Tell me again why I’m still here. The choice is simply evolution. Either way, my thin skin makes it a necessity to throw on three layers. In every way, I’m responding to this winter: I’m tensing on snowflakes, I’m stumbling over my history. I’ve never felt like this before. Never. I’m singing for the first time under just one patch of stars. Speaking honestly comes naturally after enough champagne.
we keep on burying our dead
we keep on planting their bones in the ground
but they won’t grow
the sun doesn’t help
and all we’ve got
is this giant crop
of names and dates
lacrimosa dies illa
qua resurget ex favilla
iudicandus homo reus
huic ergo parce, deus
i actually got to meet Mike Kinsella a few years ago, when he performed as part of my college’s indie concert series.
i got nervous and jittery and barely managed to squeak out that his music meant a lot to me, and that my favorite song of his was ”Champagne”, which he did as The One Up Downstairs. he just thanked me and chuckled, and said he actually couldn’t sing that one anymore, cause his voice just wouldn’t go that high anymore.
you wanna fight? alright let’s take this outside! the stars are so bright tonight. the moon looks so nice. hold my hand
written by Rainer Maria Rilke (via loveage-moondream)