as ter a cee ee
fully committed cat lady, avid reader, fart school student, photographer. this is my personal blog. my work is located at the tumblr link at the bottom of the page.
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Pho ha! (Taken with instagram)
One hundred years from now when our grandkids have all had sex,
will they look back to the past and know what they’ve missed?
Will they think we had it better than the way they have it then?
Will they gaze at a strip mall where a field had once been?
Will they think they’re born late like the way we now do it?
Or will they curse at the present and lend credence to it?
Will they hear all the old songs and think they’re all true
and hate all their own songs and everything new?
Well I’m here to tell you something that’s known,
from someone who’s lived it from someone who’s grown,
the somebody who somebody once loaned a home to.
The grass is always greener, the past is always cleaner,
the present is crap and everyone’s meaner.
They say we’re moving towards something
but I think we’re moving from something.
There are some folks who are more apathetic
and then there are some folks who are more money grubbin’.
Well, I know there’s always been greed and green acres,
and war and peace makers.
And then there’s your takers and your leavers,
your havers and your needers.
And in this great froth as we skim through the batter,
there’s now many more of the former and less of the latter.
Help us climb out of this pitfall disaster
led by dynasties, charlatans, but not poetasters.
Where there is a mortal disconnect spawned by gluttonous connection,
where you pick your own culture without viewer discretion.
Where there is no more history and nothing is learned.
Where you shun all your kin and all your bridges are burned.
Where you are what you buy and you’re who what you own;
and you think of yourself and you live all alone.
You make yourself feel fine when everything’s wrong.
The world keeps turning but you’re brittle as bone.
So to all you future dreamers and lovers and leavers,
to all those who know there’s still something between us that binds us
and reminds us of times that passed,
I appreciate you listening to this one man’s last gas.
In spite of all the words that we can’t fit to song,
I’d thank you to take off your eye shades, please… sing along.
—jack kerouac
(Source: stilheden, via glitterencrustedbunghole)
![bbook:
Her songs are still extremely autobiographical, which is perhaps their charm. Following in the footsteps of other singer-songwriters, especially women who emerged in the early ’90s and expressed their emotions in particularly vulnerable ways, Apple’s openness has always had an empowering appeal. Her songs seem to suggest that feeling a variety of emotions—sadness, glee, despair, insanity—is not only normal, but, like those self-reflective musicians before her, she also gives permission to her listeners to feel the same way.
Even for Apple, her older songs are relics of another time, and she now makes them applicable to her life in the present. “They all kind of become poems after a while,” she says. “You can take your own meaning out of them. It’s been a very long time [since my first albums], and I can apply those songs to other situations that are more current in my life.” She admits she has changed greatly since she started writing songs in her late teenage years, especially when it comes to how she portrays herself. “I don’t feel comfortable singing the songs that I wrote. I used to blame other people and not take responsibility. I thought I was a total victim trying to look strong.”
And she is much harder on herself in the songs on The Idler Wheel than she ever was before. Sure, she admitted to being “careless with a delicate man” in “Criminal,” arguably her most famous song, and in When the Pawn’s “Mistake” she sang, “Do I wanna do right, of course but / Do I really wanna feel I’m forced to / Answer you, hell no.” On The Idler Wheel, Apple examines her own solitude and neuroses as well as their effect on her relationships with others. “I can love the same man, in the same bed, in the same city,” she sings on “Left Alone,” “But not in the same room, it’s a pity.” On “Jonathan,” a somber love song layered with robotic, mechanical sounds that’s presumably about her ex-boyfriend, author and Bored to Death creator Jonathan Ames, she urges, “Don’t make me explain / Just tolerate my little fist / Tugging at your forest-chest / I don’t want to talk about anything.”
The Long and Winding Road That Leads to Fiona Apple](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4w1plv1Fr1qz7ztxo1_1280.jpg)
Her songs are still extremely autobiographical, which is perhaps their charm. Following in the footsteps of other singer-songwriters, especially women who emerged in the early ’90s and expressed their emotions in particularly vulnerable ways, Apple’s openness has always had an empowering appeal. Her songs seem to suggest that feeling a variety of emotions—sadness, glee, despair, insanity—is not only normal, but, like those self-reflective musicians before her, she also gives permission to her listeners to feel the same way.
Even for Apple, her older songs are relics of another time, and she now makes them applicable to her life in the present. “They all kind of become poems after a while,” she says. “You can take your own meaning out of them. It’s been a very long time [since my first albums], and I can apply those songs to other situations that are more current in my life.” She admits she has changed greatly since she started writing songs in her late teenage years, especially when it comes to how she portrays herself. “I don’t feel comfortable singing the songs that I wrote. I used to blame other people and not take responsibility. I thought I was a total victim trying to look strong.”
And she is much harder on herself in the songs on The Idler Wheel than she ever was before. Sure, she admitted to being “careless with a delicate man” in “Criminal,” arguably her most famous song, and in When the Pawn’s “Mistake” she sang, “Do I wanna do right, of course but / Do I really wanna feel I’m forced to / Answer you, hell no.” On The Idler Wheel, Apple examines her own solitude and neuroses as well as their effect on her relationships with others. “I can love the same man, in the same bed, in the same city,” she sings on “Left Alone,” “But not in the same room, it’s a pity.” On “Jonathan,” a somber love song layered with robotic, mechanical sounds that’s presumably about her ex-boyfriend, author and Bored to Death creator Jonathan Ames, she urges, “Don’t make me explain / Just tolerate my little fist / Tugging at your forest-chest / I don’t want to talk about anything.”
(via loosetiger)
Émile Nelligan, age 20 in 1899. First published at 16, this French-Canadian poet suffered a mental breakdown the same year this photograph was taken. He never recovered.
Submitted by Anna
this is a good blog
Philly beer week! (Taken with Instagram at For Pete’s Sake)
Philly beer week begins: YESSSS (Taken with Instagram at For Pete’s Sake)
Camille Rowe at my studio #4
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