December 2010
19 posts
“How many observe Christ’s birthday! How few, his precepts! O! ‘tis...”
– Benjamin Franklin
My guess is that indie rock as a genre will become...
Whichever comes first.
La Chanson du Chandail
Si tu veux de détruire mon chandail
Tiens ce fil tout je m’éloigne
Regarde-moi démêle, je bientôt serai nu
Allongé sur le sol, je me suis défait
Best Society
When I was a child, I thought, Casually, that solitude Never needed to be sought. Something everybody had, Like nakedness, it lay at hand, Not specially right or specially wrong, A plentiful and obvious thing Not at all hard to understand. Then, after twenty, it became At once more difficult to get And more desired - though all the same More undesirable; for what You are alone has, to achieve...
these-paper-walls:
Motion City Soundtrack...
Document1
White. Blank. All quiet on the front. An empty shotgun Aimed squarely at society, Almost deadly. Not quite a blinding sun, but getting there, Getting somewhere, Over there, anywhere, To where I am, or was, or should be. That’s who I am. That’s what this is. It’s burning my retina, burning through, Burn it through, Down and through, through and down and Down, and don’t stop now, Keep going,...
“No poet or novelist wishes he were the only one who ever lived, but most of them...”
– W.H. Auden
We end up with a list of books that tell us more... →
Indeed, it is here that the literary modernists and their pale post-modernist cousins part company—for whatever else the modernists might have been, they labored outside the academy and on behalf of an imaginative reality rigorously tied to what Whitman called the “blob of the pavement.” And if they chastized Arnold Bennett for creating characters who were longer on exterior...
