Can’t wait until tuesday…my day off.
Shelia - Atlas Sound
This is the best song in the whole world right now lol…gahh i keep listening to it.
i feel like there are some friends who are just there for you right where you left them.
What a boring rainy day. Finally I mustered up the courage to tell her that I liked and got shut down. I don’t know how much further my self-esteem can lower. I already feel like an empty cup. Sorry for sounding so pessimistic today.
Everyone’s going to be out of town. My best friend is still in San Diego and all of my other friends are working or doing research at universities far far away. I can’t afford to travel so my only options are to stay at home and re-watch films I’ve already seen, have a solo fireworks festival, work for extra pay and be bored out of my mind, or hang out with my parents and their…friends, and be bored out of my mind. This 4th of July is really looking up.
Gavin Glass - Better Left Alone
Had a nice pint with this one and the other lads in this video a couple months ago.
The virgin, the lively and beautiful today…..
Can the virgin, beautiful and vivid day
Release this frosted and forgotten lake,
With a drunk blow of wings to reel away
In névés of flights they have yet to make?
Without song or recognition, the image burns
Tediously into the surrounding cold.
Yet always the magnificence, and the long neck yearns
Beyond the white hardness of the winter’s hold.
Fast though feathers be caught in soiling mud,
From a horror of life the bird sails on,
Cold and improbable in its own pure being,
A scorching pure whiteness in the glacial flood:
A dream wrapped in scorn, and a phantom, seeing
How futile is exile for the Swan.
…………………………………. …….
Le vierge, le vivace et le bel aujoud’hui
Va-t-il nous déchirer avec un coup d’aile ivre
Ce lac dur oublié que hante sous le givre
Le transparent glacier des vols qui n’ont pas fui!
Un cygne d’autrefois se souvient que c’est lui
Magnifique mais qui sans espoir se délivre
Pour n’avoir pas chanté la region ou vivre
Quand du stérile hiver a resplendi l’ennui.
Tout son col secouera cette blanche agonie
Par l’espace infligée a l’oiseau qui le nie,
Mais non l’horreur du sol où le plumage est pris.
Fantôme qu’à ce lieu son pur éclat assigne,
Il s’immobilise au songe froid de mépris
Que vêt parmi l’exil inutile le Cygne.
