[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

sigur rós - varðeldur

valtari is beautiful. it lacks the strong melodies and textured instrumentations i so enjoyed in AB and með suð, but it makes me think. and feel. think about feeling. i could perhaps dare to call it ‘post-modern’—but not the shitty kind of post-modern. it’s so difficult to harvest emotion like this, but sigur rós claw out my heartstrings again and again.

(27 listens)

REALLY COOL THING COMING UP so you hate america as much as me, right?? i mean, not only do we have the greatest income inequality, highest carbon emissions, highest military spending, etc, among oecd nations, we also have forced people to do our every will simply because they looked different.

it’s only natural we right songs about this. my friend alex did. a gospel about how we’re a city upon a hill!? a country romp about how native americans are simply burdens residing on our metals, a jazzy samba about our selfish imperialistic tendencies, and some blues about vietnam. this, my friends, is really neat.

SO GO GET IT, RIGHT NOW. it’s even free and stuff.

my goddamn 1000th post

this is my school’s production of how to succeed in business without really trying! i believe in you!

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

THE NATIONAL ANTHEM OF HELL

(118437 listens)

blackseafoam:

13 Words by Lemony Snicket book trailer (by HarperKids)


this is a polaroid photo. this person was behind the camera. i am with two friends at a party. you can not see it in the photograph, but other people are dancing in the distance. we are emulating charlie from the perks of being a wallflower, because he is a very thoughtful and introspective character. his thoughtfulness and introspection reflect in his “wallflower” personality. we too wish to be thoughtful and introspective so we too have become “wallflowers.” but this does not mean we do not like dancing. we just are very thoughtful and introspective people.

this is a polaroid photo. this person was behind the camera. i am with two friends at a party. you can not see it in the photograph, but other people are dancing in the distance. we are emulating charlie from the perks of being a wallflower, because he is a very thoughtful and introspective character. his thoughtfulness and introspection reflect in his “wallflower” personality. we too wish to be thoughtful and introspective so we too have become “wallflowers.” but this does not mean we do not like dancing. we just are very thoughtful and introspective people.

infinity-imagined:

An illustration of the interior of a Eukaryotic Cell, showing the Nucleus, Nuclear Pore, and Endoplasmic Reticulum.


well, it’s been a good run. 

let me qualify before continuing: i am not a theater kid. the rare cast gatherings i attend leave me tired and introverted. i love these people, but their boundless energy definitely drains mine. 

but we still had our pre-show rituals. the stubborn vending machines and deficient pocket change. your meals of milk with 60 grams of sugar, artificially flavored chocolate brownies and shampoo fruit drinks. listening to you (different you—there are a lot of different yous) fist pump in a circle through the small part of chain-linked fence, while waiting for you (number one) to finish your ‘food’ because you were too embarrassed to bring it inside. 

locating the b flats and as, seeing you (number three) shake your head as you fuck up—(think you fuck up)—the notes. the relief when you (four) return in time for been a long day. mouthing the good lines. sore shoulders.

intermissions were my havens. adapting frump’s ninja run. spinning in the quad. crashing recklessly while belting rosemary. hip trusting to the samba music coming from a street away. those times i felt invincible. is that how you (different yous) feel? 

i never remembered to tighten my bow. the dermoblasts, the deep penetrations saturating the markets. and then! i believe in you! oh, this. this this this will be missed. my favorite part of the entire thing—the part with closed eyes and soft smiles—was you (five) singing your goddamn interpretation, doing it a bit differently than my crackling 1960s cast recording, harmonizing with the a i poured my heart into playing. that was music. 

afterwards we waited patiently for your (all of you) dumb traffic jams to clear. we retreated to our cases, singing songs poorly but too happy and tired to care. we came back. i came back to see you (six). i wish i knew why. i always made my father wait too long. 

best part of the run? womper’s baby powder hair. literal tears. the entire scene of missing bratt, misplaced chairs and chairmanoftheboardtheyalllookthesametome. 

i never did play disaster correctly, nor those measures of entr’acte and the runs in paris original. in the last show i finally got the opening measure of been a long day, as well as the e flat -> b flat slides. awkward silences during bows. dance tempos for love ballads. missed cues, misplaced lines—but we played it off well. because that’s what we do.

unless you’re working in a hot dog stand. open your mouth wide.

well, it’s been a good run.

let me qualify before continuing: i am not a theater kid. the rare cast gatherings i attend leave me tired and introverted. i love these people, but their boundless energy definitely drains mine.

but we still had our pre-show rituals. the stubborn vending machines and deficient pocket change. your meals of milk with 60 grams of sugar, artificially flavored chocolate brownies and shampoo fruit drinks. listening to you (different you—there are a lot of different yous) fist pump in a circle through the small part of chain-linked fence, while waiting for you (number one) to finish your ‘food’ because you were too embarrassed to bring it inside.

locating the b flats and as, seeing you (number three) shake your head as you fuck up—(think you fuck up)—the notes. the relief when you (four) return in time for been a long day. mouthing the good lines. sore shoulders.

intermissions were my havens. adapting frump’s ninja run. spinning in the quad. crashing recklessly while belting rosemary. hip trusting to the samba music coming from a street away. those times i felt invincible. is that how you (different yous) feel?

i never remembered to tighten my bow. the dermoblasts, the deep penetrations saturating the markets. and then! i believe in you! oh, this. this this this will be missed. my favorite part of the entire thing—the part with closed eyes and soft smiles—was you (five) singing your goddamn interpretation, doing it a bit differently than my crackling 1960s cast recording, harmonizing with the a i poured my heart into playing. that was music.

afterwards we waited patiently for your (all of you) dumb traffic jams to clear. we retreated to our cases, singing songs poorly but too happy and tired to care. we came back. i came back to see you (six). i wish i knew why. i always made my father wait too long.

best part of the run? womper’s baby powder hair. literal tears. the entire scene of missing bratt, misplaced chairs and chairmanoftheboardtheyalllookthesametome.

i never did play disaster correctly, nor those measures of entr’acte and the runs in paris original. in the last show i finally got the opening measure of been a long day, as well as the e flat -> b flat slides. awkward silences during bows. dance tempos for love ballads. missed cues, misplaced lines—but we played it off well. because that’s what we do.

unless you’re working in a hot dog stand. open your mouth wide.

disturbingimages:

vandeleuria submitted: 

disturbingimages:

vandeleuria submitted: 

askneziki:


w̠̳̖̩͚̔ͥ͋͑ͤ̋̕͘ḣ̵̗͚̳̬̩͇̥̦̜͛͑̇̾ͮͤ̓̈́̿ͬ̈́̏ͩ͢͝  ̶͈̺̟͉̝̩̟͇͕̝̬͇ͯ̉̒̆̿ͣ̎̏̚a̶̢̮̟̠̩̱̘͚̖͙̰̣̗̜̯͍̘̬̙ͤͥ̄̎͗̓̄͊ͦ̈̌̀̇ͯͤ̀ͣt̶̔̾̈́͒̔҉̷̷͏̖̪̬͔͚̭̳̳͍͖̩̫   ̼̞͖̳͚͕̯̝̺͚̝̭̰͎̞̪͙͋̅̃ͣ͊̑̾ͬͫ̋ͩͨ͞͞h̜̞̫̹̲̤͍͙͙̱͙̠̠͙̞̭̦̅͒̎͌ͮ̇̀̕͘͞͝ä̴̵̺̮͇̳̭̥͈̲̆ͧ̾́v̵̸̒̃̒͂҉̛̰̻̙̲̼͍̬͇̞̮̬̜͡   ̵̨̤͉̱͎̲͉̰͇̔̋̈́̎͂̽ͤ̎̎̀̚͜ý̴̵̢̍̿̅ͯ͘҉̖̠͕̩ͅo̢̻̬̖͍̻̞͍͖̩̱͕̝̼̟̪̒̈́͐͆̍̀ͭͦͤ͂̓͡ͅ.̋ͭ̈́͂͛̓͐͏͖̟̞͈͝ưͮ͒ͭ̂͒͂ͣͥ͌ͣ͋ͪͪ̓҉҉̬̲̦̳͠   ̴͔̫̹͉͕̖̭͈̱̼͍͑͋͌̅͞ͅd̶̢ͧͯ͋ͥ̿ͥ̍̓̽̐̈́ͤͤ͋ͪͣ̽҉͉̭̱͇̖̫̟̠̱̼̫ȏ̷͒̿ͯ͒ͥ̔͏͔̠̣͙̟͎̜̳̹̫̫̟̦̺̺͇̗  ̛ͥ͒͐̇̂ͣ̈̿̉̕͏̹̮͕̪̻̱̜̮̗͔̲̤̞̘̳̖̩ͅ  ̅ͫ̂̑̊ͯͩͪ͒̈́̒ͥ҉̶͈̙̥̳̹̲̪͇̠̫͖͓͔̻͓̼̠ṉ̛̛̝̝̘̣̳̫͖̝͓̟͍͇͂ͣ̊̌̏̓̎͂̉̿͐̓ͤ̾ͮ͡  ̟̭̝̻̩̖̻͈̿̃ͭͯ̏͆͆ͩ͂̆ͤͦ̔̄́̕͝͠e̪̭̬͔̹͔͎͉̮͔̼̭͈̤̞͚͂̄̅̋̄̉͛ͥͨ̃͌͒̏̀͟ͅ

askneziki:

w̠̳̖̩͚̔ͥ͋͑ͤ̋̕͘ḣ̵̗͚̳̬̩͇̥̦̜͛͑̇̾ͮͤ̓̈́̿ͬ̈́̏ͩ͢͝ ̶͈̺̟͉̝̩̟͇͕̝̬͇ͯ̉̒̆̿ͣ̎̏̚a̶̢̮̟̠̩̱̘͚̖͙̰̣̗̜̯͍̘̬̙ͤͥ̄̎͗̓̄͊ͦ̈̌̀̇ͯͤ̀ͣt̶̔̾̈́͒̔҉̷̷͏̖̪̬͔͚̭̳̳͍͖̩̫ ̼̞͖̳͚͕̯̝̺͚̝̭̰͎̞̪͙͋̅̃ͣ͊̑̾ͬͫ̋ͩͨ͞͞h̜̞̫̹̲̤͍͙͙̱͙̠̠͙̞̭̦̅͒̎͌ͮ̇̀̕͘͞͝ä̴̵̺̮͇̳̭̥͈̲̆ͧ̾́v̵̸̒̃̒͂҉̛̰̻̙̲̼͍̬͇̞̮̬̜͡ ̵̨̤͉̱͎̲͉̰͇̔̋̈́̎͂̽ͤ̎̎̀̚͜ý̴̵̢̍̿̅ͯ͘҉̖̠͕̩ͅo̢̻̬̖͍̻̞͍͖̩̱͕̝̼̟̪̒̈́͐͆̍̀ͭͦͤ͂̓͡ͅ.̋ͭ̈́͂͛̓͐͏͖̟̞͈͝ưͮ͒ͭ̂͒͂ͣͥ͌ͣ͋ͪͪ̓҉҉̬̲̦̳͠ ̴͔̫̹͉͕̖̭͈̱̼͍͑͋͌̅͞ͅd̶̢ͧͯ͋ͥ̿ͥ̍̓̽̐̈́ͤͤ͋ͪͣ̽҉͉̭̱͇̖̫̟̠̱̼̫ȏ̷͒̿ͯ͒ͥ̔͏͔̠̣͙̟͎̜̳̹̫̫̟̦̺̺͇̗ ̛ͥ͒͐̇̂ͣ̈̿̉̕͏̹̮͕̪̻̱̜̮̗͔̲̤̞̘̳̖̩ͅ ̅ͫ̂̑̊ͯͩͪ͒̈́̒ͥ҉̶͈̙̥̳̹̲̪͇̠̫͖͓͔̻͓̼̠ṉ̛̛̝̝̘̣̳̫͖̝͓̟͍͇͂ͣ̊̌̏̓̎͂̉̿͐̓ͤ̾ͮ͡ ̟̭̝̻̩̖̻͈̿̃ͭͯ̏͆͆ͩ͂̆ͤͦ̔̄́̕͝͠e̪̭̬͔̹͔͎͉̮͔̼̭͈̤̞͚͂̄̅̋̄̉͛ͥͨ̃͌͒̏̀͟ͅ