“First Song for B” by Devandra Banhart. Gorgeous.
December 9, 2009
December 7, 2009
December 2, 2009
6:27 pm
How I miss your ranting
Do you miss my all time lows?
Do you miss my all time lows?
November 29, 2009
6:03 pm
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Rosyln - Bon Iver & St. Vincent
…this is pretty much mindblow inducing.
yeah yeah New Moon blah blah blah, but this song is TOO FUCKING GOOD to not reblog.
2:26 pm
Virginia Woolf's suicide letter to her husband, Leonard
missworld:isthisblood:sine-qua-non:
On March 28, 1941 Virginia Woolf committed suicide. She put on her overcoat, filled its pockets with stones, then walked into the River Ouse near her home and drowned. Her body was not found until April 18th. Her husband, Leonard buried her cremated remains under a tree in the garden of Monk’s House, their home in Rodmell, Sussex.
In her last note to her husband she wrote:
I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I can’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ‘til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.
November 28, 2009
8:36 pm
Gwen Stefani - The Real Thing
8:14 pm
Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.
November 27, 2009
8:30 pm
I’ve known that I’ve liked you for a while, but I just decided that I love you.
