it's the greatest voyage in the history of plastic
yeah feelin better writin a paper listenin to spektor
yeah
ouai
that has far too many vowels in it.
i found my termbook from fourth year and it made me SO CRAZY NOSTALGIC AND SAD ughh ughh
http://www.npr.org/asxfiles/asc/20061003.asclive.rspektor.asx
AND IT'S THE GREATEST VOYAGE IN THE HISTORY OF PLASTIC
THIS IS SO COMPLETELY UNFOCUSED
go to that website. you will not regret it. go to minute/seconds 7:48 if you dont plan to listen to all of it but want to listen to the part that in my opinion is the best...
life inside the musicbox ain't easy
the mallets and the gears are always turning
and everyone inside the mechanism is yearning to get out
and sing another melody completely
so different from the one they're always singing
i close my eyes and think that i have found me
but then i feel mortality surround me
i want to sing another melody
so different from the one i always sing
but when i do the dishes...
I WILL RUN THE WATER VERY VERY VERY HOT
and then i fill the sink to the top with bubbles of soap
and then i set all the bottlecaps i own afloat!!!
AND IT'S THE GREATEST VOYAGE IN THE HISTORY OF PLASTIC!
and then i...slip my hands in and start to make waves
and then i dip my tongue in and take a taste
it tastes like soap but it doesn't really taste like soap!
and then i lower in my whole mouth and take a gulp!!!
and start to feel mortality surround me
i close my eyes and think that i have found me
but life inside the musicbox ain't easy
the mallets and the gears are always turning
and everyone inside the mechanism is yearning to get out
and sing another melody completely...is yearning to get out
IS YEARNING TO GET OUT
is yearning to get out...
OH MY GOD THEN SHE PLAYS BABY JESUS OH MY GOD REGINA SPEKTOR IS AMAZING, UNBELIEVABLY AMAZING
amen sista gurl
i am in a good mood cuz i have no school and im seeing claire friday and i have all night to write this paper. who cayaz. the night is mothafuckin young
p.s. i discovered t.s. eliots hollow men. i've read wasteland and the love song of j. alfred prufrock and all but never hollow men. and it is so, so, i don't even know a word. i'd have to write a paper. which i'm already doing, whaddya know?! but this paper is on McCarthyism, so yeah. why did i choose that moment for correct capitalization? old joes ghost is haunting me and forcing respect
haha what are you following this at all
YOU KNOW THAT STATUE
that statue of baby jesus?
in the window
in the window of the 99 cent store?
last night i saw the owner kiss it,
and whisper in its ear
i was walking home from walgreens
and he didn't hear me see him!
and on the very very next morning all the subway cars were hallelu-leluin'
hallelujah! welcome back the baby king, the baby king
all the believers they were smiling and winking at each other
i can honestly say i was scared for my life
all the non-believers, they get to eat dirt
and the believers get to spit on their graves!
speaking of, at creepy our lady of mercy school they have a statue of jesus being crucified right when you walk in. terrifying. i suggested we put a statue of a mangled corpse in our school too to show that we MEAN SOME MOTHAFUCKIN BIZNESS
speaking of
the hollow men
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
WONDROUS. PROFOUND. that shit knocks your breath out. yeah i should be a literature critic, look at my excellent wording of my opinion.
oh no
stop wasting time.