i’m in love with your brother. what’s his name?

does he know what i do and,
you’ll pass this on, won’t you?
and if i ask him once,
what would he say?
is he willing, can he play?

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move.

i guess the concept of “leaving your comfort zone” isn’t just limited to scenarios where embarrassment would be the worst possible outcome. vulnerability comes in many forms. it can apparently manifest itself as going to a “hip” club with people who aren’t your closest, closest friends.

the issue of choosing between the difficult road and the easy one hasn’t ever been so clear. it was a choice i made before actually considering the meanings of the options, assumingly because it was one my common sense could make in its sleep. hands tied, eyes blindfolded. of course i would go to the club. this was exactly the kind of thing i’d had endless conversations with my own psyche about; grabbing life by its horns, seizing the whatever, making mistakes… giving yourself something to actually learn from.

then it hit me, the temptation of the safe way out. the thought of how easy it would be to just stay at home, the amount of strain that would be spared. frankly, it struck me a bit dumb with its force. to think that it takes such an effort to do something different, when you hold it up against doing nothing. the contrast is palpable.

but, like i said, my common sense was the leader in this operation. the captain of this ship. the ruler. and of course, it knew best. it knew that i’d regret it if i didn’t go, and that i’d realize that fact afterwards. so here i sit, fulfilling the prophecy that my mind made before i had the empirical knowledge to keep up. i went out, i had fun, and even if it wasn’t the most joie de vivre of nights (though believe me, i mean it when i say i had fun), it had something not many other nights of mine have had. it had an air of uncertainty, a sense of unsureness that said: “no, you really aren’t safe. you don’t know what’s going to happen.” and with that came the words: “that means that anything could happen.”

i’ve realized that leaving your comfort zone feels a lot like living. and i do enjoy the notion of living.

världsallt.

translation: “world all”, cosmos.

it’s 4 am, and i’m in my bed, reading aniara. i’m barefoot, my lip is aching and i’m reading aniara. i don’t know when my nights became so restless. then again, i can’t remember a time when they weren’t.

i remember laying in bed when i was little, room darkened. i remember seeing the silhouettes fade and getting fuzzier, and fuzzier, and fuzzier still… i thought i was seeing the sun set. it was really just my eyelids getting heavy. when i opened my eyes, i thought an entire night had passed. i thought the sun had switched shifts with the moon and back again. but when i left my room, i heard the soft murmur of tv sounds turned down. and the light was all wrong. this isn’t the morning sun, i thought confusedly. every time confusedly. go back to sleep, my mother said to me. she always sounded so kind. kind and wise and amused, the way only mothers can sound. and then i crawled back into my bed, and tried again.

these nights, my room is more than silhouettes, because i have a light on. i always have a light on, and i’ve never really questioned why. friends have asked me if i’m afraid of the dark, but i always say no. for once, it isn’t fear. i have a light on because i need to see at night. i need to see the night. i don’t want to be bound in darkness and i don’t have to be limited to sleep anymore.

tumblr_mmxy5trvJK1r9gy0to1_1280i’m in my bed, reading aniara, and i’m struck by how beautiful the swedish language can be sometimes. the sounds tumble softly down the slope of my tongue, occasionally interrupted by sharpness. there’s a rhythm. the tight rounding of an “o”, the roll of an “r”. the hiss of an “s” and the sigh of an “h”. in the hands of the right blacksmith, it can be wrought into the most beautiful of things. even words fantasized can be spun. weaved with phrases prosaic and poetic, creating a silken web glistening with the smallest drops of diamond dew. like aniara.

en revy om människan i tid och rum. a review of man in time and space. a crystal clear voyage in nothingness, navigating through murky despair and self-deceit. what do we have when we’ve been abandoned by the world? what do we do when we’re faced with ourselves? space fascinates me. the void seems so abstract, like something only the deepest parts of our selves can construct, and yet it’s right there. looming over our heads, in a reality of even just three dimensions. stars and gravity. black holes and gas giants. meteors and orbits. dark matter. energy. it’s all so much.

there’s magic in everything. everything.

when i heard the learn’d astronomer

by walt whitman

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

order&chaos/chaos&order

order and chaos have the most dysfunctional of relationships. they’re grey skies, hoarse screams and broken glass. they’re dirt stains, glinting eyes and clutching hands. chaos and order have the most dysfunctional of relationships. they fight all the time, but you never see one without the other. they’re inseparable. 

✿✿✿

Someday I will stop being young and wanting stupid tattoos.
There are 7 people in my house. We each have different genders. I cut my hair over the bathroom sink and everything I own has a hole in it. There is a banner in our living room that says “Love Cats Hate Capitalism.” We sit around the kitchen table and argue about the compost pile and Karl Marx and the necessity of violence when The Rev comes. Whatever the fuck The Rev means.

Every time my best friend laughs I want to grab him by the shoulders and shout “Grow old with me and never kiss me on the mouth!” I want us to spend the next 80 years together eating Doritos and riding bikes. I want to be Oscar the Grouch. I want him and his girlfriend to be Bert and Ernie. I want us to live on Sesame Street and I will park my trash can on their front stoop and we will be friends every day. If I ever seem grouchy it’s just because I am a little afraid of all that fun.

There is a river running through this city I know as well as my own name. It’s the first place I’ve ever called home. I don’t think its poetry to say I’m in love with the water. I don’t think it’s poetry to say I’m in love with the train tracks. I don’t think it’s blasphemy to say I see God in the skyline.

There is always cold beer asking to be slurped on back porches.
There are always crushed packs of Marlboro’s in my back pockets. I have been wearing the same patched-up shorts for 10 days.

Someday I will stop being young and wanting stupid tattoos.

 

by clementine von radics

empathy is not silly.

to cry because you see the teary smile, you hear the shaking voice. she lost the love of her life. it’s right there. the sadness, not tainting the gratitude. the gratitude holding up the sadness. a crutch. to sit there, sobbing, because of the loss that someone else has experienced, someone you know but really don’t. the loss of someone that you’ve experienced, someone you know but really don’t. to clutch your stomach and have to try to keep yourself quiet because of someone else’s pain. i don’t think there’s anything more human. 

they say that this is what makes us superior to other beings. the intensity of which we are able to feel. they also say that the hypersensitivity to emotions is what’s keeping us from reaching our full potential; that we’d have the potential to reach super-intelligence, were our feelings not “getting in the way”. we’d be androids.

to sit in front of a laptop with tears streaming down your face, watching an actress’ acceptance speech at an award for the “teen choice”. to clutch your chest and have to keep the sobs quiet because she dedicates her speech to the love of her life, her co-star in a show that you’ve been watching for years, who’s just passed away. someone you don’t know, but really do. someone else’s pain, your pain. i don’t think there’s anything more human. it’s beautiful. 

les rallizes dénudés

les rallizes dénudés (裸のラリーズ, hadaka no rallizes). a japanese band, active between the years 1967 and 1996.

avant-garde, experimental rock, noise rock, psychedelic rock, garage rock, protopunk, acid rock, folk.

past members: takashi mizutani, takashi kato, takashi tada, moriaki wakabayashi, tsutomu matsumoto, takeshi nakamura, shunichiro shodal, hiroshi nar, fujio yamaguchi, toshirou mimaki, makoto kubota.

formed at kyoto university, after having been a musical theatre troupe. style is typified by simple, repeated bass lines and drum rhythms. shrieking. cacophonous guitar feedback. improvisation. discography nearly exclusively consists of live bootlegs. they never officially released any of their material. lead guitarist/singer takashi mizutani sang in a fabricated “french-beatnik-japanese creole”.

in 1970, original bass player moriaki wakabayashi was involved in the hijacking of japan airlines flight 351. he has been living in north korea since. mizutani was allegedly offered a role, but turned it down. he kept a low profile after the incident.

not much is known about the present lives of the band members.

i want to hold your hand.

it’s really not that happy at all. a plea, melody dejected. desperately upbeat. words saying what lays in the blanks. you’ve spent so much time wanting nothing but to be with this person. you’ve tried so hard to be that person. you’ve seen so many others. you’ve waited so long. and you’ve wanted so much. now you’re just in pain, because no matter how much time passes by, the want doesn’t go away. it just gets stronger. you’re just so sick of it, because why can’t it just be. why can’t you just see. so you’re sad. you’re beaten and bruised. at this point, you don’t feel like there’s anything. nothing left to lose. so as a last effort, you lay it all on the table. you spread your arms, heart bared. and you show yours.

oh yeah, i’ll tell you something. i think you’ll understand when i’ll say that something. i wanna hold your hand. i wanna hold your hand. i wanna hold your hand.
oh please, say to me you’ll let me be your man. and please, say to me you’ll let me hold your hand. i’ll let me hold your hand. i wanna hold your hand.and when i touch you i feel happy inside. it’s such a feeling that my love, i can’t hide. i can’t hide. i can’t hide.

yeah, you’ve got that something. i think you’ll understand when i’ll say that something. i wanna hold your hand. i wanna hold your hand. i wanna hold your hand.

and when i touch you i feel happy inside. it’s such a feeling that my love, i can’t hide. i can’t hide. i can’t hide.

yeah, you’ve got that something. i think you’ll understand when i’ll feel that something. i wanna hold your hand. i wanna hold your hand. i wanna hold your hand. i wanna hold your hand.

said about space.

“i’m coming back in… and it’s the saddest moment of my life.”

ed white, at the conclusion of the first american spacewalk during the gemini 4 mission on 3 june 1965.

——

”i didn’t feel like a giant. i felt very, very small.”

neil armstrong, on looking back at the earth from the moon in july 1969.

——

”when i first looked back at the earth, standing on the moon, i cried.”

alan shepard, about his time on the lunar surface during the apollo 14 mission in february 1971.

——

“there is perhaps no better a demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world.”

carl sagan in time magazine, 9 january 1995, describing the pale blue dot image of earth, taken by the voyager 1 spacecraft 6 billion kilometres away in 1990. 

——

“contact light.”

the first words spoken from the surface of the moon, by buzz aldrin on 20 july 1969 when apollo 11 landed. over six hours later, neil armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface and uttered the immortal line “that’s one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind”.

——

found here

mercy.

forever
(no please not again)

loss changes you
(no no no)
post-mourning fear disorder
(not another one)
will it get better,
(i beg you)
or just worse?
how can it get worse
(no please)
it already feels like death
(no)
what’s worse than death?
(NOPLEASENONONO)
i guess there’s one thing
(not again)
more death.

(please)

to fall for an object.

i often claim that i’ve never been in love, but in reality, i fall in love quite easily. i fall in love with people’s appearances all the time. their smiles, their eyes, their everything. physical attraction strikes me hard, and i’m often left lying on the ground, dazed. but not confused.

does it make me superficial? am i vain for getting so affected by something that is merely on the surface? a picture can stir something deep inside of me. it can make me feel such joy, or sorrow. it can make me shiver, or smile. it can move me. i’m visually inclined, and how is that any different from any other sense? is it any less valid than being brought to tears by a song? than being brought to the past because of a smell?

the appearance of objects, and the compositions of them, affect me. maybe it works the same way with humans. maybe a person is just an object, until i find out what’s inside. is it only when that which lays underneath the surface is brought out, that an object becomes a subject? or is the subject an ever-present fact? maybe it’s in the clothes, the scars and the gaze. maybe the subjective permeates us. maybe it’s what makes us different.

but i mistake the subject for an object. i fall in love with the way someone looks, and ignore the fact that there’s a perspective behind it. i imagine that it’s static, when it’s, in fact, very fluid. and then, when i eventually find out that what i’m feeling such an attraction to isn’t a what, but a who – it ends. the who has never been a who that i’ve fallen in love with. not yet.