Ryuichi Sakamoto - Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence (an entree to stillness)
(mindless ramblings of unfathomable depth)
if there was a soundtrack for mentally teleporting ones self somewhere in the pacific between capricorn and cancer i think this would be the fourth song maybe
(boston or a day late and a buck short)
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still. Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
-ts eliot
Beauty is a terrible and awful thing! It is terrible because it has not been fathomed, for God sets us nothing but riddles. Here the boundaries meet and all contradictions exist side by side - Dostoevsky
Work?
I don’t have to work.
I don’t have to do nothing
but eat, drink, stay black, and die.
This little old furnished room’s
so small I can’t whip a cat
without getting fur in my mouth
and my landlady’s so old
her features is all run together
and God knows she sure can overcharge-
Which is why I reckon I does
have to work after all.
-langston hughes
‘when i woke up, my mouth tasted like a group of midgets dragged their muddy feet along my tongue all night’ - a client describing the first waking impression of their post super-bowl hang over / a patriotic ryan at boston harbor
the modern outdoorsman in a state midmorning head-throbbing repentance (leisure)
