anunrehearsedscene-blog - Tumblr blog

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How wonderful it is, to be silent with someone.

Kurt Tucholsky, from Schloss Gripsholm/Castle Gripsholm (via rainydaysandblankets)

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YAYYY. I will be the happiest clam (on the beach.)

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If our friendship depends on things like space and time, then when we finally overcome space and time, we’ve destroyed our own brotherhood! But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don’t you think that we might see each other once or twice?

Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Richard Bach (via terminill

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I rode beside the train tracks and watched the sun glistening on them, and I would have been glistening, too, if anyone cared to look. But sometimes you just have to be your own eyes. You have to see yourself shining and stop waiting for other eyes to see you.

Martine Murray, How to Make a Bird (via oatsandsparkle

)

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Kurt Vile - On Tour

I like this guy. he makes yesterday feel just as beautiful and faded as 50 years ago.

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breakwater.

Feet bullied the rocks to breathe through the cracks

As bottles underarm were slammed against sharp grey and

Foam blurred the vision

Amber ghosts breaking along stretches of wind

Into high water

While the cold expanded in our ears

A painful burst and oh –

I suppose the canals had flooded

And I was a traitor

A not-so-resilient accomplice to the storm with

Salt crystals clinging to my lips

And the sky

Drumming at your skin with clumsy palms

Me shaking under its grip, wishing

That I was the palm and the sky was the echo.

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Easy

Easy now. Look at me with simple eyes. But not too fast - your lashes sting the skin of my cheek. Soft-burning between some sort of connect-the-dots. I wanted it to be the perfect picture but here I am like a shadow turning in on itself under your gaze. My veins shrink at the sun. But please don't mind, don't go. I want you in the dim corners of these woods. Maybe I would unfurl in the palm of your hand like the plants we found in the meadow when we were young.

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nov. 7th

Something hard nestled up against the inside of my ear

Its shudders reverberated throughout my skull

Until they settled their sharp claws into the bone

Just above the bridge of my nose

And curled around the cartilage

Like the sharp tongue of a snake.

Vision spotted with colourful streams of venom

Figures obscured by an egg-white sheen

Mouth tangled in heavy panting vines.

And still it slept, some half-life creature

Between the space of sound and breath.

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Wish I was a magical creature.

To compensate, I will channel unicornswag all weekend.

That's right, bros:

Unicornswag. One word.

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My life isn't going to play back like the short, beautiful clips of a movie reel. All in sharp focus and perfect angles. No, not that. But there will be small bursts of laughter that fall outside of the screen and get obscured by ugly landscape and sadder days blurred by a heavy sky. And voices will get loud sometimes until everything is cacophonous and the soundtrack is inaudible. It will still be there, though. Those songs will have played. I will have heard them. Here you go, I'll say. Here's my movie. And the critics will hate it but it won't have been edited and it won't be beautiful and it'll be more real than anything that was ever made behind a camera or in my head or some boxed-up room full of black-tie men who pretend they've felt happy enough to burst out and scream when really all they ever felt was the prick of a needle.

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revelation numero unooo: ALL I GOTTA DO IS CHILL MA SHIT.

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adventure in dreams.

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All I want is a city to get lost in. To look into anonymous windows filled with yellow light and see disembodied hands flipping through the pages of some unknown newspaper filled with the stories of people I will never meet face-to-face. I want to walk through dirtied streets that wear the mark of the millions of feet that have passed over them in hurried indifference. But something must breathe beneath the weight of human life.  Perhaps I might place my hands on the heated walls of buildings that grow out of the city like extensions of some great body, and find the distorted limbs of a sleeping giant that could be awakened under my touch.