a diligent and creative labor of love spanning decades; i log things i can't forget, so i don't forget them.
Saturday, May 03, 2014
Friday, May 02, 2014
I really like how Madonna writes: (from her Harpers article)
"I was defiant. Hell-bent on surviving. On making it. But it was hard and it was lonely, and I had to dare myself every day to keep going. Sometimes I would play the victim and cry in my shoe box of a bedroom with a window that faced a wall, watching the pigeons shit on my windowsill. And I wondered if it was all worth it, but then I would pull myself together and look at a postcard of Frida Kahlo taped to my wall, and the sight of her mustache consoled me. Because she was an artist who didn't care what people thought. I admired her. She was daring. People gave her a hard time. Life gave her a hard time. If she could do it, then so could I."
"I was defiant. Hell-bent on surviving. On making it. But it was hard and it was lonely, and I had to dare myself every day to keep going. Sometimes I would play the victim and cry in my shoe box of a bedroom with a window that faced a wall, watching the pigeons shit on my windowsill. And I wondered if it was all worth it, but then I would pull myself together and look at a postcard of Frida Kahlo taped to my wall, and the sight of her mustache consoled me. Because she was an artist who didn't care what people thought. I admired her. She was daring. People gave her a hard time. Life gave her a hard time. If she could do it, then so could I."
Monday, April 28, 2014
I know things get hard but girl you got it, girl you got it there you go
Can't you tell by how they looking at you everywhere you go
Wondering what's on your mind, it must be hard to be that fine,
When all these motherfuckas wanna waste your time
It's just amazing, girl, and all I can say is...
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so proud of you
Everything's adding up, you've been through hell and back
That's why you're bad as fuck and you know you are.
Can't you tell by how they looking at you everywhere you go
Wondering what's on your mind, it must be hard to be that fine,
When all these motherfuckas wanna waste your time
It's just amazing, girl, and all I can say is...
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so, I'm so proud of you
Everything's adding up, you've been through hell and back
That's why you're bad as fuck and you know you are.
My dad told me about this CS Lewis excerpt from "A Grief Observed"
When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him,
so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an
interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude
and praise, you will be — or so it feels — welcomed with open arms. But
go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and
what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting
and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well
turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will
become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house.
__
Talk to me about the truth of religion and I'll listen gladly. Talk to
me about the duty of religion and I'll listen submissively. But don't
come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect
that you don't understand.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
My dear Will,
You must be healed by now... on the outside at least, I hope you're not too ugly.
What a collection of scars you have. Never forget who gave you the best of them, and be grateful, our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.
We live in a primitive time, don't we, Will? Neither savage nor wise. Half measures of the curse of it, any rational society will either kill me or put me to some use.
Do you dream much, Will? I think of you often.
Your old friend,
Hannibal Lector.
You must be healed by now... on the outside at least, I hope you're not too ugly.
What a collection of scars you have. Never forget who gave you the best of them, and be grateful, our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.
We live in a primitive time, don't we, Will? Neither savage nor wise. Half measures of the curse of it, any rational society will either kill me or put me to some use.
Do you dream much, Will? I think of you often.
Your old friend,
Hannibal Lector.
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