snippets.

some nights i think i’ll wake up and you’ll have been right all along. you’ll be...

Wed, 07 Jul 2010 01:40:07 -0700

some nights i think i’ll wake up and you’ll have been right all along. you’ll be the genius… i’ll be blind. clawing at sparkles in dust motes.

when some things, you just can’t let go of.

Sat, 12 Jun 2010 22:49:49 -0700

when some things, you just can’t let go of.

some days everything floating around in my head for months finally pieces itself...

Sun, 25 Apr 2010 20:30:20 -0700

some days everything floating around in my head for months finally pieces itself together.

it’s about quality, not perfection.

stop liking things you’re good at and start liking things you find interesting.

it’s not 700, some days. it’s two, and i’m trapped between them.

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:17:30 -0700

it’s not 700, some days. it’s two, and i’m trapped between them.

“Turning away from the computer I saw through my own narrow window (at least it opened) the...

Wed, 14 Apr 2010 11:20:05 -0700

“Turning away from the computer I saw through my own narrow window (at least it opened) the green, the blue, the flashes. I looked to the clock, the screen, the window. An hour passed, then two. I looked again at the clock and saw it had been only twenty minutes. I willed the second-hand, the minute-hand, the hour-hand to move faster, to deliver me to five o’clock when I would be released as from my prison term. Then suddenly I stopped, struck by the absurdity of wishing away the only thing I’ve got. Eight hours, eighty years, it was all too similar. Would I wish away the years until the day of my retirement, until my time was once again my own? At work I tried to keep busy to make the hours pass quickly. It was no different when watching television, socializing, moving frenetically—there are so many ways to kill time.

I remember staring at the computer screen—light green letters on dark—then at the clock, and finally at my outstretched fingers held a foot in front of my face. And then it dawned on me: selling the hours of my life was no different from selling my fingers one by one. We’ve only so many hours, so many fingers; when they’re gone, they’re gone for good.

I quit work two weeks later—having sold another eighty of my hours—and knew I could never again work a regular job.”

— Derrick Jensen

stop waiting.

Thu, 01 Apr 2010 14:52:10 -0700

stop waiting.

you really have no idea, do you? let’s keep it that way.

Fri, 26 Feb 2010 20:42:57 -0800

you really have no idea, do you?

let’s keep it that way.

Video

Thu, 25 Feb 2010 23:04:03 -0800

i would rewind if the tape weren’t broken.

Fri, 15 Jan 2010 02:12:52 -0800

i would rewind if the tape weren’t broken.

racing through my head, looping like a song that used to be my favorite. i’m sorry. i...

Thu, 14 Jan 2010 03:00:00 -0800

racing through my head, looping like a song that used to be my favorite. i’m sorry. i can’t.

restraint restraint restraint.

(the secret is to pretend you know what you’re doing until you fool even yourself.)

Photo

Thu, 07 Jan 2010 19:34:41 -0800

“Lady Guinevere heard it distinctly, a sharp slap, as if a gauntlet had been thrown, and yet...

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 03:04:18 -0800

“Lady Guinevere heard it distinctly, a sharp slap, as if a gauntlet had been thrown, and yet it was hardly plausible that she, perched delicately on the back of her cantering steed, should be challenged to ride faster, since protocol determined that Arthur should ride in front, then she, then Lancelot, for that was the order prescribed by Merlin, ever since he invented the carousel.”

— in an old email sent to an old friend

run run run away lost lost lost my mind

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 01:02:22 -0800

run run run away

lost lost lost my mind

d, all of the above

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 23:48:23 -0800

you are:
indecisive
apathetic
completely and utterly fooling yourself.

"Because, in the end, no one will ever give a shit who has kept shit ‘real’ except the two or three..."

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 02:34:00 -0800

“

Because, in the end, no one will ever give a shit who has kept shit ‘real’ except the two or three people, sitting in their apartments, bitter and self-devouring, who take it upon themselves to wonder about such things. The keeping real of shit matters to some people, but it does not matter to me. It’s fashion, and I don’t like fashion, because fashion does not matter.

What matters is that you do good work. What matters is that you produce things that are true and will stand. What matters is that the Flaming Lips’s new album is ravishing and I’ve listened to it a thousand times already, sometimes for days on end, and it enriches me and makes me want to save people. What matters is that it will stand forever, long after any narrow-hearted curmudgeons have forgotten their appearance on goddamn 90210. What matters is not the perception, nor the fashion, not who’s up and who’s down, but what someone has done and if they meant it. What matters is that you want to see and make and do, on as grand a scale as you want, regardless of what the tiny voices of tiny people say. Do not be critics, you people, I beg you. I was a critic and I wish I could take it all back because it came from a smelly and ignorant place in me, and spoke with a voice that was all rage and envy. Do not dismiss a book until you have written one, and do not dismiss a movie until you have made one, and do not dismiss a person until you have met them. It is a fuckload of work to be open-minded and generous and understanding and forgiving and accepting, but Christ, that is what matters. What matters is saying yes.

”

- Dave Eggers

i feel my way through the dark and nothing’s ever certain.

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 02:13:59 -0800

i feel my way through the dark

and nothing’s ever certain.

i would give up anything to have you here right now.

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 01:11:32 -0800

i would give up anything to have you here right now.

yes, heaven is thine; but this is a world of sweets and sours; our flowers are...

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 01:19:00 -0800

       yes, heaven is thine; but this
       is a world of sweets and sours;
       our flowers are merely-- flowers,
       and the shadow of thy perfect bliss
       is the sunshine of ours.

[via evoke] stress.

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 17:42:22 -0800

[via evoke]

stress.

it’s not the same. it’s not the same. it’s not the same.

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 21:54:31 -0800

it’s not the same.