January 2013
2 posts
December 2012
4 posts
“دل به دل راه داره
There is telepathy between hearts” —(via buddhabrot)
There is telepathy between hearts” —(via buddhabrot)
November 2012
21 posts
“For some reason, we are truly convinced that if we criticize ourselves, the criticism will lead to change. If we are harsh, we believe we will end up being kind. If we shame ourselves, we believe we end up loving ourselves. It has never been true, not for a moment, that shame leads to love. Only love leads to love.”
—
Geneen Roth
(via thefatgrackle)
whew what a heart breaker and all these things coming in… when I write I feel so confined by the gaze of these patronages, like appendages, to be amputated and limped on without, like that episode of the jerry springer show with that guy, he just felt this pain in his foot for the longest time, and then one day the pain started to spread, and it spread up to his ankle, and his knee and his hip, so he got a hack saw and just offed it from the foot, and then the knee, and then further up. And then it happened that the other foot was hurt, and it spread as well, and so he had to cut off his leg from the knee down. And there he was on Jerry, just plain as day, this is what needed to happen, and this is what I did about it. When the only
thing that remains
is still and quiet
it clings to the memory of what came before, like a cat on a curtain
tearing through the delicate lace, passed down the generations, imported from England, in the 1600s, made in a factory that replaced a shop run by a small family, and the babushka she weaved this lace from a pattern in her dream and she dreamed about the stars and she dreamed about the leaves and the needles that pattered and pittered and pattered across the forest floor and they glowed purple and gold and red and pinks in the autumn mornings.
And I breath in the autumn air and there’s nothing to remember. I owe you
nothing, and you’ll borrow nothing because that’s what you expect from me. All I owe.
“Because the fool wants to become God, He never finds him. The master is already God, Without ever wishing to be.”
—Thomas Byrom, The Heart of Awareness: A Translation of the Ashtavakra Gita (via nirvikalpa)
“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first.”
—Jim Morrison (via thatkindofwoman)
October 2012
1 post
Their Helicopter's Sing
Godspeed You! Black Emperor
Godspeed You! Black Emperor - “Their Helicopters’ Sing”
But it will all happen so fast. Although it’s been a slow ride so far. A gradual ascendance towards an inexorable long-lasting conflict. A conflict rooting from the depth of the Old Testament. A joke that got ignited with the fear, the fear that is shaping up a bitter reality. On the brink of war. A nation once raped by Moguls, once again raped by Arabs, a nation getting well used to being raped. 8 years of war with a neighbor on its Western wing. The sanctions, the suffocating isolation. Like North Korea but far more helpless. People losing faces, people drown in momentary desires in complete denial. People with the memory-length of goldfish who suffer, get tortured, lose big to gain a little and stay still and observe. Ruthless, wild and blatant at each other’s faces but innocent, tame, deaf and dumb at the most insignificant source of authority.
Out there articles, screaming, achtung! Stay alert. Do something you silent herd of sheep. But an inland mass of heedless laughter, happy with a 30 liter free supply of petrol and spending it on a short vacation. A collective brain of a 5-year old lost in the limitless well of nonsense leaking down from top of their browser windows. We’ve been tamed well. We’re destined to forget and pretend everything’s going to be just fine.
I don’t know how many people in Iran are familiar with the post-rock of GY!BE, but from what I’m hearing from this new album’s gaping tormented riffs, this could easily be the soundtrack of a population having almost nothing to lose and on the brink of war with the world’s smallest but most frightening monster. But hey! Where’s the party? Where are the gals? Can I have your number? Drunk-driving back home.
More on the band’s first album after a ten-year hiatus here in this tumblr.
September 2012
2 posts
August 2012
7 posts
July 2012
1 post
“natalie’s niche”
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May 2012
2 posts
April 2012
10 posts
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