today these were two of the images that really hit home...
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
beautiful consistancy
i truly adore miss daniella's blog. every time i go back to it, i find myself re-energized and on a great new course of stellar creativity!
today these were two of the images that really hit home...
today these were two of the images that really hit home...
Thursday, February 11, 2010
how can you feel so alone and so alive...
Summer time and the wind is blowing
outside in lower Chelsea
And I don't know what I'm doing in this city
The sun is always in my eyes
It crashes through the windows
And I'm sleeping on the couch
When I came to visit you
That's when I knew
That I could never have you
I knew that before you did
Still I'm the one who's stupid
And there's this burning
Like there's always been
I've never been so alone
And I've Never been so alive
Visions of you on a motorcycle drive by
The cigarette ash flies in your eyes and you don't mind
you smile
And say the world it doesn't fit with you
I don't believe you
You're so serene
Careening through the universe
Your axis on a tilt
You're guiltless and free
I hope you take a piece of me with you
And there's things I'd like to do
That you don't believe in
I would like to build something
But you'll never see it happen
And there's this burning
Like there's always been
I've never been so alone
And I've I've never been so alive
And there's this burning
There this buring
(yea)
Where's the soul I want to know
New York City is evil
The surface is everything
But I could never do that
Someone would see through that
And this is the last time
We'll be friends again
And I'll get over you
And you'll wonder who I am
And there's this burning,
Just like there's always been
I've never been so alone, alone
And I've, and I've
I've never been so alive
So alive
I go home to the coast it starts to rain
I paddle out on the water
Alone
Taste the salt and taste the pain
I'm not thinking of you again
Summer dies and swells rise
The sun goes down in my eyes
See this rolling wave
Darkly coming
To take me home
And I've never been so alone
And I've never been so alive
outside in lower Chelsea
And I don't know what I'm doing in this city
The sun is always in my eyes
It crashes through the windows
And I'm sleeping on the couch
When I came to visit you
That's when I knew
That I could never have you
I knew that before you did
Still I'm the one who's stupid
And there's this burning
Like there's always been
I've never been so alone
And I've Never been so alive
Visions of you on a motorcycle drive by
The cigarette ash flies in your eyes and you don't mind
you smile
And say the world it doesn't fit with you
I don't believe you
You're so serene
Careening through the universe
Your axis on a tilt
You're guiltless and free
I hope you take a piece of me with you
And there's things I'd like to do
That you don't believe in
I would like to build something
But you'll never see it happen
And there's this burning
Like there's always been
I've never been so alone
And I've I've never been so alive
And there's this burning
There this buring
(yea)
Where's the soul I want to know
New York City is evil
The surface is everything
But I could never do that
Someone would see through that
And this is the last time
We'll be friends again
And I'll get over you
And you'll wonder who I am
And there's this burning,
Just like there's always been
I've never been so alone, alone
And I've, and I've
I've never been so alive
So alive
I go home to the coast it starts to rain
I paddle out on the water
Alone
Taste the salt and taste the pain
I'm not thinking of you again
Summer dies and swells rise
The sun goes down in my eyes
See this rolling wave
Darkly coming
To take me home
And I've never been so alone
And I've never been so alive
Third Eye Blind
damn it greg... i'm so in love
the opposite of a true everlasting unimportance
for years and years my dear sister has preached the genius of j.d. salinger. for the most part her adoration was based on holden caulfield, but then it bleed into salinger as a true artist when she became absorbed in franny and zoey.
being one of those truly obnoxious people who tend to hate everything someone swears i will love, i refused to have any part in appreciating this great american genius. but then, the other day my stubbornness met its match when my much stronger daddy's girl persona entered the picture.
for as long as i can remember, my father has kept an influential stack of magazines, that were always addressed to him, in his basement retreat. my father loves magazines, and if you were to go down every morning after he has left for the day, you would know what he left that morning thinking about based on where he left off in the magazine he left open that day. be it new yorker, vogue or vanity fair, there is always a magazine broken open to some intriguing article.
so the other day i padded down to the basement to put in a load of laundry and found an open new yorker. usually i thumb through each weekly intellectual installment for a solid cartoon giggle, but this time my attention got stuck on the article my father had left off on that morning. salinger had died a week or two before, and while a majority of this edition was devoted to his genius, this particular article will remain, i believe till i die, one of the most moving pieces i have ever read.
written by lillian ross, a long time friend of salinger, it talked about the man he was in terms of the writer he saw everyone else to be. as with most things that truly move you, i can't completely explain why i will always hold ross' words so close to my heart, but i feel that it has something to do with the way she contextualizes some of the genius words of salinger. that, and the fact that it felt to me like a pep talk on how to be the writer i set out to be. do it because you have a story to tell, because the happiness to pass onto the keys is greater than what you expect from the life that others might hand you, i heard him tell me. stop looking to be a mouth piece, and focus on being a story teller. that is what i heard her telling me he would say if i were to ask him for any sort of advice on the profession i have chosen.
in the end, it's that personal attention from the writer that keeps people engaged. people will rarely read something that they don't feel speaks to them, so the trick, which ross so fully achieved is reaching that moment when speaking from your heart, about one of your close friends, calls to some great mass who is then touched by your words and changed into something they weren't sure they could become.
lillian ross, you and your good friend j.d. salinger did that for me, and i will be eternally grateful.
being one of those truly obnoxious people who tend to hate everything someone swears i will love, i refused to have any part in appreciating this great american genius. but then, the other day my stubbornness met its match when my much stronger daddy's girl persona entered the picture.
for as long as i can remember, my father has kept an influential stack of magazines, that were always addressed to him, in his basement retreat. my father loves magazines, and if you were to go down every morning after he has left for the day, you would know what he left that morning thinking about based on where he left off in the magazine he left open that day. be it new yorker, vogue or vanity fair, there is always a magazine broken open to some intriguing article.
so the other day i padded down to the basement to put in a load of laundry and found an open new yorker. usually i thumb through each weekly intellectual installment for a solid cartoon giggle, but this time my attention got stuck on the article my father had left off on that morning. salinger had died a week or two before, and while a majority of this edition was devoted to his genius, this particular article will remain, i believe till i die, one of the most moving pieces i have ever read.
written by lillian ross, a long time friend of salinger, it talked about the man he was in terms of the writer he saw everyone else to be. as with most things that truly move you, i can't completely explain why i will always hold ross' words so close to my heart, but i feel that it has something to do with the way she contextualizes some of the genius words of salinger. that, and the fact that it felt to me like a pep talk on how to be the writer i set out to be. do it because you have a story to tell, because the happiness to pass onto the keys is greater than what you expect from the life that others might hand you, i heard him tell me. stop looking to be a mouth piece, and focus on being a story teller. that is what i heard her telling me he would say if i were to ask him for any sort of advice on the profession i have chosen.
in the end, it's that personal attention from the writer that keeps people engaged. people will rarely read something that they don't feel speaks to them, so the trick, which ross so fully achieved is reaching that moment when speaking from your heart, about one of your close friends, calls to some great mass who is then touched by your words and changed into something they weren't sure they could become.
lillian ross, you and your good friend j.d. salinger did that for me, and i will be eternally grateful.
photo: lillian ross
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
