hole
in the night somewhere,
and I say even the Mayans
who built those lousy motels
with the cheap calendars
on the walls
can go to Hell.
Monday, February 25, 2013
"There is Not Enough Light in the Annihilated World..."
A message arrives via a strange ticker-tape machine that reads, "THERE IS NOT ENOUGH LIGHT IN THE ANNIHILATED WORLD."
Earth's best engineers immediately begin working on the problem, even though nobody really knows what the message means or what the "annihilated world" is--or if it even exists.
This ends with a movie starring Keanu Reeves and a really cheesy novelization, which is then made into a much better movie starring Keanu Reeves' grandson.
You are all fortunately dead by this time.
Earth's best engineers immediately begin working on the problem, even though nobody really knows what the message means or what the "annihilated world" is--or if it even exists.
This ends with a movie starring Keanu Reeves and a really cheesy novelization, which is then made into a much better movie starring Keanu Reeves' grandson.
You are all fortunately dead by this time.
Tomorrow You Will Read in Your Preferred Online Newspaper
Tomorrow you will read in your preferred online newspaper that I murdered all the men on my street whose chirping car alarms sound too much like the chirping car alarm of my absconded lover.
I Have This Bumpersticker
I have this bumpersticker on my car that says
"TELL EVOLUTION 'NO,' GODDAMN IT!!"
"TELL EVOLUTION 'NO,' GODDAMN IT!!"
Just Now Forcing Myself to Read
I noticed many Kiowa poems
are like the sassier songs of vintage Blondie.
are like the sassier songs of vintage Blondie.
A Celebration
Now I am the Rabbit
in the Moon.
Now I'm the delight
of the masses.
Now the reason
Maurice Sendak
hated children.
in the Moon.
Now I'm the delight
of the masses.
Now the reason
Maurice Sendak
hated children.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Dear Joachim Phoenix,
I'm sorry I made fun
of your P.E.T.A.
fish video
in which
you simulate
a drowning fish
by simply being
a human drowning in water,
a video deemed
so controversial
it will not be shown
at the Oscars.
I'm sorry,
because I know
exactly how you
qua fish felt
since my lover's
been gone.
You thrash
so beautifully
and drown
so spasmodically
I want to watch you
over and over
and eat a coal
for every giggle
I had the first time.
It turns out fish
have feelings.
Who knew?
Joachim did
at 3 years old,
but he's sorta
a Buddha.
I lived the past
few decades
as a sort of fish
and I could have sworn
I didn't have any feelings.
Until now.
Until you left.
Now I sit
and watch Joachim
enact the physical symphony
of my grieving
as though it were Prokofiev
down under the sea
drowning at an invisible piano.
Because I do sort of feel
the ocean is largely
an invisible piano
with Prokofiev
drowning down under there
constantly.
Just constantly.
of your P.E.T.A.
fish video
in which
you simulate
a drowning fish
by simply being
a human drowning in water,
a video deemed
so controversial
it will not be shown
at the Oscars.
I'm sorry,
because I know
exactly how you
qua fish felt
since my lover's
been gone.
You thrash
so beautifully
and drown
so spasmodically
I want to watch you
over and over
and eat a coal
for every giggle
I had the first time.
It turns out fish
have feelings.
Who knew?
Joachim did
at 3 years old,
but he's sorta
a Buddha.
I lived the past
few decades
as a sort of fish
and I could have sworn
I didn't have any feelings.
Until now.
Until you left.
Now I sit
and watch Joachim
enact the physical symphony
of my grieving
as though it were Prokofiev
down under the sea
drowning at an invisible piano.
Because I do sort of feel
the ocean is largely
an invisible piano
with Prokofiev
drowning down under there
constantly.
Just constantly.
The News
The day is grey and windy.
Branches move
the cat's mind
in the window.
The heart doesn't know.
The heart doth feel.
The School for Misguided Children
is on fire right now.
Some are just amused
even though many children
are still inside.
Probably doing shots
and telling tales
such as sailors tell.
Branches move
the cat's mind
in the window.
The heart doesn't know.
The heart doth feel.
The School for Misguided Children
is on fire right now.
Some are just amused
even though many children
are still inside.
Probably doing shots
and telling tales
such as sailors tell.
For My Beloved
A big lox schmeaaar of the eighties and a big schmeeear of a kiss across your gorgeous thick German lips.
Dear Husband,
Dear Husband,
you are my smarter earth.
You are the smarter earth
which grounded me.
I am Untether now,
the fairy Untether.
only a spider's tendril...
broke loose
on a gorgeous jag
of morning's tooth
which is an ambulance's
giddy cry like mine
without you, now...
*
I am the fairy Untether now
of wind...stop talking...
I say to myself, stop talk....
Go cry some more
into the house floor
I tell myself,
that is is his house,
that is our house.
DEAR HUSBAND,
Husband, please,
you are my smarter earth.
I need to be covered
by you again soon, now.
Please come
bring your smarter earth
home to my weird fields
pulled by fogs constantly.
Please don't fall prey
to men who are spiders
in the fog, and only that.
You are smart earth
and a plow inside me
where my terrible fog settles and ends
with your fertility,
Dear Husband, smarter earth.
you are my smarter earth.
You are the smarter earth
which grounded me.
I am Untether now,
the fairy Untether.
only a spider's tendril...
broke loose
on a gorgeous jag
of morning's tooth
which is an ambulance's
giddy cry like mine
without you, now...
*
I am the fairy Untether now
of wind...stop talking...
I say to myself, stop talk....
Go cry some more
into the house floor
I tell myself,
that is is his house,
that is our house.
DEAR HUSBAND,
Husband, please,
you are my smarter earth.
I need to be covered
by you again soon, now.
Please come
bring your smarter earth
home to my weird fields
pulled by fogs constantly.
Please don't fall prey
to men who are spiders
in the fog, and only that.
You are smart earth
and a plow inside me
where my terrible fog settles and ends
with your fertility,
Dear Husband, smarter earth.
It's Not Okay to Be This Sad. It's Okay to Be This Sad.
Fuck you
if you tell people that.
Only the sad person
knows how sad
he or she
should be.
Only they know
how beautiful
what is missing
from their life
is, was, and will always be.
if you tell people that.
Only the sad person
knows how sad
he or she
should be.
Only they know
how beautiful
what is missing
from their life
is, was, and will always be.
Show and Tell Literature
One theory talks about
Show vs. Tell Writers.
Plath, Berryman, Esenin,
Sexton and Mayakovsky
were great Showers.
To be charitable,
we can refer
to the other writers
as "Growers
not Showers."
Show vs. Tell Writers.
Plath, Berryman, Esenin,
Sexton and Mayakovsky
were great Showers.
To be charitable,
we can refer
to the other writers
as "Growers
not Showers."
Overheard in a Hospital in the Middle of the Night
"I have failed.
"I have failed
at my life
my entire life.
"I have utterly
failed at life.
"Like a sunflower."
"I have failed
at my life
my entire life.
"I have utterly
failed at life.
"Like a sunflower."
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
PLaY 66 BOY MIND route
PLaY 66 BOY MIND route a video by bikriderstar on Flickr.
These are People
These are people I consider geniuses:
Wendy Morgan.
Miller Rodriguez.
I'm just sayin.
You would have noticed that I linked to both their Flickr accounts if you noticed things like that.
Wendy Morgan.
Miller Rodriguez.
I'm just sayin.
You would have noticed that I linked to both their Flickr accounts if you noticed things like that.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Several New Tumblr Blogs Following Mine Today
And this one is fucking wild.
Love it.
"They shoot washing machines, don't they?"
Love it.
Found the Twitter and it indicates: "Installation Urbaine Ephémère."
Paris-based
· blog: lor-k-land.
"They shoot washing machines, don't they?"
Friday, February 15, 2013
Please Help Me
Please help me. I am (dwelling, trapped, dwelling) inside a giant mushroom and I am not sure of how safe it is to come out. My mushroom dwelling has lysergic properties and these I enjoy, so I continue to break off the walls of my house and eat them, even though it is not quite clear where my body ends and the body of my house begins. Possibly they are co-terminous, meaning "the same thing," and I am eating my own lysergic body so PLEASE HELP ME.
It must have struck more than just me that the devices inside which we now spend what is sometimes the majority of our existence and certainly the majority of our thinking existence are very much like the message in a bottle of olden days, that hackneyed literary and filmic device much beloved by the picaresque hack novelists and directors of centuries past--and, of course ,Sting. Sting was basically singing PLEASE HELP ME when he sang "Message in a Bottle." I mean Sir Sting. But then most pop singers sing PLEASE HELP ME over and over all the time, but of course they don't mean it. Flailing is the cottage industry of many a respectable modern man. They usually mean, STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! which many semioticians insist is actually the same thing as PLEASE HELP ME. The deceiving logic in this position is that by looking at the person signaling PLEASE HELP ME you immediately trigger their acknowledgment that your problems are at least as great (if not worse) than theirs, and this triggers the epiphenomenal STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME. Paradoxically, you might have done some good merely by casting your leper's glance in the direction of the PLEASE HELP ME personage, by following them on Twitter or something like that, since you reinforced the notion that they exist, that their pain is real and worthy of attention, which is not even a certain proposition to the person in our pretty metaphysically shaky universe.
Pain and consciousness are often said to be the same thing--usually by this or that persnickety religion. But probably this is wrong. Pain is more likely to exist. The vehicle of pain is much more likely to flicker in and out of existence--half-exist--even as the pain continues like that "bright" and "stedfast" star in the Keats poem. Sometimes you are looking at the sun flickering above your head and you are only the sun's rays. There is none of you left in the looking. If you don't believe me about the precedence of pain over the vehicle of consciousness, tiptoe down the halls of any nursing home or hospice in the middle of the night. BUT PLEASE HELP ME.
The proverbial "cry for help" mostly occurs only in proverbs. People more commonly and conveniently die. PLEASE HELP ME.
Sometimes someone is seeming to enjoy crying out PLEASE HELP ME from the wilderness too much and for that we have The Boy Who Cried Wolf.
Then everybody disbelieves the PLEASE HELP ME of the Boy Who Cried Wolf and the The Boy Who Cried Wolf invariably ends up in county, state or federal prison alongside other Boys Who Cried Wolf.
Except now they are no longer Crying Wolf. They are actual wolves or the wolfened. Wolvened. Whatever. They are wolves and demi-wolves. They fall asleep crying into each other's pelts, which may be hairy or not. PLEASE HELP ME they say to each other, but because the person petitioning for help is in a cage and the person being petitioned is in a cage, the only help available is probably cuddling, a blowjob or anal sex. Of course, these Boys Who Cried Wolf may be women, but same deal. Just different blowholes.
Oh and/or the Bible. Is there for prison consolation. Or the other Bible. Or the other One. Which is filled with beautiful, poetic versions of PLEASE HELP ME.
Just now a bird cried out in the night outside my window and it sounded like PLEASE HELP ME but probably it was the cry of delight that precedes bird-on-bird or bird-on-small mammal murder.
Who am I kidding. My house has no windows. My mushroom house has only one window and I am staring into it right now as I type these words.
You are in my mushroom window.
How attractive and successful you are. (PLEASE HELP ME.)
We
We sometimes had nothing more than married people in the latter years of our marriage.
That wife and husband were respectively thirteen and eight years old but this should not matter.
Crossing a frozen lake, people are often tempted to refer to each other as "monsters," as "monstrous" or refer to each other's great, dying loves as "monstrous, pigeon-toed loves."
Pigeon-breasted loves.
Pick up the other person's pigeon and blow into its beak like you saw in the movie Birdy once.
And you can inflate a pigeon like a balloon.
I do not love you less for your massacres or the things you have written with a purple crayon in the deep, dark, middle of the purple prose night, which always has a deep, dark middle--like a deep, dark lollipop.
Someone attacked me for admiring a meteor today that exploded in the skies over Russia.
It didn't kill anyone but the sonic boom broke thousands of windows and it lit up the earth as though the sun had suddenly turned into a giant piece of aluminum foil some kid was shaking.. The light ran across the Russian cities with their weird Cold War sixties-futuristic architecture like Fountains of Wayne in New Jersey, and nobody really got excited or stepped up their pace on the street.
Somebody yelled "IMPACT!" in Russian into a cell phone, but only once.
Then everybody continued on.
We continue on.
That wife and husband were respectively thirteen and eight years old but this should not matter.
Crossing a frozen lake, people are often tempted to refer to each other as "monsters," as "monstrous" or refer to each other's great, dying loves as "monstrous, pigeon-toed loves."
Pigeon-breasted loves.
Pick up the other person's pigeon and blow into its beak like you saw in the movie Birdy once.
And you can inflate a pigeon like a balloon.
I do not love you less for your massacres or the things you have written with a purple crayon in the deep, dark, middle of the purple prose night, which always has a deep, dark middle--like a deep, dark lollipop.
Someone attacked me for admiring a meteor today that exploded in the skies over Russia.
It didn't kill anyone but the sonic boom broke thousands of windows and it lit up the earth as though the sun had suddenly turned into a giant piece of aluminum foil some kid was shaking.. The light ran across the Russian cities with their weird Cold War sixties-futuristic architecture like Fountains of Wayne in New Jersey, and nobody really got excited or stepped up their pace on the street.
Somebody yelled "IMPACT!" in Russian into a cell phone, but only once.
Then everybody continued on.
We continue on.
No, I'm Not Blogging...But Fucking Amazing...Tunguska Redux, Tunguska Remix...
If you haven't seen the clips of the Russian impact (and you probably have) check this.
Outer space's adaptation of The Tin Drum.
Outer space's adaptation of The Tin Drum.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Working on Book, Talking to Spirits
Must stop photography mania for a short time to bring a book to fruition.
Talking to spirits is exhausting and I have to brush up on my necromantic skills.
Also, I should be exercising more.
So, if you see (see?) quietness here it probably means something good.
If I come back and yakk, it probably means something not good, business as usual.
I count oneironautics as exercise, so sleep will be a big part of my writing/talking process.
I think I want to publish the book under the pseudonym M. Valdemar.
I think it would be fun to publish a series of books all under pseudonyms of Poe character names.
I think I'll go do that now.
Talking to spirits is exhausting and I have to brush up on my necromantic skills.
Also, I should be exercising more.
So, if you see (see?) quietness here it probably means something good.
If I come back and yakk, it probably means something not good, business as usual.
I count oneironautics as exercise, so sleep will be a big part of my writing/talking process.
I think I want to publish the book under the pseudonym M. Valdemar.
I think it would be fun to publish a series of books all under pseudonyms of Poe character names.
I think I'll go do that now.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
I Forget Sometimes that Jason Mraz is There Like God
When even the pope retires, there's still Jason Mraz.
I think it's funny that so many people whom I love really aren't Mrazophiles.
But I'd give the guy my liver if he needed it, even though I'm not sure my liver is "pretty."
According to the most recent tests, it's fine. No idea why it is though. And I'm talking as much if not more about the APA as other things.
But one of those people for whom I am so grateful that it's ridiculous.
I think it's funny that so many people whom I love really aren't Mrazophiles.
But I'd give the guy my liver if he needed it, even though I'm not sure my liver is "pretty."
According to the most recent tests, it's fine. No idea why it is though. And I'm talking as much if not more about the APA as other things.
But one of those people for whom I am so grateful that it's ridiculous.
Crazy Cat Lady's Dream Retirement
I would love to spend my "golden years" on the Japanese island of Tashirojima, which is apparently overrun and owned by stray cats.
I love playing videos of this island really loud so Malkin goes nuts.
This strikes me as an ideal place to die.
The cats would just eat me when I finally collapsed in the middle of the feline wasteland.
Later, when cats become super-intelligent and rule the earth, they will erect a shrine to me as a cat divinity who sacrificed himself for the good of the race.
I love playing videos of this island really loud so Malkin goes nuts.
This strikes me as an ideal place to die.
The cats would just eat me when I finally collapsed in the middle of the feline wasteland.
Later, when cats become super-intelligent and rule the earth, they will erect a shrine to me as a cat divinity who sacrificed himself for the good of the race.
Yay! Madonna is on Instagram!!
Yay! Madonna is on Instagram and posting racy photos of herself drunk and alone.
So now I can replace the void in my life with the void in Madonna's life.
Yay!!
So now I can replace the void in my life with the void in Madonna's life.
Yay!!
Bitchy (But Funny)
is the Tumblr Hot Growlr Mess of the Day.
I imagine finding these is like shooting trout at the very bottom of an iPhone barrel.
Bearsically, just be on there...and you probably qualify....
I imagine finding these is like shooting trout at the very bottom of an iPhone barrel.
Bearsically, just be on there...and you probably qualify....
Malkin Gets Tumblrd More than I Do....
Here he is on another cool site (non-Tumblr) which features some cat humor.
Oh, and Dru is also there! More Dru than Malkin actually!
Thanks for having them!
Oh, and Dru is also there! More Dru than Malkin actually!
Thanks for having them!
Monday, February 11, 2013
My Dad and Sylvia Plath Share the Same Death Day.
Today. I haven't talked to my Mom yet today. We'll mention Dad. Then Sylvia. Then talk about death briefly. Then more pressing matters. I won't tell her my Sylvia Plath joke ("Why did Sylvia Plath cross the road? To get to the other suicide."). Since it's in bad taste...and quite possibly not funny. (It is to me.)
Lynn Shelton's Humpday (2009): Almost Gay Mumblecore
I enjoyed it.
I really enjoyed the director's eye more than the dialogue, although the dialogue was good in places.
I got the impression the one actor was the poor man's Zach Galifianakis.
I couldn't get over how the other main actor looked quite a bit like a younger Raymond Carver (if you changed his hair color). Maybe it was just certain angles, certain expressions.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Bipolars and Fear
I hate my bipolar fear when it hits me, crippling me. I have this horrible sense of fear for like 30 or 35 hours now. I can't even articulate. My partner thinks I'm hallucinating. But things keep happening in my house and I don't know if it's just my cat playing tricks or the occult. Things get moved around in weird places. I don't see them moving (once I did) so it's probably messed up Ambien side effects. But there seems to be a narrative in the object placements. I found this item in my bed that I swear was never in this house before today. It's this creepy yellow finger condom type thing...but no, not that..it's not a finger condom; it's not a gun finger thingie...I can't even get my pinkie in in and it's too stiff. Nobody should have been able to get in this house. Why did I wake with it under my back. Things like this make me think I'm going crazy. One time I woke up with my back all scratched up. I vagueely remember rolling over Malkin that night in Ambien too-deep sleep so I tend to think he was in survival mode. But then I could completely believe I have an incubus or succubus who jumps in my bed as soon as I take the Ambien. ;_) This drug is totally linked to somnambulistic behavir. I think some people have even driven cars while asleep. So I should assume it's all this evil drug (which I need!) I guess. I did a total Lady Macbeth act in the kitchen the other week in the middle of the night. Lee left it the way it was. I had stabbed a container of ice tea repeatedly. I had been rooting with a giant fork in a feng shui fountain. Ambien is a drug which will turn you into Conrad Veidt. I'm not shitting you. But you sleep with the angels once you fall asleep. God bless this evil drug. Book title: I Once Made a Porn Film on Ambien.
Thank God
Thank God I have this wardrobe of dysfunctionality. If I had to wear normal clothes when I felt this dysfunctional, I'd go even more bat-shit crazy than I already am. Dysfunctional people feel much better in dysfunctional clothes. We hate that other shit. I have a love-love relationship with the ugliest fleece sweaters. Everyone may turn on me but that fleece sweater will be my friend to the end.
If People's Mental Illness Were Diagnosed Using a "Planets of the Solar System Scale," My Diagnosis Would Probably Be
a Saturn this week.
I think I was a Jupiter for two years of my life.
I'm hoping to get back to a Neptune diagnosis, but at this point will settle for Uranus (accent on the first syllable, grow up!)
Oh, to be a Mars!
Or a lovely Venus of mental illness!
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Shit I Listened to When I Was a (Very Gay) Teenager
Surprised to find this (probably my favorite Piaf song) wasn't very popular on YouTube.
Basically translated to "Broken Record." A song making fun of hope.
I always saw Piaf as the French Morrissey (before him of course). Or he was the Manchester Piaf.
i still like this song but
how horribly dated does Longo's video look for this New Order video. it's just so there. planted in the eighties. it doesn't even make it into the nineties. not that the 90s were an aesthetic chucklefest.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2x9mfgUsIis
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