All the troubles that I know, seem to me like little heavy stones,
And all I want to do,
Is slowly push and pull,
'Til they rock, 'til they rock, 'til they rock, 'til they roll.
Tired Pony. Oh my dear sweet beautiful heavenly Jesus. Oh my dear sweet golden Adonis carved by Eros for Zeus himself.
Beats the fuck out of OMG, that, but let us not get cocky.
So, Tired Pony. They're what happens when you put several utterly brilliant songwriters in one room (Gary Lightbody, Iain Archer, Peter "R.E.M" Buck for chrissake) and just let them create for the unyielding hell of it. But the end product is so far from unyielding hell it puts that phrase to shame and makes it all modest and guilty. The Place We Ran From is full to bursting with unexpected surprises, but it never loses its innocent simplicity, and never once does it outstay its welcome. It also sounds like an album, a functioning body of work, rather than a bunch of songs from a bored side-project.
In short, love, love, love, love, fucking love. Sure, let's make it fun- fucking and love.
To you all (:
S.xxx
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Use the Truth as a Weapon, to Beat Up All Your Friends
"Maybe I was born to hold you in these arms."
I should either kill, or thank, Sarahchu for pointing me back in the direction of blogspot. Tumblr is, in fact, a dickbag- the Facebook of blogging, and morally questionable. And just like that, you have my entry for how many trendy modernist web references can you get in one paragraph. A lackluster effort, admittedly.
Today, I had a fight with somebody a part of me wished never, ever to fight with. On top of that, the extent of the damage done came into a view so clear even Stevie Wonder is telling me to turn down the lights. The damage is just that clear. So I shall, in turn, be clear. It's only fair.
I love you both. I love everything about your lives and your family, more perhaps than you, since my vision is clouded and a large part of the story is unseen in these eyes. But nonetheless. The complete unity, loyalty, honesty, and let's once again be clear, love I once had the honour of witnessing floored me the moment I witnessed it. How sickening then, how deeply, deeply pathetic that I gave away my entitlement to be in the presence of such a thing. And that's without even mentioning the nature of that giveaway. I am a fool, simple as.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is a simple sorry. Not one that I expect accepted, or even acknowledged, but just what an apology should be- an expression of remorse. My dad once damned me with the observation that I showed no remorse after deliberate deceit. Maybe he was right, but not in this instance.
Reading back, the worst thing about those last two paragraphs is the fact that, with some small adjustments, they could apply to a large number of the people that had the curse of stepping into my life, and stepping out again.
Dear god, am I turning into my dad after all?
More apologies will come, and a letter to one who asked for it specifically.
Be good, and for the love of the little Spanish boy Jesus, be good,
S.xxx
I should either kill, or thank, Sarahchu for pointing me back in the direction of blogspot. Tumblr is, in fact, a dickbag- the Facebook of blogging, and morally questionable. And just like that, you have my entry for how many trendy modernist web references can you get in one paragraph. A lackluster effort, admittedly.
Today, I had a fight with somebody a part of me wished never, ever to fight with. On top of that, the extent of the damage done came into a view so clear even Stevie Wonder is telling me to turn down the lights. The damage is just that clear. So I shall, in turn, be clear. It's only fair.
I love you both. I love everything about your lives and your family, more perhaps than you, since my vision is clouded and a large part of the story is unseen in these eyes. But nonetheless. The complete unity, loyalty, honesty, and let's once again be clear, love I once had the honour of witnessing floored me the moment I witnessed it. How sickening then, how deeply, deeply pathetic that I gave away my entitlement to be in the presence of such a thing. And that's without even mentioning the nature of that giveaway. I am a fool, simple as.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is a simple sorry. Not one that I expect accepted, or even acknowledged, but just what an apology should be- an expression of remorse. My dad once damned me with the observation that I showed no remorse after deliberate deceit. Maybe he was right, but not in this instance.
Reading back, the worst thing about those last two paragraphs is the fact that, with some small adjustments, they could apply to a large number of the people that had the curse of stepping into my life, and stepping out again.
Dear god, am I turning into my dad after all?
More apologies will come, and a letter to one who asked for it specifically.
Be good, and for the love of the little Spanish boy Jesus, be good,
S.xxx
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)