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Bons Souvenirs

Listening to Built To Spill’s “Else” on the coldest winter day you’ve ever known. Cartwheels at dusk in the snow. Hot cider fills the gaps in, from hot stovetops where Rudy painted jewels in. 

It was February on a Sunday. Ice broke cars down across three counties. A medicine van was torched in a field. Sad couples were on blue holidays.

In the morning we bought burnt coffee at a gas station and headed east, hearts pounding at car horns and black ice. We’d never felt more alive. Fathers gone. Mothers not. Hearts swelling past the attic.

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I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me? I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world’s food and clothes. I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns. I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand for much plowing.  Terrible storms pass over me. I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted. I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up what I have. And I forget. Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red drops for history to remember. Then—I forget. When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer forget who robbed me last year, who played me for a fool—then there will be no speaker in all the world say the name: “The People," with any fleck of a sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision. The mob—the crowd—the mass—will arrive then.

Carl Sandburg

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Cotton Jones - The Spinning Wheel

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Amen Dunes - Lonely Richard

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"Vladimir Horowitz, the last romantic" 1985

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via +Nick Luckett http://maloneybaloney.tumblr.com/post/80000434535

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Ignacio Torres

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Prisencolinensinainciusol

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Violent Psalms live - Frog Eyes

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Plasma Puff

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Yunfan Tan

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And the unspoken, as we know, tends to strengthen, to mature and grow richer over the years, like an undrunk wine. Of course it may just go to Freudian vinegar. Some thoughts and feelings go to vinegar very quickly, and must be poured out at once. Some go on fermenting in a bottle, and burst out in an explosion of murderous glass shards. But a good, robust, well-corked feeling only gets deeper and more complicated, down in the cellar. The thing is knowing when to uncork it.

- from All Happy Families, The Wave in the Mind, Ursula K. LeGuin

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O (Omicron)

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Taken with instagram

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56 episodes of Star Trek, the full first 2 seasons, simultaneously, and with sound!

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Gateway (Taken with instagram)