Laura Marling - Sophia

Laura calls on Sophia, the Hellenic goddess of wisdom, in the first single of her new album, A Creature I Don't Know. The recorded version is fabulous, but I've always been fond of the simplistic beauty produced by the duo of her unique, soothing voice and her acoustic.

Oh, I have been wandering

Where I have been pondering.

Where I've been lately is no concern of yours.

Who's been touching my skin.

Who have I been letting.

Shy and tired eyed am I today.

I'm wounded by dust.

Damien Rice - Cannonball (cover by Chelsea Williams)

It seemed like the perfect Thursday to switch my folky Simon & Patrick back from open G to standard tuning. I guess it's been a while because normal chords didn't come back to me quite as smoothly as I would have hoped. Being able to play this one again - though, admittedly, not nearly as beautifully as Chelsea does - made my day. Here's Chelsea Williams covering Damien Rice's Cannonball. A gorgeous rendition of one of my favorite songs.

There's still a little bit of your ghost, your witness.

There's still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed.

The Most Astounding Fact

 Astrophysicist Dr. Neil DeGrasse Tyson shares what he finds to be the most astounding fact about the universe.

"...when I look up at the night sky and I know that, yes, we are part of this universe, we are in this universe; but, perhaps, more important than both of those facts is that the universe is in us. When I reflect on that fact, I look up - many people feel small because they're small and the universe is big - but I feel big because my atoms came from those stars..."

Perhaps a haiku is fitting:

Admiring stars

Naive selfless entities

Their death creates me.

But, alas, I cannot swim.

It fills my lungs. With each gurgling breath, the water nudges me closer to the reaper's unforgiving embrace. The threat of nonexistence instills insurmountable fear, yet I do nothing to fight it.

I imagine a lifeboat floating my way. It would surely have a light if it were to travel through this thick, vast blackness. The light would flicker off the tips of the mulling waves, reach my eyes, and silently whisper, "You're safe."

My numb body and hopeless eyes strain to catch a glimpse of he who operates the boat. It has to be a he; I've never sacrificed enough for a she to owe me a rescue from such an ominous, dark sea. Choking on that which keeps me afloat, I draw in a water-ridden breath and sputter, "Who's there?"

No answer.

It feels good to relax, but with each tense muscle eased the sea pulls my toes down to the deep. I've always loved the water. I guess it's only fitting that this crime of passion be committed by something so near to my person.

He’s close. The light shines through my eyes and illuminates what little yearning I have to stay afloat. Perhaps the security of the boat will be enough to keep my intrigue with dim waters at bay. Or perhaps I only desire my hand to be held as I am lowered.

I feel the reaper’s piercing stare, yet I am complacent. Am I confused or just sick, twisted, and masochistic?

No answer.

Both ores at rest, the boat stalls. The ripples in the water beckon my chin to rise. The boat tilts as he leans over the edge. The silence dissipates as his warm breath utters my name. He willingly offers his hand. I could be safe.

No answer.

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressable is music. - Aldous Huxley

Laura Marling - Night After Night

Laura's new album, A Creature I Don't Know, took only 3 months to write and a mere 10 days in the studio to record. Though I agree with the buzz word "dark" being thrown around for this album, Laura describes the whole experience as natural and enjoyable. I'm quite fond of her recordings, but I find her live versions to be especially moving. This is Laura Marling performing Night After Night. I'm not sure if it's her maturing guitar style, her transfixing voice, or the honest passion in her writing that freezes both mind and body when I listen. But, in any case, I can't take this one off repeat.

I account to no one, hold nobody's ear.

I sold you my hand once and you hit me in fear.

I dont stand for the devil, I don't whisper in ears.

I stand on the mountains and call people to hear.

I walk slow, I walk slow. Take my hand; help me on my way.

Sometimes I write to unload the accumulation of neglected perceptions and abandoned conjectures commonly known as “feelings”. Words spill out onto the page and somehow fit themselves into a comprehensible conclusion – like a math problem too complex to be completed without paper and pen.

But sometimes I set thoughts in ink for I fear that if spoken to an ear, they would be choked by the breath I’ve taken and lost with the one I must. It’s perplexing that the things I feel most boisterous about are best understood as a melody in total silence.

                    A clutch of the hand. 

                    An unadulterated stare. 

                    A swell of mute comfort loud enough

                    to set two innately restless bodies 

                    entirely at ease.

This is for the winsome light that chases away the shadows cast by worry.

           This is for each time something indefinable
           becomes the brightest minute in the dullest day.

This is for the unspoken solace shared in
composing the silent songs we sing.

Johnny Flynn - Churlish May

Not sure why the mass female youth dote over a fictitious character when they could worship the real thing (minus the whole vampirey bit). Johnny's seemingly innate composition ability and commanding voice - perfectly matched to his lyrical grace - toys with the idea that he may have actually been born in the 16th century. A prodigy of Billy Shakes, perhaps? Either way, this fair skinned, flaxen haired theater-boy/musician sits near the top of my playlist, rubbing shoulders Mumford & Sons.

"Look, I got nothing, don't know where I am;

Got a fist full of questions, not an answer to hand."

Some of modern-day Britain's finest. Yes, that is Ronald Weasley's photo.
And yes, Winston, I still love your banjo and your whimsical folly.

'Round my hometown, memories are fresh; 'round my hometown, the people I've met are the wonders of my world.

I need to write something. Something other than an equation. Something other than words about emissivity or anthropogenic emissions or groundwater seepage. Something I don't have to evaluate and interpret before putting pen to paper or I just might fucking lose it. I hate that I actually can't do everything. I'm still in denial about being Superwoman. There aren't enough hours in a day. Necesito más tiempo. J'ai besoin de plus de temps. Every contemplation is reiterated in two languages - a constant echoing reminder of all the things I'm required to stuff into my head, only to be regurgitated on an exam and forgotten forevermore.

I long for thoughts free of excess noise pollution - the tranquility that is simplicity. I exhale deeply as I close my eyes to shut out brain chatter and beckon forward something, anything soothing. What trickles in isn't made of words strung together and hung outside, but of warm blankets freshly stolen from the dryer. And soon enough, I'm wrapped snugly in tension-muffling memories.

Sunrays hug me from the front and leather seats from behind as the steady, nautical sway of a Caddy lulls me half to sleep. Idling inside is not only the engine, but also the humility illuminated by sharing an observational silence with someone who understands things the majority of people never will. A chilly splash of salty water tugs me from one nostalgic remembrance to the next. I shoot a stare just as cold at the one who dare get my hair wet. Unbeknownst to all, the 30-second state of grumpiness isn’t due to fear of getting wet, but to the low prospect of my locks falling “the pretty way” as they dry. A stern face has never been my favorite mask, but if it gives way to the flash of that smirk trailed by a captivating and triumphant laugh, it will always be worthwhile.

A drafty window from reality disrupts my daydream; the disheartening thought of coming to and facing paragraphs upon paragraphs about the geographical distribution of Phaeocystis blows in and tenses my shoulders. Instead, I willingly digress back into my mollifying reverie.

My head rests on white linen and with sanguine surprise I open sleepy eyes to the familiar weave of a dreamcatcher. The smile that creeps onto my face carries me to another place where the sturdy feel of a hardwood floor slides beneath my sock feet; toe, heel, toe, heel, I slink down the steps towards open arms. A one-sided, closed-mouth grin tells me I’m not the only one who's come to realize that butterflies really do exist in the pits of grown-ups’ stomachs. I shy my head and drop my gaze in an attempt to hide the palpable schoolgirl enchantment. When I look up, I see rho, sigma, and phi back in front of me, but this time the tasks appear a little less daunting. Clearly, lightheartedness is an infectious cure for the pathetic problems of a modern-day mind.

So, here’s a toast to the hope that my uncontrollable giggle-fits will always provoke your smile.

If I'm wrong, I am right; don't need to look no further, this ain't lust.

Cowboy boots in hand, I take the solo sock-foot Burrard Street journey home. I love how your shadow makes me feel so significant, but the swaggering architecture and the vast black waters make me feel so small.

You don't always have to hold your head higher than your heart.

When asked what surprises him the most, the Dalai Lama replied,
"Man... Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived."

Get over your hill and see what you find there, with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

Upon our every return your feet prance up and down
As if the warmth of the hardwood floors suddenly rose sixty degrees.
Seven inches of cottony tail sway and somehow possess
Enough power to oscillate your entire body.
Your head bows forward, your ears bow backwards,
And your voice quivers an overexcited you're back!
As if you thought we’d never return from our
Twenty-minute trip to the grocery store.
If only humans could show such affection
And stop searching for that unattainable perception of possession perfection.
Is the present not good enough?
Life is only complex because we make it so.
Always planning ahead;
You can’t see, let alone appreciate, what’s happening right now
If you’re constantly fixated on the horizon.
Joy is no longer unpretentious.
Crazed is the grown woman playing on the swings.
Senile is the man who can’t bring himself to honestly protest when his child suggests
What if the creatures from fairytales really do exist?
The more questions I hear, the more I believe
That love is the answer to all.
A fervent wag of a tail, a bonk of the nose,
A scratch behind the ear, a hug, a kiss.
You taught me that happiness is so simple if I just allow it to be.
So, hats off to you, little buddy,
And to all of those who trade in the urge to program the impending
For the prospect of frolicking on a playground
Or toying with the possibility that
Maybe, just maybe,
Mermaids really do sing beneath the sea.

Rest in peace, Chancey.

And, my friend, when I am very old, and I no longer enjoy good health, hearing and sight, do not make efforts to keep me going. I am not taken gently. I shall leave this earth knowing with the last breath I draw that I was always safest in your hands.
-Author Unknown

Troll of the Day

Photo cred: memebase.com

Zeitgeist (2007) - Religion

It's funny how when you're supposed to be studying there's always something unbelievably riveting on tv or floating around the interwebs. Then, of course, you get a few hours of true spare time and *poof* the world is so ridiculously boring and you couldn't motivate your way out of a paper bag filled with moldy food. My spare time eats away at my soul; the only time I'm not a waste of human is when I'm supposed to be doing something else. Motivation constantly trolls me and I'm starting to get a bit fed up. But, for now, I'll give in and share a video clip I feel the whole world needs to watch. Hang on every word throughout the 25 minutes, believe me, it's worth it. Religion really is the greatest story ever told.

You went left and I went right as the moon hung proud and bright; you would have loved it here tonight.

It's your birthday again. I'm supposed to be getting ready to celebrate mine tomorrow, but I always find myself thinking about you this time of year. Birthdays, for many people, involve a same sex intoxication pre-game before meeting up with the opposite sex and heading out for the night. Every year I find myself thinking of a list of girls to invite over, and every year my list is capped at one or two - rarely any of which having been in my life for more than a year. It may be true that I've lived in over five cities from the time I was born until now, but I don't think that this is a good enough excuse for my lack of long-term lady friends. I often wonder if you leaving has kept me from savoring any other female friend relationship. I believe I was too young - barely fifteen - at the time to comprehend the significance of having you as a best friend/pseudo older sister or the impact losing you would have on my world. I always wanted to be just like you; you were so sporty, outgoing, smart, and beautiful, and you had an unforgettably bubbly, yet slightly masculine disposition. Even at Children's Hospital - where a strange ghostly skeleton sat in place of your normally healthy and athletic body - in such a paradoxically energetic manner, you told me about sky-diving, having sex for the first time, and finding a boyfriend with the same happy-go-lucky outlook.

I remember your slightly bowed legs. I remember when I got disqualified for false-starting at provincials, you hugged me tight against your navy blue aquablade cat-back suit and told me it was ok until I stopped crying. I remember I introduced you to riding and you fell in love with Castleman, a stocky dappled-grey gelding. I remember not being able to hold back my tears when Pastor Zook's metaphorical story depicted a girl approaching you on a rocky path, taking your hand, and leading you to horses. I remember how we used to scream "HONK HONK BEEP BEEP!" as we ran to the change rooms after practice. I remember watching Armageddon in your basement and breathing the strangely comforting old smell of your house. I remember talking about you finishing school when all of this was over. I remember you talking about taking dumps at school, "When you gotta go, you gotta go!" I remember when you dove weirdly into the pool one practice and came up laugh-squeel-crying that you hurt your tit really bad. I remember being excited to hear you were coming home, then feeling the walls close in when I realized it wasn't because you were getting better. I remember the way you ran all squirrely with your arms straight at your sides when you thought someone was going to slap your ass. I remember what you were wearing the last time I saw you: a black and pink TNA suit you bought in the size you expected to be when you got better. I remember the way you used to stick your tongue out just a little when you laughed. I remember my mom telling me the cancer had won.

I've often been asked why I don't act like most other girls - why I never complain or get uncomfortable in crass conversations or have problems saying what I really mean - and I've never been exactly sure how to answer. But now that I think about it, I act a lot like you. It's almost as if I've kept you alive by taking on your role as a versatile athlete, a big sis, and an all around cool gal; your memory lives inside me and I'm so fortunate to be able to share it with the world.

I miss you. Happy birthday, lovey.

I realize this song is about lovers, but it fell into my hands last night and I can't stop finding subjectively meaningful parallels in the lyrics.

"You were young, I was not old

But our story was not told

But torn apart by greedy hands"

Elton John - Your Song (cover by Ellie Goulding)

Apparently I've gotten soft in my old age. I feel like I should just run with it for a little while; if I make a joke out of it, my embarrassment will fade, right? Anyways, Prince William asked Ellie to perform this song at his and Kate's wedding for their first dance as husband as wife. A picturesque choice, if you ask me. It's enchantingly simple and - perhaps 'therefore' is a better word - undoubtedly timeless.

"I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in words"

A Moment of Irk

I don't often get aggravated, but when I do it's almost always as a result of today's terrible drivers. Call me a driving bigot, but the reason for operating a vehicle on city streets is to get from point A to point B and to make good time in the process. Not only do timid and incompetent drivers get in the way of a capable driver’s journey and overall experience, but they are also one of the biggest hazards on the roads today. High speeds don't kill, shitty unaware drivers do. Almost anything a dreadful driver tries to pull on the road should warrant a license removal, but here are a few major classifications you oblivious idiots need to make yourselves aware of (not that I have any faith in your abilities to change): no reason and no warning brakers, red light rollers, unnecessarily large space leavers, sub-speed-limit crawlers, and tag-team slow drivers.

The first class of shitty driver, the no reason brakers, is one of the most frustrating and most dangerous categories of all. I have to put out a small disclaimer because my lovely mother is in this category: I love you, Mom, I just don't love your driving. The only reason you should brake on a relatively straight road without a speed trap in the direction you are headed, crosswalk with pedestrians crossing, car braking in front of you, emergency vehicle approaching with sirens blaring, red light, stop sign, or yield is if a wild person/animal suicidally leaps out in front of your car. Someone calling your cell, looky-looing at an accident, approaching a bridge/tunnel, reading street/store signs, seeing a silent police car when you are already going the speed limit, or turning to ask your daughter if she's remembered to lock the door are not justified reasons for applying the brakes under ANY circumstances. Now for the "no warning brakers": If someone is behind you and you need to make a turn, change lanes, or pull over USE YOUR FUCKING SIGNAL TO WARN THE PERSON BEHIND YOU BEFORE YOU BRAKE, THAT'S WHAT IT'S THERE FOR! It should be legal to mount a crash bar on the front of your car and rear end the shit out of any and all no warning brakers; if you don't want to be seriously injured, don't drive like a dick.

Now, when I say "red light rollers" I don't mean those who roll forward on a red light in anticipation of it turning green. As long as you time it right, which adept drivers always do, you can begin to roll as the perpendicular road's light turns red so that the transition from stop to go when your light turns green is quick and efficient. Coming to a complete stop at or behind another car at a red light requires one smooth motion of the foot onto the brake pedal. ONLY ONE. This is where I should mention the "unnecessarily large space leavers" because they often go hand in hand with red light rollers. Very little room is needed between the front of your car and rear bumper of the car in front of you and if you're too thick-headed to comprehend why making correct stops is of the utmost importance, let me break down for you: 1) In a decent sized city there is not ample space between intersections and the closer we can line the cars up, the more we can fit between lights, 2) the closer together the cars when the light turns green, the more cars able to get through the light, and 3) doing things right the first time (i.e. not being a red-light roller) avoids the issue of you and ALL of the people behind you having to make corrections - which are even more annoying for those of us who operate manual transmission.

Since I can't wrap my head around the people in the sub-speed-limit and tag-team slow driving category and I'm really quite tired of explaining basic driving commonsense: If you ever find yourself in the left lane of a road, especially a highway, and you’re going the exact same speed as the person beside you in the right lane please sharply turn your wheel farther left, plummet off the road, and kill yourself. Why the fuck did you buy a Porsche if you're going to creep under the speed limit on a bare highway? Are you blind to the line of cars building behind you?  Can you not realize that those who want to go at or above the speed limit CANNOT MOVE BECAUSE YOU’RE IGNORANTLY CRUISING AT THE SAME SPEED AS THE VEHICLE IN THE RIGHT LANE? Switch cars with me; it's so unbelievably embarrassing for you to be passed by a woman in a Kia fucking Rio.

I could go on for days about the annoying antics of modern day's drivers, but you wanna know what really grinds my gears? The fact that complaining isn't going to help anything because it's going to take a lot more than reading an internet rant to change an ignorant driver into a mindful one. The point of this moment of irk wasn't to teach anyone; I don't believe you can teach common sense or spatial awareness. I just needed my own aside to get all this resentment off my chest and to flip a sarcastic and belittling bird to all of you drivers guilty of the afore mentioned sins. If you’re reading this and thinking, "Well I don't do those things, I must be a good driver," don't think for a second that I've forgotten about left turners who barely pull out over the stop line, hindering those behind to also make a left turn on the yellow, or right turners who not only don't understand that a dotted white shoulder is meant for shifting over so that one's break in pace doesn't impede traffic flow, but also find it necessary to make a slight left turn before making the right turn - YOU'RE NOT HAULING A TRAILER, SO HUG THE FUCKING CURB - or those who find it impossible to stay in the middle of a lane. If you've self-diagnosed yourself with one of these driving disorders, I implore you to seek help from a less useless person. If, however, you've pasted a hemisphere mirror on your side-view mirror because you're incapable of shoulder checking properly, you belong in the passenger seat forevermore; for you, there is no hope.

 The Ford Crown Victoria is the biggest troll on the road. If you drive a Victrollia, you're a dick. Photo cred: imgur.com

Jim Jeffries - I Swear to God

Jim Jeffries, born and raised in Sydney, Australia, is one of my favorite vulgarly hilarious comedians. Here is his bit on religion from the "I Swear to God" CD; it is guaranteed to offend many, which obviously means that it's quality material.

"There's a panda. Go fuck the panda!"

Pig Racing

Aaaand the piggies are off! Snout in the air and smile on his face, little Football confindently takes the lead, while Kosher and Porkchop fight over second place... I was recently told that I use the word "cute" too often, but how can one not use it when something like this surfaces on the interwebs?! CUTE. Whose sick idea was it to make pigs so cute, yet bacon so mouthwatering? Some contemptible prick, obviously.

Taylor Mali - What Teachers Make

It's next to impossible to find someone who doesn't recall at least few memorable teachers from their elementary and high school days. For me, it was Mrs. Magon, my high school Math and Chemistry teacher. I remember her teaching methods were always geared towards the provincial exams, her approachability lead entire classes to talk about anything, from the possibility of ghosts to birth control, and her merry mannerisms, articulated by her characteristic lisp, always left me at least somewhat elated as I trudged to my next class. Most of all, however, I remember that her passion for being the best teacher she could possibly be inspired me to see the opportunities education presented me. Bottom line is: teachers make a difference. Here is Taylor Mali, a slam poet and K-12 teacher who lectures all over the world, performing What Teachers Make, the poem that first sparked my interest in the idea of being a teacher.

"I make parents see their children for who they are and who they can be.

You wanna know what I make?

I make kids question, I make 'em criticize, I make 'em apologize and mean it,

I make 'em write, write, write, then I make 'em read, I make 'em spell

Definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful

Over and over again, until they never misspell either one of those words again,

I make 'em show all their work in Math

And then hide it on their final drafts in English,

I make 'em realize that if you got This,

Then you follow This

And if somebody tries to judge you based on what you make,

You give them This.

Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:

I make a goddamn difference,

Now what about you."

Right under my feet is air made of bricks

There are tears in my eyes and I don’t know why. I’m happy, yet sickly at the same time. I feel like I want to run, but I don’t have the courage to get up. What am I afraid of? Getting hurt? Failure?

But screw up your courage to the sticking place and we shall not fail.

I think I’m afraid that I may have found perfection in an extremely unexpected place and in a particularly paradoxical way. I’m afraid I could believe in fate or karma or – gasp – God. It’s just too bizarre to be slapped in the face with a brilliantly gorgeous answer to a whole bunch of questions, asked just days earlier. I’m afraid of the unpredictability of the future. Shut up brain. Start living in the now, or you’ll never really exist.

Too many emotions are crashing against the floodgates of my self-control. I’ve always been so good at keeping everything at bay; my boxes have helped me appear sane. Trying to write with my sister’s eloquently raw emotion seems to bring out more real person feelings than I ever thought I had. Am I starting to care? Should I try and stop?

It’s only been 36 fucking hours, Kelsey. Seriously, hold it together.

Do I need a hug? Have I turned into a disgustingly hopeless romantic or am I just absolutely bat-shit crazy?

I’m doing it again, I’m finding reasons to run, reasons to keep being so apathetic, reasons to not try for something I might actually believe in. I’m a repeat relationship apathy offender with the recidivism rate of a psychopath scoring 40 on the PCL-R. I really need to start believing in the ink under my skin, don’t I. Perhaps the years that have passed since I got tattooed have made me less enthused to try in anything besides school and sports. Or, perhaps, I had to be so indifferent with everyone else so I could find someone like this. No. That’s irrational. Isn’t it?

The more I learn about the world, the more I think that our simple scientific answers aren't capable of explaining everything. Does that apply to this?

Biology explains the how, but love explains the why.

I don’t think I’m good enough. I don’t think I’m intelligent enough. I don’t think I’m pretty enough. I don’t think I’m worldly enough. Christ, am I even a real woman of real substance? Maybe these doubts are just another defense mechanism. Probably so, considering my track record for keeping myself at bay. Therefore, I think it’s finally time to write an authoritative letter (deep breath in):

Dear uncertainties,

You’ve overstayed your welcome; kindly see yourselves to the door.

Sincerely,
Intriguingly Excited

Ok, I'll jump.

Shane Koyczan - Atlantis

It's time the world be well versed in the wonderful world of slam poetry. Shane Koyczan, who grew up a proud Canadian in Penticton, BC, was one of the very first poets to make me fall in love with this diverse genre. The ways in which he weaves his words together always leave me in awe. This gorgeously composed number is called Atlantis. Enjoy the rhythmical creation of beauty.

"This is for every time
Love becomes the finest minute in the darkest hour.
This if for those who scour the streets
Wondering where the wild things went.
For the believers who leant us their madness.
This is for everyone we miss.

And this is for the children who were lost.
Sadness is nothing more than the cost of being able to smile
Once in a while.
And grief is the trial we stand to offer evidence
That your finger prints were left on our hearts
And our skin,

And in terms of proof,
Love can be demonstrated in giving.
Our lives consist of the efforts we give
In swimming towards the lost continent
Where you are rumored to be living."

Gemineye - Penny For Your Thoughts

I can't even give a description for this one. Gemineye, I'll always pretend that you wrote this for me. Enjoy. 

"I want to engage you buy putting a two carat solitaire diamond on your mind

And marrying your every thought."

Pretty Little Boxes

Pretty little boxes constructed so precise.

A muster formation whose identical outward appearances

Encase uniquely convoluted inner machineries,

Spiraling high from undisclosed desires down to

The depths of deep dark not yet deserted secrets.

    Pretty little boxes stacked from floor to ceiling,

    One on top of the other in hopes that the oldest ones

    Will never have to be opened again.

    In hopes that the rate of accumulating neatly assembled piles

    Will equal the rate of cobweb production from corner to corner,

    Keeping each container closed, bolted, and padlocked

    For as long as this house shall live.

Pretty little boxes protect the home from clutter,

But all it takes is one curious guest

To creek open the foreboding attic door and unexpectedly explore

The compilation of possessions that once adorned these walls and floors.

Its curb appeal is renowned in this neighborhood;

A vibrant emerald yard with flowers in its hair

Hugs a welcoming walkway winding to the front door.

It’s quite clear why a curious stranger may find himself caught up in the

Exterior’s inimitable character, from the ageless brick to the

Steeply pitched roofs to the extensive rows of casement windows,

And wonder how far into the structure those

Dramatically delicate Tudor-like half timbers go.

On first step inside, vaulted ceilings give the illusion of ample living space,

But, little does he know, there is only room for one in this house

And as the naïve visitor’s curiosity lands him in the attic,

A place void of the delicate touch of sunlight, he meets her.

Spinning, twisting, intertwining her webs, the tender of the boxes

Graciously greets him tongue-in-cheek,

            “Welcome to my warren,” as she gradually and deliberately

Walks down her weaved web towards him.

    Most shy from her articulately ominous stride and

    Her burnished black body stamped with a telltale bright bloodshot hourglass.

    However, she observes no quivering, cowering, or recoiling from this company.

    Instead, he sanguinely stretches out a long chiseled arm

    And touches the tip of a box draped in alluring spider silk.

            “What’s inside?” he inquires with a tender smile.

She tenses up all eight legs and all eight eyes

And wonders why this wandering pup won’t simply

Pass this grim and dismal dwelling by.

“Won’t you show me?” he coaxes as he cocks his head

And lets his coiled tawny locks flop playfully to one side, “I don’t bite.”

    The irony saddens the shadow sovereign

    Because she knows that once a guest delves inside that cardboard,

    A darkness creeps over her willpower

    And the guest sees light no more.

    Yet, alas, she regretfully unravels the wrapping to let

    The young man kneel down to explore.

Time ticks by as the man gazes
Over what the pretty little boxes have to hide.

And as he stands up to face her,

To express his respect for her timeworn effects,

To earnestly console her secrets without pity or patronization,

To offer a place out of the cold on his sleeve,

Where he wears his heart, and to evince his wishes to share it with her,

She sinks her fangs deep into his flesh.

As quickly as he stood up to embrace her, he crumbles to his death.

She remorsefully wraps her latest casualty,

First cardboard, then silk,

And robotically returns to her throne

A slightly more twisted
And questionably sadistic queen

Of the pretty little boxes she’s built.

Laura Marling ft. Marcus Mumford - Blackberry Stone

Some background info: Laura used to date Charlie Fink, and his band, Noah and the Whale, produced her first album, Alas, I Cannot Swim. Laura and Charlie broke up shortly after, and Noah and the Whale wrote their new album, The First Days of Spring, which eloquently documents Charlie's heartbreak. Laura then teamed up with a new band, Mumford & Sons, to produce her new album, I Speak Because I Can, which includes this rebuttal to one of Charlie's mournful compositions, Hold My Hand as I'm Lowered. Oh, by the way, she's been dating Marcus Mumford since she teamed up with his band, and the line, But I whisper that I love this man, now and for forever, is in reference to him. These two are my power couple; if they were to break up, I think I would be more upset than the both of them combined.

 

"Well I own this field, and I wrote this sky
And I have no reason to reason with you

I'd be sad that I never held your hand as you were lowered, 
But I understand that I'd never let it go
I'd be sad that I never held your hand as you were lowered, 
But I understand that the world does what it does

And you never did learn to let the little things go
And you never did learn to let me be
And you never did learn to let little people grow
And you never did learn how to see

But I whisper that I love this man, now and for forever 
To your soul as it floats out of the window
To the world that you turned your back on
To the world that never really let you be"

Meeting Spanish Banks

The sand scolds my soles.
I run to the water, not for
the fun, but from the
anger of my burning feet
and I meet the cold ocean
with a slight sigh of relief and
I breathe for just a brief
moment, but the thick
salty smell of rotting
seaweed invades my lungs.

I trudge through the

hell-maze of mud, rocks, and shells,

from oozing to slipping to paining

and wonder why I came to this cold ocean.

The sun seems a little too hot

yet, the breeze a little too cold

and as I scrunch my face

to darken the bright light of the sky,

I see him.

A little boy.

A little too fat, a little too pale,

a little too bundled up for such a scorching day,

and a little too timid as he

slowly, tentatively tiptoes towards the mud.

"No," he says, "I won't go!"

And I reluctantly show him a smile

so he knows it's OK.

"You bet it's fun to get

your feet dirty and wet,"

I say through the sweat of my own regret,

"don't be upset, just let the

slime slip-slide beneath your soles,

let the mischievous fingers of the wind

tie impossible knots in your hair.

Sprint without a hint of rhyme, reason, or direction;

do it because you can.

Let the resounding sound of your feet

high-fiving the sand restart your heart

and mold your soul into a part of this

overwhelmingly astounding wide open space."

And I turn to face

my hypocritical self and

sincerely debase and erase every

trace of my misplaced negativity

as I embrace this inconceivably incredible place.

What more could I want

but more of this

crisp air frisking every inch of my form.

I feel dizzy with Disney

because as Jasmine

my eyes are open to this

whole new world taking me wonder by wonder

and as Pocahontas

I want to explore the forest's hidden pine trails,

smell, touch, taste the sun-sweet treats of this Earth,

roll in all the riches all around me,

never pausing to ponder how many

pennies they are worth.

You can't possibly put a price

on this perfect slice of heaven.

I gotta hand it to marvelous Mother Nature's

intricate architectural plan of this land,

woven so grand from

tree to cold sea, to mountain to sky.

It's finally clear to me

that the reason for our

reoccurring rain is Her pride

pouring out in salty tears for this

painfully beautiful geographical masterpiece

Forgive me, Mother, for

I have sinned.

How dare I protest and divest

the very soil with which you've

fabricated this creation.

I vow to wrest it,

wear it with pride,

let it seep in through my skin,

let it broil within my blood,

let it infest my chest

and etch a majestically proud crest into my heart.

Oh City, My City,

into you I have been pressed,

and as your guest I shall hereafter

wear my Sunday best

and when the behest of death

doth rap down my door,

I will journey west to

resign, recede, regress,

and it is in your breast that

I request to silently lay

this head to rest.

The Tallest Man on Earth - Love is All

There's something about one man, one guitar, and one spine chilling voice that gets me every time. Song meanings can be interpreted in many ways, depending on what the listener thinks the artist is trying to express, or how one attributes the lyrics and the feel of the song to the events in their own life. I've always pictured 'the current' (mentioned in the song) to be a life full of constant changes, leading in unforeseen directions, whereas 'the land' is a consistent and certain plan. The other person in the song is being thrown into 'the current' that the songwriter is able to live by, but this person drowns because their goal and comfort is on stable ground. I picture the singer to be someone who searches for love in ever-changing ways (be it many people, or just many experiences), and though he has heard that true love is the ultimate prize for any man, his 'heart has learned to kill' — he feels that it is more in his nature to move on instead of trying to stay with what he has, even if they did have a tangible future together ('future was our skin and now we don't dream anymore'). Yes, I could be totally wrong, and I would love more than anything to talk to my favorite artists about the things they've written. Either way, this song still gives me shivers every single time I listen to it.

"Well I walk upon the river like it's easier than land
Evil's in my pocket and your will is in my hand
Oh, your will is in my hand

And I'll throw it in the current that I stand upon so still
Love is all, from what I've heard, but my heart's learned to kill
Oh, mine has learned to kill

Oh, I said I could rise
From the harness of our goals
Here come the tears
But like always, I let them go
Just let them go."

Let Dreams Be Dreams?

A mirage flickers in the distant dusty desert dunes.
A far away image of my melodramatic fabrication.
A place I imagine arriving at
every hour
of every day
yet, can't screw up my courage to
'that sticking place' and make it happen.

At times it's so near, I fear if I grab it too hard

the shear strength with which I attempt to adhere

will steer it over the edge of a cliff

and down into my deep sea of somber tears.

Maybe if I just stay away,
my imagination's figment, my faultless fragment of fiction,
will remain unchanged.

Is that all it can ever be?

Or is that all I'll ever allow it to be,
waiting six-hundred and sixty miles away.
No. Fuck it. I'll go. I'll show my notions
that they are only that.
I'll set my mind on drive
and push my fears aside.

Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet.

The Latin beneath my skin reminds me not to fret.

If you get the chance to live in a fairytale,
can you stay off in Never Never Land too long?
I guess a dream is only a dream for the short time it is allotted to be.
You either wake up or it turns into a nightmare.
It's always spoiled in one way or another...

But any sentence I start is one you complete,

never an interruption, just carrying the beat.

Are we condemned to take the backseat

and succumb to defeat

only to meet at God's feet

and say, "I wonder why we didn't try."

'Cause I'd wake up every morning

and read the paper across from you

just for an excuse to be in the same

room as you for as many minutes as I possibly can.

Isn't that enough?

Maybe it's too much.

My mind and my heart are out of touch.

Perhaps if they stay as such

the restless wandering eyes of my soul will never meet reality;

they may only ever be able to see

a soft sultry scintillating and unceasingly inaccessible fantasy.

The Tallest Man on Earth - King of Spain

Listened to his music before some new found fabulous friends took me to his concert at the Rickshaw Theater and developed a crush. Attended his concert and fell madly in love. He will always be the tallest man in my eyes.

"I never knew I was a lover,

just 'cause I steal the things you hide,

just 'cause I focus while were dancing,

just 'cause I offered you a ride.

Still I am not from Barcelona,

no, I am not even from Madrid;

I am a native of the North Pole

and I could mess up any kid."

A Blank Page

I stare at this blank page

and it stares right back at me.

Both it and my mind

unblinking, unmoving, not thinking,

just watching, waiting, wondering why

one person possess so many of my thoughts...

There ought to be a reason why

these pages stay white until your

light floods the night in my head,

a reason why I would fight

with ardor and might to keep you safe

and do you right,

a reason why my mood leaps into flight

and stays bright

whenever you enter my sight,

a reason why the touch of your skin,

so soft, sends me soaring through sensual skies,

a reason why I know you'd never leave my side.

People say I'm gonna fall, but

really, I'm just enthralled with

the ease in which you make me smile,

the ease in which something as simple

as the smell of your sweater

erases my fears, makes everything better,

forges a river from my brain

to my hand

to my pen

to this blank page,

now filled with letters.

Mumford & Sons - Sigh No More

Already on a music roll... Might as well go for a hat trick.

There are many more versions out there, but I picked this one because I get the same feeling listening to and watching it that I did when I was at their live shows. Sometimes I get too many shivers and have to pause it, especially when Country Winston starts a playin'.

"But man is a giddy thing. Oh man is a giddy thing.

Love it will not betray you dismay or enslave you,

It will set you free.

Be more like the man you were made to be. 

There is a design an alignment a cry 

of my heart to see the beauty of love as it was made to be."

The Trews - Sing Your Heart Out

These boys are from Nova Scotia, wOOt! And this is one of my favorite songs to play.

"On a night like this, 

life can change with a kiss 

if you don't second guess

and you go with it.

And you sing your heart out,

sing your heart out,

drive them blues away.

Sing your heart out,

sing your heart out,

you've got more to say."

Adele - Hometown Glory

"I like it in the city when two worlds collide; get the people and the government, everybody taking different sides. Shows that we ain't gonna stand shit, shows that we are united, shows that we ain't gonna take it. Shows that we ain't gonna stand shit, shows that we are united."

When the time is right

When the stars align,
Comets will fly.
Take my hand and step into the unknown.
We'll light up the dark
And show the masses that the greatness in man
Lies in his ability to love another
In true color,
Through folly and fortune,
In this body and the next.
My heart's fickle journey has finally come to
Rest.

Mumford & Sons - Lover of the Light

I'd never forgive myself if one of my first few posted weren't about Mumford & Sons. When I found these boys on the interwebs a year or so ago, I wasn't prepared for the connection they would make me feel with not only their music, but also with the music of the bands they lead me to find. Their music is everything I love: powerful lyrics, gorgeous vocals, acoustic guitars, mandolins, banjos, dobros, and, best of all, their recordings are meant to sound like their live shows. Yes, I have seen them live, but knowing each song inside and out could not have prepared me for what I was about to behold. Though my ticket was for the balcony, I snuck into the ground floor area and shoved my way to the front, where I stood in awe for 2 hours and watched the masterpiece of four English men playing their hearts and souls out in a magnificent musical medium I felt was only meant for me. This band is the God that reins over my collection of favorites; some may climb close, but it's hard to reach something so divine. Search youtube for more songs. Enjoy.

While studying...

I guess it's time for something other than cute pictures and videos...
I stumbled upon this in one of the recommended readings for a biopsych course: "Love joins hate, aggression, fear, expansiveness, withdrawal, and so on, in blends designed not to promote the happiness of the individual, but to favor the maximum transmission of the controlling genes" (E. O. Wilson, 1975). If you're feeling sentimental, you may take this as a romantic quote. But what it's really trying to say is that the brain isn't designed to benefit a person's happiness or even health; it was designed to produce the maximum amount of viable offspring (Darwinian fitness). So next time you feel like you're falling and the only thing capable of catching you is the person you're all starry-eyed for, just know it's you're brain's way of saying, "make as many babies as you are capable of raising to puberty, so that they too can trip over the stones of natural selection and unabashedly fall into someone else's arms."

Vervet Monkeys

This video was first brought to my attention in a drug and behavior cognitive psychology class. Interesting fact: These monkeys have approximately the same percentage of occasional, moderate, and problematic drinkers as humans.

Adele - Someone Like You

This song has been stuck in my head for over a week now. I could listen to her all day.

The Fennec Fox

 

Hours of entertainment.

Another future companion.