ishyface: (Default)
My current favourite song, thanks to [livejournal.com profile] jilly_ma_bean.



And we sing with our heroes thirty-three rounds per minute
We're never going home until the sun says we're finished
And I'll love you forever if I ever love at all
Wild hearts, blue jeans and white t-shirts
With wild hearts, blue jeans and white t-shirts
ishyface: (*beam*)
[livejournal.com profile] kylieq posted something very lovely today about the things she wants. Because I am a self-centered SOB, it made me start thinking about the things I want. And, well, I want a lot.

I want to graduate, first of all, and leave my parents' house sooner rather than later. I want to move someplace in a city that is wide and warm and loves me- I think there are a few different places in the world where I could live and be happy, and I want to try all of them, one by one. I want a few little rooms that I can fill with myself, my words, my music, the things and people that I love. I want pictures and colours. I want to be in a band. I want to write books and stories and nothings. I want to buy a bicycle and ride it on the streets in summer. I want asphalt and old trees. I want to sing. I want late nights spent drinking and late mornings spent dreaming. I want to read about UFOs and poets who lived beautiful lives. I want to wake up at 3AM and hear people making art in the living room. I want to be a librarian, the cool kind that helps kids find the good books their parents don't want them to read. I want a kite. I want to wake up next to somebody who makes me feel safe and strong and happy. I want to hang Chinese lanterns up to catch the wind and nail a horseshoe to my door for luck. I want to dance secret sacred dances in the dark and I want to watch my shadow spin under streetlights. I want to be in and around groups of people who know what it's like to lie in the grass and count the stars. I want paint under my fingernails. I want at least two cats and already have names picked out (Schrodinger and Desperate-For-A-Shag-Giles, Schrodie and Giles for short). I want to be brave. I want more ink and metal in my body, more dye in my hair. I want change, sunshine, rainy days, graffiti bright as bits of wrapping paper. I want to walk down the street and smell bread baking. I want to be the kind of person I'd like to hang out with.

I want to do great things, and I don't want to compromise.

I want a park with flowers in it.
ishyface: (shine)
You know that feeling that you get when you look back at something and see that even though the terrible stuff was terrible, it's not terrible enough to cheapen what it was when it was good? That feeling that you get when you listen to a song that almost hurts but makes you smile too, not because you're bitter but because you're better?

I just got it.

It feels nice.

ishyface: (Default)
If you hate the taste of wine
Why do you drink it till you're blind?
And if you swear that there's no truth and who cares
How come you say it like you're right?
Why are you scared to dream of God
When it's salvation that you want?
You see stars that are clear have been dead for years
But the idea just lives on.


Comments are screened. IP logging is off.

Tell me something. A memory, a secret, something that's been bothering you, your favourite song. Anything you like.
ishyface: (*beam*)
Today when I got off the bus the sun was bright and golden and "Here Comes The Sun" came on my headphones and it smelled like spring and little clouds and I danced uphill through the snow.

And then when I got through the door my little brother enlightened me with this very important fact: "There are no angry lesbians, just happy lesbians and lesbians who like cars a lot."

And now I have tea.

Today passes with flying colours.
ishyface: (think happy thoughts)
Now i lay(with everywhere around)
me(the great dim deep sound
of rain;and of always and of nowhere)and
what a gently welcoming darkestness--

now i lay me down(in a most steep
more than music)feeling that sunlight is
(life and day are)only loaned:whereas
night is given(night and death and the rain

are given;and given is how beautifully snow)

now i lay me down to dream of(nothing
i or any somebody or you
can begin to begin to imagine)

something which nobody may keep.
now i lay me down to dream of Spring

- "Now i lay(with everywhere around)," by ee cummings
ishyface: (*beam*)
On the last day of 2008 I went for a drive with my sister and my father. She had a camera, I had a pen, and he had the wheel of the car.

It was a snowy day. We slipped when we walked.

There's a place called Cape Spear where you can stand on the rocks and look out across the ocean and see England if you squint. There was a high wind and spiders sleeping under the lighthouse, dreaming of summer. The fog was too thick to see the gulls, but we could hear a helicopter miles out to sea. It was a lonely happy sort of place, the kind of place that makes you want to jump off the rocks and turn into a bird.

When we got back into the car we smelt like salt and pollen and lights at night.

I tried to capture the feel of it when I was choosing songs to drive to. I don't know how well I did, though.

U2- Running To Stand Still
Joel Plaskett- Love This Town
The Arcade Fire- Keep The Car Running
Basia Bulat- I Was A Daughter
De Capulet- The Paradigm
The Decemberists- Engine Driver
Wintersleep- Jaws Of Life
Stars- Your Ex-Lover Is Dead
The Killers- Read My Mind
Yeah Yeah Yeahs- Cheated Hearts
Death Cab For Cutie- The Sound Of Settling
Tracy Chapman- Fast Cars
The Used- On My Own
Leonard Cohen- Suzanne
The Sundays- Wild Horses
Wolf Parade- Shine A Light

Later that night Older Sister and I wandered into a sketchy bar with a man playing folk songs and "Drunk Girl" on the jukebox, where they gave us free champagne as the year changed.

Goodbye, 2008. I'm not gonna fucking miss you.

Some things that make me happy right now:

This brilliant insight in John Mayer's songwriting process. I've kind of hated John Mayer ever since that fucking "Daughters" song, but it turns out he's kind of funny! And self-deprecating! "If I can't get the girl why don't I just tell her I'm John Mayer?"

This All-American Rejects sea shanty cover of "Womanizer."

Sir Terrence of Pratchett. :}

The Making Of "America's Suitehearts." Cassadee continues to charm the bejeesus out of me.

[livejournal.com profile] iamsupernova's Suicide Girls picspam. (Not safe for work for reasons of boobies.)

The fact that baby platypi are called "puggles."

Also, I'm about forty pages into House of Leaves and I already want to write something just like it.

(Random question: Does anyone have any pictures of crows, especially sketches/cartoons/paintings/etc? My Google-fu is sadly lacking tonight.)
ishyface: (Default)
Sometimes, when I am at my best and in love with everything, I think that the universe is a beautiful place and bad things only happen because people get confused sometimes and forget how amazing things can be.

Also, sometimes I think I love Colin Meloy more than anyone in the whole world. But that's probably unrelated.

I pass by this store every day on the way to school. I think the most shocking billboard I saw said "stuff my hot pink oven." A+ classy advertising, Strictly Adult!

ETA: Patrick Martin Stump, I have never been as in love with you as I am right this second.
ishyface: (*beam*)
Firefly nights and sweet tea mornings. Fog stealing up on us and sudden. Dark rooms, dark faces. Fireworks past ten and a bloody moon. Long drives home when the perfect song makes getting lost that much better.

It's all so fucking amazing sometimes.
ishyface: (*beam*)
One of my favourite films (maybe even my favourite film, period) is Velvet Goldmine. (If you have known me for less than five minutes this may be news, but even then I doubt it.) I first picked it up four years ago mostly because of Ewan McGregor, and I've worn out my copy since then. It's got everything I require of a good movie- conspiracy theories, glam rock, gay sex, beautiful visuals, Toni Collette being her wonderful self, Oscar Wilde references, apocalyptic visions of the future, and sequins.

Um. I ask a lot of good movies, apparently.

This has always been one of my favourite scenes. Not just from this movie, but from everything. Context sees Christian Bale as a British schoolboy in the seventies and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers as the totally-not-David-Bowie pop star he's recently become obsessed with.



I've felt that way about music- not just about music, but about the people making it. It's a strange thing to be a fan, really, to identify so wholeheartedly with the words and music and art of someone who will probably never meet you. It brings you closer to them and at the same time reminds you of how far you are from this person you idolize. It even fucking hurts sometimes, because you think if I could just tell them, if I could just let them know somehow...

And you can't, really, because there's no way to say "your music changed my life" or "your book makes me want to write" or "your film is the one I come back to, always" and make someone fully understand that you mean it. How much you mean it. Art makes you responsible, and that can be scary- the idea that something that comes from inside you can actually change someone's life, can do for them what it did for you, can feel almost ludicrous from the outside. That's the frustrating aspect of being a fan.

But the rest of it is fucking awesome.

I know there are some people who disagree. They listen to music if it's on the radio, and they watch movies if there's nothing else to do, and they read books if they're stuck in an airport, and at the end of the day they can take it or leave it. I know that, objectively, but I don't really understand it because it's alien to my own experience. Being a fan makes you biased that way. (It even makes you a little self-righteous, sometimes.) Loving something so much it hurts doesn't really make sense from the outside, but it's also one of the most important things in the world. Feeling passionate about something, identifying with something, takes you away from that notion that life is all about eating and sleeping and passing on your genes. Being a fan is about that passion, in the same way that most important things are.

The things that people make have changed my life, and I fucking love that. I love that people have the power to create things that will make people sit up, take them outside the petty, mindless bullshit in everyday life and make them realize that there are whole worlds full of wonderful things and terrible things and beautiful things and twisted things and people like them.

Oh, no, love, you're not alone.

Because that moment where you stand up and you shout "That's me!" matters. It does.
ishyface: (Default)
Last night I was freaking out about pretty much everything. Packing. Exams. The flight home tomorrow. Where I'm going to work this summer. Where I'm going to live next year. It was all swirling around in my head, and it made me dizzy.

I went for a walk. What the hell, it was a clear night, and I had headphones, and I needed to buy some packing tape anyway. Walking calmed me down a little, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

On the way back up the hill I saw the Man in the Moon. I never could when I was a kid- the splotches just looked like splotches. But the older I got the clearer he became, eyes and mouth and nose all coming into focus. He looked more like a woman then, Lady Luna, with her scarf pulled up to her face.

There was a tree jutting out of a snowbank, thick wide hospitable branches low enough for me to swing into- just so- settle onto- just so. I let my feet dangle over the sides and rested my forehead on its trunk, got caught in passing headlights for a second. The branches above me waved and tangled like fine old hands, the moon cradled gently between them. "Cradled," I thought, was a good word, because it was how I felt- carefully rocked, lulled by the world hushing itself. I don't know how long I stayed there. Long enough for the music and the wind and the snow and the road to blend together at the edges like paint. Long enough for it to matter.

I hopped out of the tree and stood beneath it for a second, and walked home, and was calm.
ishyface: (*beam*)
Why is the word pretty so underrated?
In November the leaf is pretty when it falls.
The stream grows deep in the woods after rain.
And in the pretty pool the pike stalks.

He stalks his prey, and this is pretty too,
The prey escapes with an underwater flash.
But not for long, the great has him now.
The pike is a fish who always has his prey

And this is pretty. The water rat is pretty.
His paws are not webbed; he cannot shut his nostrils
As the otter can and the beaver; he is torn between
The land water. Not 'torn,' he does not mind.

The owl hunts in the evening, and it is pretty.
The lake water below him rustles with ice.
There is frost coming from the ground, in the air mist.
All this is pretty; it could not be prettier.

Yes, it could always be prettier, the eye abashes.
It is becoming an eye that cannot see enough,
Out of the wood the eye climbs. This is prettier.
A field in the evening, tilting up.

The field tilts to the sky. Though it is late,
The sky is lighter than the hill field.
All this looks easy, but really, it is extraordinary.
Well, it is extraordinary to be so pretty.

And it is careless, and that is always pretty.
This field, this owl, this pike, this pool are careless.
As Nature is always careless and indifferent.
Who sees, who steps, means nothing, and this is pretty.

So a person can come along like a thief- pretty!
Stealing a look, pinching the sound and feel,
Lick the icicle broken from the bank,
And still say nothing at all, only cry pretty.

Cry pretty, pretty, pretty, and you'll be able
Very soon not even to cry pretty.
And so to be delivered entirely from humanity.
This is prettiest of all, it is very pretty.

- "Pretty," by Stevie Smith.
ishyface: (Default)
"I," she told him, "can believe anything. You have no idea what I can believe."

"Really?"

"I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Munroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen- I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that anti-bacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it is aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it." She stopped, out of breath.

Shadow almost took his hands off the wheel to applaud. Instead he said, "Okay. So if I tell you what I've learned you won't think that I'm a nut."

"Maybe," she said. "Try me."

- American Gods, by Neil Gaiman


That's my favourite thing he's ever written. Maybe my favourite thing anyone's ever written.
ishyface: (feeling soft)
When I look at you, my voice fails me;
My tongue is broken. Through my body
A fire runs, burning, tingling.
My eyes cannot see, my ears hear a roaring noise,
Sweat pours down me, I shiver and shake.
I am paler than grass in autumn.
I feel as if death is close upon me.
I am lost in love.


Stereotype or no, I fucking love Sappho.

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