eddies of the mind

Of Water

2008-09-04T18:23:00.003+03:00

My babies are made of water.
They emerge on the surface as you are having
Dinner.
Quietly, in their liquid attire.
Forget sparks, spit on the power of fire –
My babies are made of water.

Her insignificant nothings tell me
I should ride my own
Horses.
I know using hugs for crutches
Is not what She wants
Of me.

Hey you,
Yes you - if I ran away into the river,
And my pebble-cut hands refused to beckon
For your shadow,
Would you curse me then?
Erase everything that I have been
To you?

Все някога...

2008-09-03T20:36:00.004+03:00

Зеленият вятър на лятно безвремие
Захапа ръцете ми, бързо понесе ме
Над мисли катранени,
Мънистени спомени.

Заех гласа ти за звуците,
Чийто смисъл рисувам по себе си.
Като кожа изсъхнала беля блянове,
Един по един, от сърцето си.

Твърде бледни са, заключвам ги.
Ще ме убият все някога, крехка съм.
Златно, живо, обидено,
Полето крещи под крилете ми.

Best song I''ve heard in a while

2008-08-17T20:22:00.001+03:00

Modest Mouse - The World At Large

Ice-age heat wave, can't complain.
If the world's at large, why should I remain?
Walked away to another plan.
Gonna find another place, maybe one I can stand.
I move on to another day,
to a whole new town with a whole new way.
Went to the porch to have a thought.
Got to the door and again, I couldn't stop.
You don't know where and you don't know when.
But you still got your words and you got your friends.
Walk along to another day.
Work a little harder, work another way.

Well uh-uh baby I ain't got no plan.
We'll float on maybe would you understand?
Gonna float on maybe would you understand?
Well float on maybe would you understand?

The days get shorter and the nights get cold.
I like the autumn but this place is getting old.
I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast.
It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most.
The days get longer and the nights smell green.
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave.

I like songs about drifters - books about the same.
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane.
Walked on off to another spot.
I still haven't gotten anywhere that I want.
Did I want love? Did I need to know?
Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?

The moths beat themselves to death against the lights.
Adding their breeze to the summer nights.
Outside, water like air was great.
I didn't know what I had that day.
Walk a little farther to another plan.
You said that you did, but you didn't understand.

I know that starting over is not what life's about.
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud.

за губенето и намирането

2008-08-14T19:51:00.002+03:00

Оказва се много лесно, губенето. Вътрешно го зная, но стигне ли се до там, винаги се изумявам. Колко е лесно да забравиш кой си. Случват ми се разни работи напоследък, едно след друго се нижат, неприятни...И хоп! Аз губя равновесие и така, едновременно с това, губя лика си. Знам, помня, че има едни неща, чудни, притегателни, които ме викат, които обичам, но те сякаш се разсейват под тежката сянка на другите, лошите неща, които, кой знае защо, все решават да ме посещават на рояци. Четох една статия на Милена Фучеджиева за самоубийствата. Никога не бих дръзнала да отнема сама това, което ми е дадено свише, но който ме познава е наясно, че темата ми е адски интересна. С какво бе интересна статията - ами с това, че жената решава всички проблеми на чувствителната творческа душа с антидепресанти. Пийни един прозак и ще си се намериш много бързо, казва. Не знам...Сега пък ми идва друга мисъл - днес пак обяснявах на любимия си човек колко обичам водата. Може би аз съм като водата - непостоянна.

Липсва ми това сладко усещане на увереност и вътрешен комфорт - да погледна в огледалото и да познавам отражението в него...

Спонтанно

2008-07-17T22:20:00.003+03:00

И ето ме тук, над белия лист.
С вечерната си душа наметната,
Чийто леден атлас, като по каприз,
Пълзи лукаво по раменете ми.

В тъмата мечтите мълчат;
Мислите вият в тъмата.
Като сняг, като сняг пада тихо
Вековният враг над душата,

Вековният враг – Страхът.
Нима не се вцепенявате
От безверие, от реторика, от затворени кръгове,
Нима не трепвате, ти и конят ти?

И ето ме тук, изкусителка. Загадъчна.
Красотата топи се във сенките,
Съвършена, ранена, пословична.
Непостоянна. Простено й е.

Ако имах зелено ъгълче,
Където горски прашец полепва по клепките,
И бурята сменя злите тонове с меките,
Щях да сънувам теб и конят ти,

Само че в спонтанно жълто.

'a new madness...'

2008-07-11T12:51:00.003+03:00

Splash

Charles Bukowski

the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.

a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.

this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.

these words force you
to a new
madness.

you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.

the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.

you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.

Poem of the day

2008-06-20T21:48:00.003+03:00

A Way To Love God
Robert Penn Warren

Here is the shadow of truth, for only the shadow is true.
And the line where the incoming swell from the sunset Pacific
First leans and staggers to break will tell all you need to know
About submarine geography, and your father's death rattle
Provides all biographical data required for the Who's Who of the dead.

I cannot recall what I started to tell you, but at least
I can say how night-long I have lain under the stars and
Heard mountains moan in their sleep. By daylight,
They remember nothing, and go about their lawful occasions
Of not going anywhere except in slow disintegration. At night
They remember, however, that there is something they cannot remember.
So moan. Theirs is the perfected pain of conscience that
Of forgetting the crime, and I hope you have not suffered it. I have.

I do not recall what had burdened my tongue, but urge you
To think on the slug's white belly, how sick-slick and soft,
On the hairiness of stars, silver, silver, while the silence
Blows like wind by, and on the sea's virgin bosom unveiled
To give suck to the wavering serpent of the moon; and,
In the distance, in plaza, piazza, place, platz, and square,
Boot heels, like history being born, on cobbles bang.

Everything seems an echo of something else.

And when, by the hair, the headsman held up the head
Of Mary of Scots, the lips kept on moving,
But without sound. The lips,
They were trying to say something very important.

But I had forgotten to mention an upland
Of wind-tortured stone white in darkness, and tall, but when
No wind, mist gathers, and once on the Sarré at midnight,
I watched the sheep huddling. Their eyes
Stared into nothingness. In that mist-diffused light their eyes
Were stupid and round like the eyes of fat fish in muddy water,
Or of a scholar who has lost faith in his calling.

Their jaws did not move. Shreds
Of dry grass, gray in the gray mist-light, hung
From the side of a jaw, unmoving.

You would think that nothing would ever again happen.

That may be a way to love God.

Twilight

2008-06-06T16:19:00.009+03:00

The rose bushes beyond high,
Knee-deep grass around the gate, as I
Spun around my feet and I
Walked right through into death’s domain.
Surprisingly warm, surprisingly calm,
The wonder of daylight invited itself
Through windows that have not creaked
For months, months, it has been months
Since life stirred the dust off their wooden frames.

Opened the ebony lid to reveal
The golden print on the inside, so I could feel
The ivory keys which have now harbored,
In exchange for nothing, but slow deterioration,
A dangerous tenant. A moth.
My hand fell steady
On familiar matter, as beloved letters,
Forming words in my head, gave way to music,
And its power subdued their threatening drums.
Fingers carried me through lands of passion
Where I loved like the girl that I was,
Soared like the girl that I was,
Enticed souls, like the girl that I was
And am now not.

The mirror is covered, still.
I believe not that he is still
Here. Though ‘here’ is nothing more
Than a game of mind.
Like these spells of joy
And these bouts of fright
We call ‘time’.
I never felt I possessed much
Of this special substance
That stretches forever
But not quite.
Journey with me to the lands of passion,
Hold my waist as I turn all of my pain
Into sound
And shriek it away.
But you do not
And did not
Come that day…

Sometimes my voice happens.
It does not come by will. It happens.
They have changed, the days.
The days of you and I are shorter, more common.
They are, in fact, brimming
With common sense, (how ghastly the shadow it casts down on love)
And residues of illusion. And aloneness. And transmogrified visions
Of images we used to be.
Through the motions we go, the unraveling flows
On, unstopped, carrying away our souls,
The white lines of hollow hearts glow,
Grow
Apart…
Then all fades, amalgamates
Into twilight and its caress.
My hands do things on their own
On the keys whose ivory bleeds
Under the weight of my dreams
Of yesterday,
Of a better day.
Please pray for my
Voice to happen...

Ghosts on the Wall

2008-06-05T13:56:00.002+03:00

Give me your hand, for I
Fear not your matter,
Fear not your reproach,
Fear only your absence.
Raise the voice of violins,
Toss me into the breeze,
Roll me over the reed,
Rob me of my creed,
But give me your hand. For I
Fear not your shape,
Fear not your thoughts,
Fear only your absence...

Красиви тела

2008-06-02T12:17:00.002+03:00

Знам, че се играе отдавна, но ако случайно не сте гледали още тази пиеса може да си подарите една такава вечер-бижу в Драматичния с тези шест страшно забавни, мъничко луди, трогателни дами, преди да е свършил сезонът. После ще си тананикате весело по улицата и ще се смеете с глас, докато си припомняте части от невероятно свежия диалог...и ще се чувствате странно удобно в кожата си на жена...:).

цветя и театър...

2008-05-27T17:49:00.006+03:00

Тези дни на хората около мен се случват неща от по-тъмната тоналност…и това ме кара да поспра за миг, да затворя очи, и да благодаря на силата, която е над мен…въпреки всички малки и големи лични неволи, които често ми тежат или прогонват съня ми, аз съм добре…и това не е, никак не е малко.

Вчера вечерта ми се случи нещо много странно – бях на театър и си тръгнах по време на антракта. Странно е, защото аз обожавам да ходя на театър. Докато траеха двата часа на пиесата - „Укротяване на опърничавата” в Сатиричния театър - си мислех: дали в мен има нещо сбъркано, глупава ли съм, тесногръда ли съм, че така ме разочарова това представление? Накрая достигнах до заключението, че не съм нито едно от изброените, просто постановката на Мариус Курински този път не е така добра. Дори играта на Камен Донев не успява да спаси поне малка частица от този хаос от движения и крясъци, който се разпилява по сцената. Наистина, бях очарована от „Рибарят и неговата душа”, както и от „С любовта шега не бива”, но последната работа на талантливия за мен Куркински…съжалявам, Мариус, обаче чалга културата присъства твърде осезателно в твоята версия на пиесата…знам, че ни казваш нещо с това, знам, че идеята ти не е никак лоша по принцип, но можеше поне да напишеш „Укротяване на опърничавата” – прочит на Мариус Куркински” на афиша, а не „Укротяване на опърничавата" от Уилям Шекспир”, за да може хора като мен да не се объркват и да не влизат в залата или ако влязат да знаят, че няма да гледат Шекспир =).

Днес планът ми включва „Събота, неделя, понеделник“ в театъра на армията…което, сигурна съм, ще ми оправи лошия вкус в душата, останал от снощи. А и най-накрая ще видя Леонид Йовчев в действие. Изобщо, седмицата е театрална, а моето най-мило цветенце е цъфнало и аз съм едно щастливо и благодарно същество…

Light.

2008-05-19T13:01:00.004+03:00

An early morning conversation about fireflies has got me thinking today...I do believe that we have come here in this world with a destiny to fulfill. And when we stray from it, our hearts begin to weep - silently at first, then the cry becomes louder and louder until even your body begins to fail you. A sign that you should remember, that your feet should not go too far from the path that is yours. I feel funny lately, sad one minute, elated the next. I feel younger than I really am - a little girl with wide eyes, perceiving the world as if for the first time. And the more I think about life, the more I know that I would not like to burn out and fade into an existence that my heart does not recognize as its own. I have a special person to thank for today's fireflies conversation and for always helping me find my faith. Thank you, dearest one.

***

The World

A man from a town of Negua, on the coast of

Colombia, could climb into the sky.

On his return, he described his trip. He told how

he had contemplated human life from on high.

He said we are a sea of tiny flames.

Each person shines with his or her own light.

No two flames are alike. There are big flames and

little flames, flames of every color. Some people's

flames are so still they don't even flicker in the

wind while others have wild flames that fill the air

with sparks. Some foolish flames neither burn nor

shed light, but others blaze with life so fiercely

that you can't look at them without blinking and if

you approach, you shine in fire.

~ Eduardo Galeano

He Asked Me About My Mind

2008-05-04T17:19:00.011+03:00

The boulevards were pure color,
Leaking one into another,
The thought crossed my mind:
I was fuller than the fullest heart that night.
The span of time I bargained for another,
Yet another, still another, the sun rose and fell,
Cinders, ashes, my shoes in patches
Of city dirt,
My every chapel rises from these slates upon the pavement,
But for the biggest one, in the very center,
And there I entered, green, elated.

It was velvet dusk. It was then I almost slipped
Into the double, she loves her fun, the double,
Helter-skelter, untroubled
By what the day ahead demands…
The river and wine ran on, her time
Was on, her ankles bare under the skirt,
Long,
The bridge is a ghost-hologram
Of parties described in Galsworthy’s books
And she trembled with pleasure and shook
The cherry blossoms off her hair,
Though they lent her a perfect bloom, resting there.
She left me then,
I was the other one, again.

We wasted some good time, sitting under mid-day shine…
Your storm was rising towards me,
Rushing to swirl me, to crush me
To bits. You clenched your teeth.
I crawled in my heart and prayed with all might
To fly away, a thrush, a robin, a swallow,
Fly over in any shape, just not followed
By this storm whose silence stung.
Forebodings rung
In my head.
We took a breath…the clouds began to melt.
But the ringing echoed…
The fear stayed.

He asked me about my mind,
We were shuffling along
Among the other drones,
I do not know my mind, I said;
He laughed.
Mornings vary greatly,
But a garden helps,
I said, a garden grown inside you.
Plant and water and tend to the flowers,
I know my mind not, but I know that it suffers,
When I neglect my garden.
And it is not so much the mind,
The pangs come from elsewhere,
This mind you ask after, it resonates only
What is born deep within our deepest chasms.
But enough of this talk, behold – the lime trees
Are beyond beautiful this year,
Let us name them the reason
For our good spirits, today.
The poet sighed his little sigh and looked
At me,
His blue shirt smiling at the bulging clouds.
It started to rain…
The scent of lime trees sliced through city air in waves…

She was beautiful,
They said so.
You said so…
So tell me how you leave
Your creation
To roam around without an armor
For protection
And wonder why she’s scarred unlike the others
Who say she is so beautiful.
But then again, we all have paths
To follow,
God speed you on your way,
Until you meet some distant day
And both averting eyes the other way,
Try picking up the threads
From where you left
Them, these bloody threads, hanging.
But don’t be depending
On her to hand you your bravery
On a silver platter,
When she shall hardly find her own,
Upon that day’s arrival.

This stone circle is so damn round,
So damn closed, this circle is.
It seems my ashes are waiting
Here somewhere, for me to
Sweep them over in one heap,
Bind myself again, take a leap,
Be an acrobat for my desires.
Too great, these desires,
Too voracious, the craving,
And when you say life passes us all by
I want to punch you in the mouth real hard.
Be smart. Be smarter than Reason and seize,
Seize the chance, seize the day, seize something, damn it,
Break this damn circle, damn it.
The anger? Yes, it feeds upon me,
Out among the gray-bearded men
And oddly dressed women,
It feeds upon me, upon my feet, mostly.
This cannot be…this sepulcher cannot be
Me,
She thought in her sleep...

And the song that will never grow old :)

2008-05-04T17:09:00.001+03:00

Best live version I ever heard...And one of the best sad/angry songs I ever heard, as well...No wonder it made them famous :).

Song: Matchbox 20 - Push

Matchbox 20 at their finest :)

2008-05-04T16:54:00.001+03:00

I have always loved this band and am really glad they are back together - their latest record is everything I'd expect it to be...however, I am celebrating their comeback with an old tune...because I love the comment Rob makes about the string binding mood and writing and because...it's just a killer song and I see a bit of my own roaming self in it. And...please, Rob, no more solo projects?

Song: Matchbox 20 - You Won't Be Mine

The Flight

2008-04-25T11:52:00.001+03:00

Scribbling on paper my day goes,
Goes forth to a closure,
Departs from disclosure
Of paths clear, to where
My heart waits for me.

Will be noble,
Will be noble,
Will be noble today,
I sound out my breath,
All trailing in slow-motion, inaudible whiffs.
This riotlessness, this distortion of bliss,
These measured steps
Belong to another now,
She lies underneath the quietness,
No more vivacious than quietness
Itself.
I have poked her with sticks
Just to see if her peace
Is solid, and now further and further
I flee from where she rests.

Cross out the scripture of logic,
Unleash the noise,
Bring on the horns,
Their salute fuels my motion,
Be it soft grass or thorns…

Застинала...

2008-04-25T11:41:00.004+03:00

Застинала вече повече от 3 седмици в родния си град, поради непредвидени обстоятелства (временна работа – преводи, преводи, по цял ден преводи…), бях започнала да полудявам от липсата на всякакъв културен живот в това малко, китно, ала спящо място. Но ето, че съдбата ми се поусмихна. Напуснах офиса към 18 ч. вчера, и като се чудех какво да измисля, за да направя живота си към настоящия момент поне малко по-близък до това, което аз наричам Живот за себе си, се отправих към единствената голяма книжарница тук, за да потърся нещо вълнуващо за четене. Запътих се натам, но нещо ме накара да се спра пред театъра и да се кача по стълбичките, просто за да проверя, дали външното мъртвило на сградата действително излъчва такава безжизненост отблизо. И…ето, surprise, surprise! Плакатът ми се усмихна от стената – Бургаски театър, Мария Сапунджиева, Асен Блатечки, «Женитба» по Гогол…О Боже, та то започва след по-малко от час! Дали има билети? Да! И не само че има, ами ми направиха и намаление, и ме сложиха на хубаво място, като чуха какво уча и каква е темата на дипломната ми работа =). Асен Блатечки без риза за 4 лева…не е никак лоша сделка, предполагам, ако си почитателка на господин Блатечки…каквато аз не съм (мили Иван Радоев, разходи се до Търново за празниците, а?), но пък той наистина носи своя собствена енергия, която се чувства на сцената, а и постановката определено си я биваше - музиката, внесените текстове на Шекспир, костюмите, актьорът (трябва да му науча името, he stood out, definitely), който играеше женска роля... аз се усмихвах от началото до края - пълно блаженство. Еххх…липсваш ми, моя София, мой октопод с пипала от шум и смог…Ще се видим скоро, а ти кипи, преливай, жужи, подскачай…за да те намеря такава, каквато те обичам.

The silent mantra in my head.

2008-04-18T15:34:00.005+03:00

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Maud Gonne?

2008-04-11T16:43:00.009+03:00

Did he write this for Maud Gonne? I have no idea, but I am in love with the poem...and the notions it contains.

BROKEN DREAMS
W. B. Yeats

THERE is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing
Because it was your prayer
Recovered him upon the bed of death.
For your sole sake - that all heart's ache have known,
And given to others all heart's ache,
From meagre girlhood's putting on
Burdensome beauty - for your sole sake
Heaven has put away the stroke of her doom,
So great her portion in that peace you make
By merely walking in a room.
Your beauty can but leave among us
Vague memories, nothing but memories.
A young man when the old men are done talking
Will say to an old man, "Tell me of that lady
The poet stubborn with his passion sang us
When age might well have chilled his blood.'
Vague memories, nothing but memories,
But in the grave all, all, shall be renewed.
The certainty that I shall see that lady
Leaning or standing or walking
In the first loveliness of womanhood,
And with the fervour of my youthful eyes,
Has set me muttering like a fool.
You are more beautiful than any one,
And yet your body had a flaw:
Your small hands were not beautiful,
And I am afraid that you will run
And paddle to the wrist
In that mysterious, always brimming lake
Where those What have obeyed the holy law
paddle and are perfect. Leave unchanged
The hands that I have kissed,
For old sake's sake.
The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have
ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

the sun is back...

2008-04-08T10:42:00.001+03:00

And to keep myself in a good mood, which proves to be quite evasive these days, I'm posting a tune that never fails to make me smile :).

Hanson - 'Been There Before'

I think I'll walk me outside, buy a rainbow smile...

2008-04-03T16:39:00.001+03:00

Perfect song for a gloomy day/mood. Stereophonics with 'Maybe Tomorrow', enjoy :).

Farewell to March

2008-03-31T20:11:00.000+03:00

And so, the last day of March is slowly drowning in its rainy twilight. March is one of my favorite months of the year. Not just because it is the herald of spring, but because it has the habit of putting me in the middle of interesting and completely unexpected situations. This year’s March is a bit more moderate in that respect…in fact, I spent most of it trying to shush the strange voices proliferating in my head, hoping to find the stamina and the inspiration to focus on what matters to me once more. It is the strangest thing, the way I can put on hold what I hold dear and then lose the strength to reclaim it, even though I know I can never be truly happy without it. Yet all will fall into place, one must say that to oneself. One must not drift through life. I believe in fulfilling the wishes of the soul. And I admire those who have the courage to pursue these soul-dreams. But let me stop here, before I fall into deeper obscurity. All this post aimed to say was: Farewell, dear March. Thanks for the awakening.

'Life remains a blessing' even though 'you cannot conquer Time' :)

2008-03-24T15:25:00.009+02:00

An exquisite poem and a photo of one of my favorite buildings in Sofia...sadly sinking deeper into its own ruins with every day passed. I kind of thought they'd go nicely together...the words and the photograph :) .

As I Walked Out One Evening
By W.H.Auden

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

One Good Reason

2008-03-19T17:18:00.002+02:00

And suddenly…dawn looks not as beguiling anymore,
Through translucent blue-white curtains,
Open eyes wide once more, yet nothing to wake up from,
Miss Morning comes armed with black whirlpools.

Outside morello blossoms whisper,
Walnut trees sing still more defiantly of change,
What better reason to listen,
Than the one that you cannot contain yourself…in yourself?

Happy Birthday, Taylor :)

2008-03-14T01:17:00.001+02:00

Happy 25th Birthday to Taylor Hanson! I wondered what exactly to post here in honor of his Birthday, and finally decided on this recent live performance of the tune that first introduced me to Hanson. Oh, the passion on these guys’ faces, when they perform. Priceless. It is funny, having a favorite band whose members are your age, give or take a few years. I feel like I’ve grown up with them. And I also feel I’m gonna grow old with Hanson. My love for their music is a lifelong thing, and not only do I enjoy listening to them immensely, but their songs have also inspired me to be a better person on more than one occasion. This is, this honestly is, the only band that actually touches the very core of me. Keep on rocking, Taylor, I will always be there to listen.