luce

"When we finished high school, Luce, we knew less than a hummingbirds-wings' amount of anything. We knew less than nothing about nothing. We slow-danced, felt all moon and magnolia, all hip on hip and hot on skin. But we were kids who ate the tinned soup our parents simmered, who spent our summers just—just—just hanging out. I can't count the things we didn't know. Things about working—about the persistence of working—the way it never stops. About really being alone out there. About how you can pack up and leave. Or come back. About what it mans to be poor, Luce. Or, as well, what it's like having money—what it's like to order drinks and appetizers and desserts and just do it.  Lucy, we didn't know. We knew cricket-wing, moth-wing, less than paper. We knew zero. So how the fuck, Luce, did we find each other? That's what I want to know. Luce, I love you and that's what I want to know."

—Sean Michaels; Said the Gramophone

love

"One day we will look at the past with love."

For your mix tape or infinite playlist; file under:
Hope Sound

Listen to the whole Hope Sound mix tape:
http://open.spotify.com/user/1231033109/playlist/2pUTGe6fm6nx326iicnLqQ

wonderlights

[via faith is torment]

all my days

"And even breathing feels all right."

Every now and then shuffle brings this back to the surface, and how it brings its own smile. Discovered a long time ago via Away We Go (which is such a moving film in its own right.)

For today I lie in the grass, and watch—the leaves flare green-into-gold, the sky continuing to search.

you are a detective

This gave me my last smile before sleep—a page taken from How to Be an Explorer of the World: Portable Life Museum by Keri Smith.

[via ffffound via don't touch my moleskine via keri smith.]

we will all be changed

The chorus fills the morning with light.

[via we are fuel you are friends.]

...the gramophone

it is a late sunday, slow. I think I would like to share that I am craning my neck, bent and stooped, staring at the light bulb across the room. from this angle, everything is sloping downwards, maybe a little more silently. no one else could walk into this room—they would be too loud, too tall, too fast. they might enter this space, but find themselves suddenly in the hall, counting all the floorboards, their teeth.

(I really wanted to address the notion a friend put into my thoughts, and here, maybe it kindles the fear. my friend, from the car seat, summer darkness: I would like to see a post you write. And then a translated version, in English.

and I can only say, that this is simply how I have always felt. I know writing is thick with mirrors, and the teenage poets, fucking themselves. but I, am just staring at the wall, and these colours, words that crash, and rooms that fall away, into slowest light. every time I try to explain it, I start to hurt, with this dizziness, and—goddamn—I wish I could paint the thoughts, the voices that take my bones away.

The point, though: I can only feel the way I feel. No games.)

I wanted to share this link, some prose, a conversation, the kind that makes the room bend, makes the light bulb a little slower.

CLICK ME, FOR I AM A LINK! A CONVERSATION!

(Said The Gramophone is one of my favourite little places to drift away with, for prose, and a song. it’s just, pretty and odd.)

the sound of worlds

So my friend Geoff passed this along to me: a collaborative project of music and spoken word. It was something nice, for such a little morning:

http://www.inbflat.net/

swearstopping

I was reading the newspaper today, and stumbled upon an article regarding SwearStop; a week's event to raise awareness for schizophrenia, and help provide a little perspective. can you go a week without using profanities? put your polite words where your mouth is, and give it a go. ;)

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=111330222224554

or, check out the website for more information, and how you can more directly help.

www.swearstop.com.au