My parents’ cat Cinnamon is always trying to help. This video is a few years old at this point, but he’s still the best.
You don’t necessarily have to write to be a poet. Some people work in gas...– Bob Dylan (via fuckyeahbobdylan)
from my shopping list
“Blue cornmeal, iff muffin tins available.” Kill me.
Distorted photo I found on 44th Street.
SEVEN THOUSAND SAMPLES OF EARTH herman de vries’s earth museum The artist (and his beard)
I’m reviewing the latest album by these guys soon. This is the only song of theirs I’ve heard, and it’s like nothing else I’ve heard before. I’m excited, but also scared that I won’t know what to make of it. Here, try some weirdness: Teddybears, “Cho Cha” (feat. Cee-Lo & B52s).
me: how’re you? Oliver: Not bad. Sitting around learning things, watching tennis. Pretty great. Beautiful Russian girls running around in shorts and grunting. It rules! me: that should just be a sport in and of itself beautiful russian girls in shorts grunting Oliver: It is. It’s called mah bed.
Tegan & Sara, “Walking with a Ghost” (acoustic)
thought while eating an apple on the walk back to...
biting past the flesh to the juice of a summer day
This morning, I watched an older man lug a stubborn, beat-up old lounger 3/4 of a block. Then, at a random point, he placed it down and commenced to nap in it.
windowfarms project →
the walk I just took was a bit like this
People smoking on bicycles, people smoking and sauntering onto tennis courts. Dirty coattails of a thought dragging through my mind. Another day sick at work, hopefully the last; mucinex and cough syrup, cough drops, the a-bomb. Scorching outside: when you look at the clouds, they seem to be backing away.
From “We’re Wolf!” by French-Canadian artist Genevieve Elverum, in Drawn & Quarterly’s third showcase. This was beautiful.
I don’t think Jane Lynch spoke on News Corp’s behalf at the D9 conference as a Glee-related publicity stunt (although she’s channeling Sue Sylvester, and I did find the video on Jezebel. I doubt many of the show’s fans were watching and salivating, however). Don’t know how she got away with this, but I fucking love Jane Lynch.
me: blurg. I hate it when I know things’re silly but I can’t help but feel them. STUPID BEING HUMAN it’s not a fair deal at all. An ant isn’t all WHERE’S MY LADY ANT all the time. ~sigh~ Oliver: No, an ant is like walkwalkwalkwalkwalkwalkwalkCRUSHED
Click here and download the album my buddy Ryan... →
“But when Billie Holiday sang “Strange Fruit,” the walls of censorship and fear came down. She sang it with her eyes closed, and the grace of her voice, born to sing that very song, turned it into a hymn. From then on, every black man lynched became more than a strange fruit swinging from a tree, rotting in the sun. Billie, who at age fourteen achieved...