It’s a lullaby from a giant golden radio.

I’ve got Blonde on Blonde on my portable stereo. It’s a lullaby from a giant golden radio.

Nada Surf – Blonde on Blonde

(From KM.)

Sometimes I still need you.

The xx – Heart Skipped a Beat

It was winter

I had heard it suggested one time that the seasons in the temperate zone should be six rather than four in number: summer, autumn, locking, winter, unlocking, and spring. And I remembered that as I straightened up beside our manhole, and stared and listened and sniffed. There were no smells. There was no movement. Every step I took made a gravelly squeak in blue-white frost. And every squeak was echoed loudly. The season of locking was over. The earth was locked up tight.

It was winter, now and forever.

—Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle

And you just keep on getting closer.

The xx – Crystalised

Burning window

“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”

—David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

Unicorns

“I’ve never met a lipstick lesbian. They’re like unicorns.” –MP

With no direction home.

You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin’ out
Now you don’t talk so loud
Now you don’t seem so proud

Bob Dylan – Like a Rolling Stone

Like a complete unknown.

Tomorrow is a long long time when you’ve lost your way

Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix: an album worth buying, but a concert worth dancing…

Phoenix – Lasso

Phoenix – 1901

Phoenix – Lisztomania