It’s taken me two years to listen to Radiohead again and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready.
There is possibly no more tragic figure in jazz than Charlier Parker, and none more important. His playing helped redefine what jazz is — redefined it by itself — yet he died before that impact could be fully felt. Happy birthday, Bird. And, wherever you are, I hope you’re smiling.
xvii.
Lady, i will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile,shyly obscene
(lady i will
touch you with my mind.)Touch
you,that is all,
lightly and you utterly will become
with infinite ease
the poem which i do not write.
e.e. cummings
Stars
How countlessly they congregate
O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!—
As if with keeness for our fate,
Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at dawn,—
And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.
-Robert Frost
"The mystery of music was the calling card of that pop age. Comic books were equally esoteric, alluding to back issues that would take months to procure, or that simply couldn’t be procured at all. Favorite cartoons would come and go — mid-continuity, plotlines dangling — without explanation. The star receiver of your favorite football team would vanish, leaving you in wonder, until years later when an announcer’s off-hand mention of a tragic car crash brought you up to speed. But the distance between what you knew and what you didn’t was magic, was a shared realm of legitimate fact and fan fictions. It demanded interpretation, completion, creation."
“Instant Music Gratification” by Ta-Nehisi Coates, The New York Times, July 9, 2011 (via hyuninc)
(Source: The New York Times, via hyuninc)
If I could play you a song. I would play you my heart let it beat loud, let it love loud
A Spy in the House of Love
“They fled from the eyes of the world, the singer’s prophetic, harsh, ovarian prologues. Down the rusty bars of ladders to the undergrounds of the night propitious to the first man and woman at the beginning of the world, where there were no words by which to possess each other, no music for serenades, no presents to court with, no tournaments to impress and force a yielding, no secondary instruments, no adornments, necklaces, crowns to subdue, but only one ritual, a joyous, joyous, joyous, joyous impaling of woman on man’s sensual mast.”
It’s time
The sky was full of black birds that day. I looked up and saw black fluttering wings. I saw his eyes as I watched the crows crowd the bright blue sky. It was the final live version of what had happened. The heartache, the lies, the sorrow, the innocence of what was left of us. As they flew by and the sky opened I said goodbye. 
Its raining down on us and I don’t want to move.
Stay with me for a little while.
I look over at you and you’re dreaming of warm waters.
I’m dancing around while the rain fills your mouth until your lips turn blue.
I’m smiling. You’re dying. But it’s raining.
The Boy Who Could See No Colour
I met him in the winter. His hair colors of fall. It was his room full of trees. The leaves became stars, dark stars that one only knows about in time. He said that he was color blind but it was his imagination that had loss the bright yellows and reds. Being near him felt like the sun had beamed a light just for me. I would sit and bask for hours.
