March 2012
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Watching The Descendants. Sid is making me very very happy.
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February 2012
55 posts
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Sunflower River Blues by John Fahey, Peter Lang...
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“Books of poems should cost one dollar and fall apart as soon as you read them....”
– Dean Young
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Moonlight
One time in April there was a full moon, and the sea was covered with ice. Sophia woke up and remembered that they had come back to the island and that she had the bed to herself because her mother was dead. The fire was still burning in the stove, and the flames flickered on the ceiling, where the boots were hung up to dry. She climbed down to the floor, which was very cold, and looked out...
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Off to watch Chasing Liberty for the hundredth time because I’m silly and really enjoy that movie.
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Until Now by River Phoenix
there is a light that...
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“But, my dear Sebastian, you can’t seriously believe it all.”
“Can’t I?”
“I mean about Christmas and the star and the three kings and the ox and the ass.”
“Oh yes, I believe that. It’s a lovely idea.”
“But you can’t believe things because they’re a lovely idea.”
“But I do. That’s how I...
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AUDREY: I’ve been doing some research. In real life there is no algebra.
DONNA: Maybe you should run away and join the circus.
AUDREY: Escape! I’ve got a better idea. A tall, dark and handsome stranger falls madly in love with me and takes me away to a life of mystery and international intrigue.
DONNA: You mean that FBI Agent? Dream on.
AUDREY: Maybe. Or maybe he’ll...
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I’m reminded of a very earnest young Italian man who came up to me after a reading in Rome at which I’d read some of my breakup stories. He said to me, with this kind of tragic face, “I don’t understand. You’re reading about people who are going through terrible pain, and everyone in the audience is laughing.” I don’t remember what I said to him, but I’d like to think I said, “Exactly.”
Jonathan...
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The Aurora in My Window by The Polar Dream
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The war, Nuck—the things I did over there. You live in a trench for months on end…killing, the smell of death… Nucky, I’m nothing but a murderer. Do you know how many times I went over the top? They called me a fucking hero, the truth is, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care.
Jimmy Darmody
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BOY: What do you want to be an artist for? I mean, what’s the point of it? Why don’t you just buy a bloody camera and take a bloody photograph and stop giving yourself airs? That’s what I want to know.
CHARLES: I don’t give myself airs.
BOY: Uh, yes, you do. And anyway you haven’t answered my question. Come on! Answer! Answer! Answer!
CHARLES: Because, a camera is...
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mitford:
And what is the word for knowing your bones are made
of midnight?
— B. Hicok
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Tomorrow;
walk to Starbucks for a chai latte and raspberry muffin
watch The Secret Circle
get bus into town; buy groceries, etc.
read Jane Eyre
write something decent
have pumpkin pancakes for dinner
a very quiet day is all I want…
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It’s Only a Paper Moon by Ella Fitzgerald
SCOTT: What I’m getting at, Mike, is that we’re still alive.
MIKE: Yeah, well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?
My Own Private Idaho (1991)
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“I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an...”
– Fernando Pessoa (via glitterdeers)
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Danny (Lonely Blue Boy) by Conway Twitty
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