1. |
I
02:36
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if i believe (e e cummings):
if i believe in death
be sure of this
it is because you have loved me,
moon and sunset
stars and flowers
gold creshendo and silver muting of seatides
i trusted not, one night
when in my fingers drooped your shining body
when my heart sang between your perfect breasts
darkness and beauty of stars
was on my mouth petals danced
against my eyes and down
the singing reaches of
my soul spoke the green
greeting pale departing irrevocable sea
i knew thee death.
and when i have offered up each fragrant
night,when all my days
shall have been before a certain
face become white perfume only,
from the ashes then thou wilt rise and thou
wilt come to her and brush
the mischief from her eyes and fold her
mouth the new
flower with
thy unimaginable
wings,where dwells the breath
of all persisting stars
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2. |
II
02:00
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3. |
III
02:01
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Ode To Childhood (Piero Scaruffi):
When i was a child, the world,
with all its mysteries scattered
all around my body, was a question
that i dared not ask. I was not afraid:
i was overwhelmed. I did not know yet
the language that could weave together
the words, the sounds, the meaning
which, like a new map, were replacing
the twitching fabric of my dreams.
In the wake of the dying kite,
I understood the meaning of time,
of everybody's time, of the fear
that wise ancient masters buried
in the gilded spires of churches.
At a beach far away from any ocean,
I, the observer, stood in awe of life
and its infinity: I was nowhere nothing,
but life was always there, and beyond.
I, the wave, ran deep into the woods
to feel it into my soul, to learn
its tongue, boundless strains of myth
pervading every cell of my brain.
Since then I, the eigenstate, often toasted
to the life of infinity, because everywhere
everything appeared the same, and nowhere
did nothingness transpire. Life is the name
for the emerging infinity of all infinities.
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4. |
IV
03:40
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Ode To Moon/Space-time (Piero Scaruffi):
I recede from the visible universe
in the opposite direction to the Moon,
the blunt scythe harvesting nights,
while the endless agony of gravity
leaks the lost alphabet of stars
in which sunrise will be written.
The waters curling in the air
disturbs the withered horizon,
still flickering, still hissing,
and its calm, unwinding murderer.
Darkness, perhaps, is the true fire,
burning all echoes that wouldn't stop.
It is the edge that we wouldn't cross,
that we ought to smelt until it glows.
I cannot fathom an ending to this fear,
I the bleeding shell played by tides,
I the sand castle melting in the foam,
I the vanishing footprint with no name,
I the drop of steam exploding in the surf:
the fear of being lost;
the fear of being found;
the fear of running too fast;
the fear of flying too high;
the haunting fear, perhaps,
of not fearing enough.
The moon unleashes upon me its wake of dreams,
like an oracle that foretells the end.
[In the face of the endless free fall
shaping our universe, what is one to expect?]
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5. |
V
01:06
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Hiaku (Matsuo Basho):
clouds appear
and bring to man a chance to rest
from looking at the moon.
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6. |
VI
03:09
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Desert Places (Robert Frost)
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it - it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unaware.
And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less -
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home to scare myself with my own desert places.
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7. |
VII
02:35
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Unspoken Words To You (Andrew McShan):
things you love and that I love about you
December 15th, 2004:
unfinished stories
the moon on mondays
dreamsicle snowcones at 3:00 p.m.
fingertips & hips
forehead and on the cheek kisses
pink & orange grapefruit
when you say 'i love you'
green tea tuesdays
writing prose at 2:00 a.m.
playing piano
letters that you don't send
pomegranate wednesdays
safe hugs
coffee thursdays
daffodils
half-mittens
scarves & sweaters
sushi fridays
petite teacups
songs that last forever
mixtapes
holding hands
sleepy saturdays
collar bones
fisheye cameras
french music at 2:00 a.m.
full moons at 5:00 a.m
journal sundays
cold sheets
I sit and think which of these on the list is because of me,
but mostly I wonder why words won't come out of your mouth anymore.
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8. |
VIII
01:50
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Silently if, out of not knowable (e. e. cummings)
silently if, out of not knowable
night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess
(only which is this world) more of my life does
not leap than with the mystery your smile
sings or if (spiraling as luminous
they climb oblivion) voices who are dreams,
less into heaven certainly earth swims
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss
losing through you what seemed myself; i find
selves unimaginably mine; beyond
sorrow’s own joys and hoping's very fears
yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:
yours is the darkness of my soul’s return
–you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars
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9. |
IX
04:39
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The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us – if at all – not as lost
Violent souls, but
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer -
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here some stone images raised,
here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdoms
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
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10. |
X
02:15
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All The Time Running (Mary Frances Wagner)
Even when you see it coming,
leave tread prints behind,
you'll wonder about this moment,
this curve at dusk, the dog chasing
the coyote across a field, the coyote
losing ground each time he checks
his pursuer, all the time running
toward the road, toward the woods
on the other side, all of us thinking
we have enough time. Then brakes
yield that rubbery smell of trying.
In that instant the coyote sees you,
his eyes hold all he knows.
When you stand on the shoulder,
you'll see the pool form, the eyes
glaze over, the body heat
shimmer into the air; how fast
light subtracts itself.
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11. |
XI
01:30
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Sonnet CXVI by William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
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12. |
XII
02:42
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Scene from The Science of Sleep.
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13. |
XIII
00:17
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from "PostSecret: Confessions on Life, Death, and God"
I can’t say that I love you
Everyone who told me that left.
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14. |
XIV
03:31
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there is a darkness in this world
that one can only come to know by the sound of her voice.
in that brief moment, it is as if the black hole at the center of our galaxy
expanded a nanometer too far past it's event horizon and swallowed the universe.
to this the failed astronaut lifts his head towards the light polluted skyline and replies:
"maybe this nothingness won't so bad after all."
last night in a dream he felt infinity pull him out of that nothingness
through the grace of her breath.
but lately his dreams mutate into nightmares as their once bright stars form nebulae;
(the remnants of a dying star).
"what is it about the day that makes the night and these stars seem like a dream?
and what is it about the moon that turns that same night into a nightmare that makes me realize how fucking lucky dead people are."
how fucking lucky dead people must be.
as nothingness finally becomes an unshakable reality,
he remembers how the universe slowly reformed for five passionate days,
then crumbled under the weight on it's own uncertainty in existence.
"when i was a boy, i dreamt of flying a spaceship to the moon to claim it just for us.
now, i just wait for the fabric of this universe to swallow me into it's nothingness."
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15. |
XV
03:35
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Boy (Russell Hammond)
Hidden behind that smile
Is an expression
Which shows the way he truly feels.
An expression never seen
But so recognizable.
On the verge of surfacing - he hides.
Afraid.
Alone.
Not knowing what might happen to him.
His innocence has drowned him
As to happiness he seems immune.
He only needs attention.
Someone who can understand his problems
And the feelings that he hides.
Love's always eluded him,
Left him without a home to go to,
Left him without a use for his name.
How horrible a life he's led.
The path he trod was covered with
Hate,
Indifference,
Rejection.
It was tough.
He's only young.
He's just a
Boy.
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16. |
XVI
03:41
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La Mort des Amants (Charles Baudelaire) [The Death of Lovers]
left (original version in french):
Nous aurons des lits pleins d'odeurs légères,
Des divans profonds comme des tombeaux,
Et d'étranges fleurs sur des étagères,
Ecloses pour nous sous des cieux plus beaux.
Usant à l'envi leurs chaleurs dernières,
Nos deux coeurs seront deux vastes flambeaux,
Qui réfléchiront leurs doubles lumières
Dans nos deux esprits, ces miroirs jumeaux.
Un soir fait de rose et de bleu mystique,
Nous échangerons un éclair unique,
Comme un long sanglot, tout chargé d'adieux;
Et plus tard un Ange, entr'ouvrant les portes,
Viendra ranimer, fidèle et joyeux,
Les miroirs ternis et les flammes mortes.
right (english translation)
We shall have beds full of subtle perfumes,
Divans as deep as graves, and on the shelves
Will be strange flowers that blossomed for us
Under more beautiful heavens.
Using their dying flames emulously,
Our two hearts will be two immense torches
Which will reflect their double light
In our two souls, those twin mirrors.
Some evening made of rose and of mystical blue
A single flash will pass between us
Like a long sob, charged with farewells;
And later an Angel, setting the doors ajar,
Faithful and joyous, will come to revive
The tarnished mirrors, the extinguished flames.
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17. |
XVII
02:19
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Ode to a Loved One [Sappho (c. 610-570 B.C.)]
Blest as the immortal gods is [she],
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile.
'Twas this deprived my soul of rest,
And raised such tumults in my breast;
For while I gazed, in transport tossed,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost:
My bosom glowed; the subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chilled;
My blood with gentle horror thrilled;
My feeble pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sank, and died away.
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18. |
XVIII
01:53
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Frustration (padmore agbemabiese)
I have walked through the wilderness with no wings
yet the stars keep twinkling sometimes,
I am scourged by the cold starlit heaven the pain dreary and my sore heart weary
this soul speaks of a storm with an axe deep into its roots
and the pain is like a salty stream running through a wounded heart yet,
the fair moon's soft splendor voice laughs and scorns and rises into starlit heaven
I heard a voice say, no leaf will be shaken yet,
dews like a melody scatter
and these tears are only the telescope with which I see into heaven
maybe someday, somewhere my songs
and feeling will greet the moon that day
there'll be banqueting in the sky and in every dark night of the soul
lost to searing shooting pain sounds of joy will echo,
pushing away wet clogging leaves of long dead tulips
somewhere, clouds will tumble tempting to scoop some earth
to kiss lips of the potted primrose but the forecast will be frost
for them they will pull on a winter coat in spring
and yesterday will come back like a sore throat
even the chill would be felt through woolen sleeves
there, it will come to light it seems their prophets misinterpreted the season.
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Emo Side Project Atlanta, Georgia
i'm not gonna Raichu a love song.
<3
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