“If the writing is honest it cannot be separated from the man who wrote it.”
—Tennessee Williams
June 2013
10 posts
“I looked at her and a voice inside me said, we only see starlight because all the stars are bleeding.”
—Steven Hall, The Raw Shark Texts
Broadway, Here I Come! (Tony's - Full)
Smash Cast
Love the acapella echo, stepping and of course, all their voices.
“
Superman. It’s always been Superman and it always will be. A good Superman story is hard to find. They’re rare to the point that I can make a comprehensive list of them off the top of my head. But when one does come along… A good Batman story is entertaining and bad ass. And it makes you think “Batman is cool.” A good Green Lantern story is generally fraught with emotional peril but, at the end, you’ll wish you had a power ring. A good Superman story fills you with awe.
It’s the mythology of a sun god who wished he was a man because he saw something so great in us. It’s the story of a hero who could move whole worlds and see through stars and hear a whisper on the other side of the planet… who fell in love with a storyteller. It’s about a man and his dog.
Every single day, you can turn on the news and hear about something bad happening. People do terrible things to each other all the time. And, on the worst days, you might just sit down and get cynical, thinking thoughts like “maybe we are inherently evil. Maybe there’s just something wrong deep down in our hearts.”
And then there’s Superman. Looking down at the world with an unfathomable sadness. Waiting for us to join him in the sun. All the while, truly believing something only an impossible man could believe.
“If you knew how you are loved, not one of you would raise a hand in rage again.”
There’s a psychology to storytelling. It’s really quite simple. When presented with something light, we look for darkness. When presented with darkness, we look for the light. It gives a story depth. In a world without a Superman, we made one for our fiction. To guide us and make us feel brave. To let us hope.
You will believe a man can fly.
” —ashmaht, via Who is your favorite superhero and why? (via strategos)
“Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet…”
—Alain de Botton
As a note, if you ever feel like traveling and doing it with abandon, don’t ever read precautionary notes. It’s like the death of all spontaneity and courage.
“…she makes me love her and I like people who make me love them. It saves me so much trouble in making myself love them.”
—L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
“I hate being so emotionally slutty. I need to stop loving everyone I have a long conversation with.”
—Sara Quin
“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”
—Madeleine L’Engle
May 2013
16 posts
“I think it’s intoxicating when somebody is so unapologetically who they are.”
—Don Cheadle
“I’m never gonna wait
that extra twenty minutes
to text you back,
and I’m never gonna play
hard to get
when I know your life
has been hard enough already.
When we all know everyone’s life
has been hard enough already
it’s hard to watch
the game we make of love,
like everyone’s playing checkers
with their scars,
saying checkmate
whenever they get out
without a broken heart.
Just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart.
I intend to leave this life
so shattered
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my flying parts.” —Andrea Gibson
that extra twenty minutes
to text you back,
and I’m never gonna play
hard to get
when I know your life
has been hard enough already.
When we all know everyone’s life
has been hard enough already
it’s hard to watch
the game we make of love,
like everyone’s playing checkers
with their scars,
saying checkmate
whenever they get out
without a broken heart.
Just to be clear
I don’t want to get out
without a broken heart.
I intend to leave this life
so shattered
there’s gonna have to be
a thousand separate heavens
for all of my flying parts.” —Andrea Gibson
I feel sad at airports. All these moving bodies, towards and away from people, places, and memories. Everything is packaged so neatly for a single serving, as if to remind us that you are alone, alone, alone. A water for one, a sandwich for one, a bag of chips, single serving. As if it can’t remind us often enough that we are alone, alone, alone.
I read a quote of a person who wanted to be the model on billboards: beautiful, blank, and completely dead inside. And I read about someone who thrives on running, the steady pounding on the road that uses the pain to remind him of how alive he is.
And I sit here, completely torn between wanting to feel things intensely and not feel things at all. All I hear is a question in mind, repeating quietly and full of static, like a vinyl record that skips its turn: what do you want, what do you want, what do you want?
