snapshots of a living cliché or scattered thinking in imagination and virtuosity.

a friend of mine released his first full length record this afternoon, and was gracious enough to post it for free. it’s really fantastic! download it, show your buds, go to their shows, give them your money, etc. 

http://www.therecordinglabel.com/

things i read this year

little stories and sketches by John Cheever, Anton Chekhov, Gertrude Stein, Saul Bellow, Grace Paley, Ursula K. Le Guin, O’Henry, Virginia Woolf, Thomas Pynchon, Sam Shepard, Ernest Hemingway, and Jhumpa Lahiri

poetry by Lucille Clifton, Yeats, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Anne Sexton, T.S. Eliot, Thomas Merton, Adrienne Rich, Walter De La Mare, Sylvia Plath, Cummings, Charles Bukowski, G.K Chesterton, Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge, Oscar Wilde, and Theodore Roethke

i think i’d recommend just about everything mentioned above, with the respectful exception of Graham Greene’s The Ministry of Fear. book was painful. my favorites would have to have been Miller’s A Million Miles…, which i ended up going through twice, Ishiguro’s Remains of the Day, the B.S Johnson book, which had a really profound impact on the way i think about things, all of the L’Engle pieces, and surprisingly, Kerouac’s On the Road - the ‘original scroll’ edition, of course. but really, i think i enjoyed just about everything. taking a year to read all the way through the Scriptures proved to be an exciting and fruitful endeavor as well. if you were to decide to go on such a journey yourself this coming year, and i recommend you do, this reading plan worked really well for me: http://bit.ly/8hQZmC

i’m currently reading pride and prejudice for the first time ever (i’m a terrible english major), and for the first time in a while, i don’t think i have anything lined up on my to-read list next, so feel free to shoot me some of your favorites!

what’d you dig this year?

dostoyevsky:

He lost on poker, so he had to do it.
Merry xmas people!

dostoyevsky:

He lost on poker, so he had to do it.

Merry xmas people!

…he took a couple of nitroglycerin, “Turn to five,” he said, pointing to the dial on the oxygen tank. He inserted the tubes into his nostrils and breathed deep. He closed his eyes and said, “No.”
     I had promised the family to always let him have the last word when arguing, but in this case I had a different responsibility. That woman lives across the street. She’s my knowledge and my invention. I’m sorry for her. I’m not going to leave her there in that house crying, (Actually neither would Life, which unlike me has no pity.)

     Therefore: She did change. Of course her son never came home again, But right now, she’s the receptionist in a storefront community clinic in the East Village. Most of the customers are young people, some old friends. The head doctor has said to her, “If we only had three people in this clinic with your experiences…”
     ”The doctor said that?” My father took the oxygen tubes out of his nostrils and said, “Jokes, Jokes again.”      ”No, Pa, it could really happen that way, it’s a funny world nowadays.”

     ”No,” he said, “Truth first, She will slide back. A person must have character, She does not.”
     ”No, Pa,” I said. “That’s it. She’s got a job, Forget it. She’s in that storefront working.”
     ”How long will it be?” he asked. "Tragedy! You too. When will you look it in the face?”

http://users.ipfw.edu/ruflethe/A%20Conversation%20with%20My%20Father.htm

"Do you realize that all great literature - Moby Dick, Huckleberry Finn, A Farewell to Arms, The Scarlet Letter, The Red Badge of Courage, The Iliad and The Odyssey, Crime and Punishment, The Bible, and “The Charge of the Light Brigade” - are all about what a bummer it is to be a human being? Isn’t it a relief to have somebody say that?”

- Vonnegut

"Clarissa had a theory in those days - they had heaps of theories, always theories, as young people have. It was to explain the feeling they had of dissatisfaction; not knowing people; not being known. For how could they know each other? You met every day; then not for six months, or years. It was unsatisfactory, they agreed, how little one knew people. But she said, sitting on the bus going up Shaftesbury Avenue, she felt herself everywhere; not ‘here, here, here’; and she tapped the back of the seat; but everywhere. She waved her hand, going up Shaftesbury Avenue. She was all that. So that to know her, or any one, one must seek out the people who completed them; even the places. Odd affinities she had with people she had never spoke to, some women in the street, some man behind a counter - even trees, or barns. It ended in a transcendental theory which, with her horror of death, allowed her to believe, or say that she believed (for all her scepticism), that since our apparitions, the part of us which appears, are so momentary compared with the other, the unseen part of us, which spreads wide, the unseen might survive, be recovered somehow attached to this person or that, or even haunting certain places, after death. Perhaps - perhaps.”
-VW, Mrs. Dalloway (via awritersruminations)

"Clarissa had a theory in those days - they had heaps of theories, always theories, as young people have. It was to explain the feeling they had of dissatisfaction; not knowing people; not being known. For how could they know each other? You met every day; then not for six months, or years. It was unsatisfactory, they agreed, how little one knew people. But she said, sitting on the bus going up Shaftesbury Avenue, she felt herself everywhere; not ‘here, here, here’; and she tapped the back of the seat; but everywhere. She waved her hand, going up Shaftesbury Avenue. She was all that. So that to know her, or any one, one must seek out the people who completed them; even the places. Odd affinities she had with people she had never spoke to, some women in the street, some man behind a counter - even trees, or barns. It ended in a transcendental theory which, with her horror of death, allowed her to believe, or say that she believed (for all her scepticism), that since our apparitions, the part of us which appears, are so momentary compared with the other, the unseen part of us, which spreads wide, the unseen might survive, be recovered somehow attached to this person or that, or even haunting certain places, after death. Perhaps - perhaps.”

-VW, Mrs. Dalloway (via awritersruminations)