Stuff

INTERVIEWER: What do you think of the label

"Dear 2am, we've got to stop meeting this way. I'd much rather sleep with you. Love,me."

http://www.incredibox.com/en/#/application

music box

"R.I.P to that girl you called a slut in class today.She's a virgin.The pregnant walking down the street.She got raped.The boy you called lame.He has to work every night to support his family.That girl you pushed down the other day.She's already being abused at home.That girl you called fat.She's starving herself.The old man you made fun of cause ugly scars.He fought for our country.The boy you made fun of for crying.His mom is dying.You think you know them.Guess what? You Don't!"

From what I have heard of love,

People don’t give their heart.

Our heart flies from us,

And we can choose to follow or not.

-- From “Translations”, by Brian Friel.

Never mind, the clouds say

as they drift above her. Never mind.

When you first heard as a child,

you thought they meant

let it go, don't fuss about it,

believing the phrase implied

all would be fine

if you didn't obsess, if you didn't

let things fester.

Time has taught you another

meaning; death has taught you,

loneliness has taught you.

It's never the mind

that gets you close to beauty,

the first and last of things,

or any of the wisdoms you long to know.

There's no word for what can take you there

though it has something to do with the eyes of horses,

the body's workings, whiskers sandpapering across a cheek,

a woman's laugh loud enough to bend a row

of ripening wheat. Who laughed

like that and when? And where were you?

Never mind, never mind,

is it possible the clouds say that,

mindless as they are? All

if you can call them that,

cumulative and shifting shape,

mare's tails, ephemera, fish bones,

a lung bleached of blood,

an inky brain, not thinking,

just folding and refolding all afternoon

long sheets of rain. They never mind.

~ ~ Lorna Crozier

What a wonderful sunny day..seems to be !

"Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled, because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty.

Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things.

We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, to discover what is already there."

Henry Miller, from the book 'Sexus' 

"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions.

You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you.

Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine."

Haruki Murakami

So long summer, here comes winter. :(

"Because to influence a person is to give him one