what if i drew a mouse as a unicorn
i feel like vacuum sealed salami
my dad’s contact photo for me on his phone is a phonebooth filled with snow
when i was a kid, i always hid in the hamper when we played hide and go seek because it was quiet and dark and nobody ever bothered to look for me until they’d found everybody else because they knew exactly where i’d be
i am in the rare state of patient enough to listen to albums in full and i think now would be a good time to tackle the moon & antarctica
Anonymous asked: tips for less dye fade for colored hair?
i am 5 mimosas into a lonely sunday and currently halfway through dark side of the moon (time), looking into why nyc couldn’t see the aurora last night. (the geomagnetic activity never got high enough in relation to our magnetic latitude/kp index IN CASE you’re curious) and honestly why can’t you google that yourself? stop washing your hair so much or get into a cycle of a good wash-out. this isn’t a hair blog, goodbye. <3
so i have to get a root canal.
tried to make an appointment with the endodontist my dentist referred me to, and they couldn’t work me in for two weeks. and they charge $250 for nitrous. i called my dentist back and asked for a different referral so i could get in sooner, and the place they then referred me to a) had a way nicer receptionist, b) fit me in asap, and c) only charges $50 for the nitrous, which is so much more manageable and sets my mind 100% at ease.
so basically there is a conspiracy in referral networking (a $200 difference in something like that just confuses me) and i am not surprised, but i sure am glad i called for a second option.
I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu,
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilist du?
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Öd’ und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying “Stetson!
You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”
“That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?”
i saw room 237 last night. it was alright. i could have done without all the numerology and grasping arbitrarily about stanley kubrick’s personal life, but there were some cool things that i learned within the actual analysis they offered. basically it just made me want to watch the shining again.
tonight i saw spring breakers which was fantastic. go see it. you won’t be disappointed. or vindicated, if that’s what you’re into. it’s a great film.
sigur ros at MSG so fucking psyche dude omg
carlos and i are starting a built to spill cover band, that’s it. that’s the new life project.