image via fuckyeahmonique

my brain's the burger
and my heart's the coal
i'm trying to get my head clear
i push things out through my mouth
i get refilled through my ears

i'm on my way to god don't know or even care
my brain's the weak heart
and my heart's the long stairs

on this life that we call home
the years go fast and the days go so slow
the days go
so slow

heart cooks brain
modest mouse

too soon

image: the thrill is gone by scott campbell

i guess i spoke too soon

you had it pretty good
til the end

you didn't really mean that
did you
you could've said anything at all

you didn't really do that
sharon van etten



image: you kill me by james joyce

it's so nice
to see you

dirty little rabbits


you're better not to light that fire

image:alex andreev

what's the matter?
you hurt yourself?
opened your eyes
and there was someone else?

you better learn your lesson yourself
nobody ever has to find out
what's in my mind tonight




image via whatevermakesyoutick

she had wet hair
say what you will
i don't care
i couldn't resist it

wet hair


image: kent rogowski

trying to live on
is so taxing
just stacking up
all those failures and accidents
we've thrown away
on a mountain of mistakes
i've watched in the dark
and counted them all
in the moonless night
i wait for your call

put the days away
sun airway



image: quietglow photography

a feeling
always be my
gonna gonna chase you

loch raven
animal collective


dream it up into you

image: ryan riss

bring your kiss
up to my lips
and better get
the world i get

my bloody valentine


to be continued

when i was younger - like way younger - i used to write stories. they'd continue for wide-ruled page after wide-ruled page in my lisa frank notebooks, blathering about some plot with unnecessarily complex characters and dramatic twists. i loved them dearly, and worked on them whenever i could; in 'free writing' time in 3rd grade english, during math period because i didn't like math, at 10 PM in bed when i was supposed to be asleep. one thing always hindered me though - the details. i never finished any of my stories, and it was always solely because of the abundance of painful details i included because i felt they were absolutely necessary.

without fail, i would exhaust myself writing for pages about them; the exact color of the protagonist's hair, the complete description of their house layout, an excruciating year-by-year explanation of the tragic childhood that led to the present issues at hand. with a cramped hand and a steadily rising loss of attention, i'd either put them aside to finish later (something that never happened) or wrap them up awkwardly in 2 hastily penned sentences summing up the rest of the plot. i now own at least 6 notebooks filled with half-baked stories that are hilarious to re-read, but otherwise meaningless.

i've been thinking that this applies to something much bigger than writing weird stories, though. what if we're all getting caught up in the details, the small things that don't really matter, and just end up complicating our stories beyond any purpose? it's so easy to be strangled by the tiny things that seem so critical in the day-to-day grind, but it's something worth resisting.

when we're done here, our stories should be a crazy, complex, winding road of mistakes, confusion, joy, sadness, and everything else we experience. there will be details - every good story has them - but they shouldn't override the whole gist of it. there's no need for forced endings with all the important stuff crammed in at the last second, and there's no need for our stories to trail off pointlessly.

i guess what this all sums up to is that details are important, but they are details and only details - and i, for one, don't want my story to end up half-finished and meaningless because of them.


no wonder

image: land rich

the cinders,
they splinter
and light the path
and these strange steps
trace us back

yeah yeah yeahs




image via erinbarker

mcallistrum's march
the chieftans

this song will always mean being 5 years old,
safe at home with woolen tights,
a fire on a stone hearth,
and irish music on sundays.



image: me

when i feel like i'm stealing

image: by greedy hen

and an obsession with the past
is like a dead fly
and just a few things are related
to the old times
when we did believe in magic
and we did die

animal collective



image: chad moore

quitters raga
gold panda


the tracks

image: fredericks and mae

you keep your heart open
under glass

i'll be watchin' for you, too.

soiled little filly



i don't have to leave anymore -
what i have is right here.

the xx