If you're only killing time then it will kill you right back
Thursday, 9 April 2026
Pencil
First quality:
you are capable of great things, but you must never forget that there is a hand guiding your steps.
We call that hand God, and He always guides us according to His will.’
‘Second quality:
now and then, I have to stop writing and use a sharpener.
That makes the pencil suffer a little, but afterwards, he’s much sharper.
So you, too, must learn to bear certain pains and sorrows, because they will make you a better person.
‘Third quality:
the pencil always allows us to use an eraser to rub out any mistakes.
This means that correcting something we did is not necessarily a bad thing; it helps to keep us on the road to justice.’
‘Fourth quality:
what really matters in a pencil is not its wooden exterior, but the graphite inside.
So always pay attention to what is happening inside you.’
‘Finally, the pencil’s fifth quality:
it always leaves a mark.
in just the same way, you should know that everything you do in life will leave a mark, so try to be conscious of that in your every action
Wednesday, 8 April 2026
Tuesday, 7 April 2026
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountaintop,then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs,then shall you truly dance
Anyone who lives in their own world is crazy.
Like schizophrenics, psychopaths, maniacs.
people who are different from others.
On the other hand,
you have Einstein, saying that there was no time or space, just a combination of the two.
Or Columbus, insisting that on the other side of the world lay not an abyss but a continent.
Or Edmund Hillary, convinced that a man could reach the top of Everest.
Or the Beatles, who created an entirely different sort of music and dressed like people from another time.
Those people--
and thousands of others--
all lived in their own world.
Monday, 6 April 2026
Sunday, 5 April 2026
Jesus waited three days to come back to life.
It was perfect
If he had only waited one day, a lot of people wouldn't have even heard he died.
They'd be all, "Hey Jesus, what up?" and Jesus would probably be like, "What up? I died yesterday!" and they'd be all, "Uh, you look pretty alive to me, dude..." and then Jesus would have to explain how he was resurrected, and how it was a miracle, and the dude'd be like "Uhh okay, whatever you say, bro..."
And he's not gonna come back on a Saturday. Everybody's busy, doing chores, workin' the loom, trimmin' the beard,
NO. He waited the perfect number of days, three.
Plus it's Sunday, so everyone's in church already,
and they're all in there like "Oh no, Jesus is dead", and then BAM! He bursts in the back door, runnin' up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched, and FYI, that's when he invented the high five.
Easter Poem (for John Cotton), by Ted Walker
I had gone on Easter Day
early and alone
to be beyond insidious bells
(that any other Sunday I’d not hear)
up to the hills
where are winds
to blow away commination.
In the frail first light
I saw him,
unreal and sudden
through lifting mist,
a fox on a barn door,
nailed
like a coloured plaster Christ
in a Spanish shrine,
his tail coiled around his loins.
Sideways
his head hung limply,
his ears
snagged with burdock,
his dry nose
plugged with black blood.
For two days
he’d held the orthodox pose.
The endemic English noise
of Easter Sunday morning
was mixed with the mist swirling
and might have moved his stiff head.
Under the hill
the ringing had begun.
As the sun rose red
to press on
seemed the best thing.
I walked the length
of the day’s obsession.
At dusk
I was swallowed by the misted barn,
sucked by the peristalsis
of my fear
that he had gone,
leaving nails for souvenirs.
But he was there still.
I saw
no sign.
He hung as before.
Only the wind had risen
to comb the thorns from his fur.
I left my superstition
stretched on the banging barn door.
Lent ends with Easter Sunday
Lent ends with Easter Sunday
the day Christians celebrate Jesus rising from the dead
.jpg)
Easter Poem - Fox On A Barn Door
I had gone on Easter Day
early and alone
to be beyond insidious bells
(that any other Sunday I’d not hear)
up to the hills
where are winds
to blow away commination.
In the frail first light I saw him,
unreal and sudden
through lifting mist,
a fox on a barn door,
nailed
like a coloured plaster Christ
in a Spanish shrine,
his tail coiled around his loins.
Sideways his head hung limply,
his ears snagged with burdock,
his dry nose plugged with black blood.
For two days he’d held the orthodox pose.
The endemic English noise of Easter Sunday morning
was mixed with the mist swirling
and might have moved his stiff head.
Under the hill
the ringing had begun.
As the sun rose red
on the stains of his bleeding
to press on seemed the best thing.
I walked the length of the day’s obsession.
At dusk I was swallowed by the misted barn,
sucked by the peristalsis of my fear that he had gone,
leaving nails for souvenirs.
But he was there still.
I saw no sign.
He hung as before.
Only the wind had risen
to comb the thorns from his fur.
I left my superstition
stretched on the banging barn door.
Saturday, 4 April 2026
Strange Little Girl:
Whenever it rains you think of her
while the titular character has dramatic eye makeup, a shag cut, and a shirt that says, "Satin Worship."
The album's namesake song — and most upbeat, straightforward musical moment, as it features tumbleweed keyboards — is "Strange Little Girl."
The 1982 single by the Stranglers featuring a protagonist who's figuratively lost and trying to find her place in the world:
"Strange little girl /
Where are you going? /
Do you know where you could be going?"
The word "strange" is an interesting one to describe a person.
The term isn't always wielded as a compliment; in fact, it's a verbal side-eye to convention. "Strange" is a close relation to "peculiar," another vaguely antique-sounding words that connotes someone who's offbeat and different.
That Amos called the album "Strange Little Girls" — plural — is even more telling: These are a collection of offbeat people who don't fit into any sort of neat, tidy mold.
Vassago: Strange Little Girl Song by The Stranglers
Raining Blood:
Actually the Gestapo picked her up
Slayer's "Raining Blood," a song about someone mired in purgatory after being jettisoned from heaven; the implication is that it's somewhere he doesn't want to be.
Amos has a different view:
Instead, she envisions purgatory as a place of shelter, a refuge for a badass with supernatural tendencies.
"She's a French Resistance woman whose sister was killed," she told Alternative Press about the "Raining Blood" character, who sports a jaunty beret and holds an ashed cigarette.
The woman "knows myths and is calling on power and working on alchemy" in response, however: "She went to the underground after the death of everyone she knew."
Heart of Gold:
It's not glamorous... (on the twin pic) ...it's just business.
On a roaring "Heart of Gold," which is as noisy as Young's guitar hurricanes, Amos saw twins — or "economic espionage gals," as she puts it to Alternative Press — who "infiltrate corporations and access information and send it somewhere else.
Good or bad, it depends what side you're on."
This backstory certainly isn't obvious from listening to Neil Young's song, which is a loose, weary meditation on searching for meaning in life and the self. However, Amos' vision certainly complicates what the song's reference to a "heart of gold" could mean.
Vassago: Heart Of Gold Song by Neil Young
Rattlesnakes:
She rides rollercoasters but never screams
The "Rattlesnakes" Tori has straight blonde hair and a KISS jacket.
The song features a main character named Jodie, who "wears a hat although it hasn't rained for six days" and packs a gun "on account of all the rattlesnakes."
Cole is himself an empathetic writer, and so his character sketch of Jodie offers telling details ("her neverborn child still haunts her") that explain her behavior.
Ever perceptive, Amos picks up on Jodie's heartbreak; her voice drips with sadness and understanding, ensuring the cover ends up deeply affecting.
Jodie wears a hat although it hasn't rained for six daysShe says a girl needs a gun these daysHey on account of all the rattlesnakes
She looks like Eve Marie saint in on the waterfrontShe reads Simone de Beauvoir in her American circumstance
She's less than sure if her heart has come to stay in San JoseAnd her never-born child still haunts herAs she speeds down the freewayAs she tries her luck with the traffic policeOut of boredom more than spiteShe never finds no trouble, she tries too hardShe's obvious despite herself
She looks like Eve Marie Saint in on the waterfrontShe says all she needs is therapy, yeahAll you need is, love is all you need
Jodie never sleeps 'cause there are always needles in the hayShe says that a girl needs a gun these daysHey on account of all the rattlesnakes
She looks like Eve Marie Saint in on the waterfrontAs she reads Simone de Beauvoir in her American circumstanceHer heart, heart's like crazy pavingUpside down and back to frontShe says "ooh, it's so hard to loveWhen love was your great disappointment."
Cole took the main character from Didion's 1977 novel A Book of Common Prayer and "inserted her into the landscape" of the 1970 novel Play It as It Lays.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
