“We’re all friends and we are here. Yeah, we are here for the common good and it doesn’t really matter if we’re broke or out of food. We’re doing this now, it feels better than anything else I know. I love house shows.”—Drum & An Open Window
“Once you’ve been really fond of a man you can be affectionate to almost any man, if he needs you at all. But it’s not the same thing. You don’t really care. I doubt, once you’ve really cared, if you can ever really care again.”—Mrs. Bolton, Lady Chatterley’s Lover
Imagine that even one-third of the anger and vitriol currently being hurled at President Obama, by folks who are almost exclusively white, were being aimed, instead, at a white president, by people of color… How many [whites] would be calling for further crackdowns on thuggish behavior, and investigations into the radical agendas of those same people of color?
…Protest is only seen as fundamentally American when those who have long had the luxury of seeing themselves as prototypically American engage in it… Rush Limbaugh [said], this past week, that the Tea Parties are the first time since the Civil War that ordinary, common Americans stood up for their rights: a statement that erases the normalcy and “American-ness” of blacks in the civil rights struggle, not to mention women in the fight for suffrage and equality, working people in the fight for better working conditions, and LGBT folks as they struggle to be treated as full and equal human beings.
And this, my friends, is what white privilege is all about.
With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all: The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look’d sad and strange: Unlifted was the clinking latch; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, ‘My life is dreary, He cometh not,’ she said; She said, ‘I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!’
Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, ‘The night is dreary, He cometh not,’ she said; She said, ‘I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!’
Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen’s low Came to her: without hope of change, In sleep she seem’d to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. She only said, ‘The day is dreary, He cometh not,’ she said; She said, ‘I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!’
About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken’d waters slept, And o’er it many, round and small, The cluster’d marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark: For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding gray. She only said, ‘My life is dreary, He cometh not,’ she said; She said, ‘I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!’
And ever when the moon was low, And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, ‘The night is dreary, He cometh not,’ she said; She said, ‘I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!’
All day within the dreamy house, The doors upon their hinges creak’d; The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek’d, Or from the crevice peer’d about. Old faces glimmer’d thro’ the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices call’d her from without. She only said, ‘My life is dreary, He cometh not,’ she said; She said, ‘I am aweary, aweary,’ I would that I were dead!’
The sparrow’s chirrup on the roof, The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then, said she, ‘I am very dreary, He will not come,’ she said; She wept, ‘I am aweary, aweary, O God, that I were dead!’
This song never fails to evoke an image of a girl sitting by a bay window with rain droplets making tails of water down the glass. Michelle Branch writes in a way that is very accessible to young women, but certainly not dulled down. Simplicity is sometimes the way to go when expressing these kinds of emotions. The French in the background is also well-suited to the overall tone of the track.
Every time I feel alone I can blame it on you and I do - oh. You got me like a loaded gun, golden sun, and a sky so blue.
We both know that we want it, but we both know you left me no choice. You just bring me down. So I’m counting the tears ‘til I get over you.
Sometimes I watch the world get by, I wonder what it’s like to wake up every single day, smile on your face. You never try.
We both know we can’t change it, but we both know we’ll just have to face it.
You just bring me down. So I’m counting the tears ‘til I get over you.
If only I could give you up but would I want to let you off this soapbox baby?
We both know that we want it but we both know you left me no choice. You just bring me down.
From a pretty young age I found myself fascinated by dreams and the fact that people are finally “decoding” images and the brain is super exciting to me. This is the coolest article I’ve read in a long time. As a person who frequently remembers my dreams, I find this possibility of visually “recording” dreams to be pretty exciting. There have been times where I wish I had something to record the images in my head, to jog my own memory and show others. The negative implications of this are also interesting. Some people may not want their unconsciously produced images viewed by other people, should this technology ever come to be.
Are you in college? If so, what are you studying?
What's something you're really obsessed with?
I am in my sophomore year at Towson University majoring in English (writing concentration) and minoring Art History. As far as obsessions go, it depends on what kind of obsession we’re talking about. If we’re talking about passions I have a lot of those, sexuality in the Victorian era being the first that comes to mind. If we’re talking about little, every day obsessions, then I am obsessed with having my eyebrows look perfect. I feel really hideous when they’re not cleanly waxed.
I have always loved this song and always will I think. Not only are the lyrics fantastically written and poetic, but beautifully sung as well. You’d be hard pressed to find a song that describes the feeling of loneliness more eloquently than this one. This is classic country music at its best. It’s certainly much better than 99.9% of the modern stuff you hear on country radio stations.
Hear the lonesome whipperwhil, he sounds too blue to fly. The midnight train is whinning low. I’m so lonesome I could cry.
I’ve never seen a night so long when time goes crawling by. The moon just went behind a cloud to hide its face a cry.
Did you ever see a Robin weep when leaves begin to die? That means he’s lost the will to live. I’m so lonesome I could cry.
The silence of a falling star lights up a purple sky. And as I wonder where you are I’m so lonesome I could cry.
“A couple of young girls went sailing down A1A into the arms of Florida. Sailing down a highway, singing their heads off, protected by the holy ghosts flying in from the ocean, driving with their eyes closed.”—Patty Griffin
If there was ever a dating site I would consider using, it would be this one. The website Alikewise.com matches people up based on their tastes in books. Rather than talking about whether or not you like long walks on the beach, you can see the first section they run to in the library. As a person who thinks reading is a must for a significant other, this is a pretty good place to start on searching for a potential partner I think. Tastes mean something. I just found it interesting that someone would start a site like this. It’s an interesting concept.