Song listening to: Tegan and Sara--"Beauty"
"It is essential to be drunk all the time. That's all: there's no other problem. If you do not want to feel the appalling weight of Time which breaks your shoulders and bends you to the ground, get drunk, and drunk again. What with? Wine, poetry, or being good, please yourself. But get drunk. And if now and then, on the steps of a palace, on the green grass of a ditch, in the glum loneliness of your room, you come to, your drunken state abated or dissolved, ask the wind, ask the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, ask all that runs away, all that groans, all that wheels, all that sings, all that speaks, what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, will tell you: 'It is time to get drunk!' If you do not want to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk, always get drunk! With wine, with poetry or with being good. As you please." Charles Baudelaire, 1866
How can a person not appreciate the smell of dirt on their hands? That arid fresh dirt which can't be seen; thousands of years of life and death, carbon and carcass filling our pores until the next shower. Driving with the windows down, you can feel the breeze challenging you, knowing it could have more power, but letting you enjoy it. Passively moving against your current, it knows this is nature's agreement. Popping my collar for a warm neck, I feel the sand give way beneath my feet as the spider webs clear with each passing step and movement of my cloaked arm. The fog across the water, ripples in the protestant houses and a little brick path to the death of Mr. Offman. As night gives way to day, I give way to sleep and dream of colors melting into a painting. How can we think to capture what we see? How arrogant, with our paintbrshes, to think we know the intricacies of a leaves or the webbed feet and feathers of a duck, of the clouds, of a duck-shaped cloud? And the day hides from evening, each battling for the last inches of the sky above the trees, black in their green envy of the night flowers. Shadows of the everlasting sunlight, charcoal dust leaves juxtapositioned with the purple, gray, white, blue, red, orange, yellow, and all sweeping across with more colors than Crayola can name. #196 was my favorite, and now it sets with the sun above VAB after a long day of classes.
As you may tell, I am in a happier, more agreeable mood than when I generally lift my fingers to you wonderful people. I would like to thank the stunning Rigadoon for an amazing weekend (well, 4 days) in NYC. She has a few pictures up in her blog and an album. There are more pictures floating around, so send me a message if you'd like to see them. I'm going to get some developed today, so many more also on the way--and I will probably put them here.
A happy February 14th to everyone. If you have a person to celebrate it with, then celebrate! celebrate until the stroke of midnight, when the tv ads can no longer make you feel guilty and then...celebrate some more! Celebrate the freedom of that love, wily, on any day of the year! If you do not have a person to celebrate it with, then celebrate it with me, the stars, and whatever makes you happy. Whatever you are passionate about, show you really enjoy it. Why don't you do what makes you happy all the toime? Why do our passions escape us? So today you have an excuse to put things aside for a few hours and let the world pump through your veins. And, at the stroke of the midnight hour, start again! ♥
"It is essential to be drunk all the time. That's all: there's no other problem. If you do not want to feel the appalling weight of Time which breaks your shoulders and bends you to the ground, get drunk, and drunk again. What with? Wine, poetry, or being good, please yourself. But get drunk. And if now and then, on the steps of a palace, on the green grass of a ditch, in the glum loneliness of your room, you come to, your drunken state abated or dissolved, ask the wind, ask the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, ask all that runs away, all that groans, all that wheels, all that sings, all that speaks, what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, will tell you: 'It is time to get drunk!' If you do not want to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk, always get drunk! With wine, with poetry or with being good. As you please." Charles Baudelaire, 1866
How can a person not appreciate the smell of dirt on their hands? That arid fresh dirt which can't be seen; thousands of years of life and death, carbon and carcass filling our pores until the next shower. Driving with the windows down, you can feel the breeze challenging you, knowing it could have more power, but letting you enjoy it. Passively moving against your current, it knows this is nature's agreement. Popping my collar for a warm neck, I feel the sand give way beneath my feet as the spider webs clear with each passing step and movement of my cloaked arm. The fog across the water, ripples in the protestant houses and a little brick path to the death of Mr. Offman. As night gives way to day, I give way to sleep and dream of colors melting into a painting. How can we think to capture what we see? How arrogant, with our paintbrshes, to think we know the intricacies of a leaves or the webbed feet and feathers of a duck, of the clouds, of a duck-shaped cloud? And the day hides from evening, each battling for the last inches of the sky above the trees, black in their green envy of the night flowers. Shadows of the everlasting sunlight, charcoal dust leaves juxtapositioned with the purple, gray, white, blue, red, orange, yellow, and all sweeping across with more colors than Crayola can name. #196 was my favorite, and now it sets with the sun above VAB after a long day of classes.
As you may tell, I am in a happier, more agreeable mood than when I generally lift my fingers to you wonderful people. I would like to thank the stunning Rigadoon for an amazing weekend (well, 4 days) in NYC. She has a few pictures up in her blog and an album. There are more pictures floating around, so send me a message if you'd like to see them. I'm going to get some developed today, so many more also on the way--and I will probably put them here.
A happy February 14th to everyone. If you have a person to celebrate it with, then celebrate! celebrate until the stroke of midnight, when the tv ads can no longer make you feel guilty and then...celebrate some more! Celebrate the freedom of that love, wily, on any day of the year! If you do not have a person to celebrate it with, then celebrate it with me, the stars, and whatever makes you happy. Whatever you are passionate about, show you really enjoy it. Why don't you do what makes you happy all the toime? Why do our passions escape us? So today you have an excuse to put things aside for a few hours and let the world pump through your veins. And, at the stroke of the midnight hour, start again! ♥
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Also, where is the blurb on your profile from? The "Tell me I'm what your hands were made for" bit?