1. The Mountain Goats feat. Craig Finn - This Year

    (Source: youtube.com)

  2. 04:09 22nd Aug 2014

    Notes: 346

    Reblogged from valamihalvany

    Tags: tmg

    Plays: 1,913

    and some days I don’t miss my family
    and some days I do
    some days I think I’d feel better if I tried harder
    most days I know it’s not true

  3. 10:27 8th Aug 2014

    Notes: 1

    Reblogged from tunedumper


    Slow Nod by Cheap Girls

  4. 03:30 7th Aug 2014

    Notes: 2365

    Reblogged from lifeisfeedingcaketozombies

  5. Dinosaurs by Douglas Goetsch

    It is the first day of summer, and it feels like it
    to the man walking home from work—
    not just heat, but something electric in the breeze,
    the swishing of skirts on bare thighs,
    whistles of shirtless bicycle messengers,
    dogs high in buildings barking to one another.
    At home he pops open a beer, sinks into the couch
    and thinks back to the summer he moved to the city:
    He would throw himself into the night
    like a boy into a great wave, fill himself
    with beer and see where he’d wind up.
    Once he went home with a Wall Street stock broker,
    a petite woman who kicked off her shoes,
    headed for the refrigerator and came back
    with a syringe and a rubber tube tied to her arm.
    It wasn’t until the edges of the pool in the spoon were bubbling
    that she remembered her manners and offered him some.
    He found himself waking up midday in other boroughs—
    one time in New Jersey with no shoes—
    and would make his way home by bus or train
    like a swimmer, pulled out by the undertow,
    stroking back to shore.

    He still feels a smoldering in his blood
    on an evening like this, but by now he knows
    the odds of going out and getting lucky.
    He hears the stabbing of high heels on the floor above,
    pictures women across the city readying themselves,
    a thousand keys turning in tumblers simultaneously,
    locking him in. He zaps on the TV.
    The Nature Channel: somewhere in the Dakotas
    they’ve found a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
    “Dinosaurs,” a scientist explains, “are the greatest
    success story in the history of the planet.”
    Men and women pick at the landscape with dental tools
    as the scientist speaks in millions of years—
    this million and that million. “If this
    is the age of the Earth,” he says, holding out
    an arm for a time line, “then dinosaurs lived
    from here to here”—he points from his shoulder
    to his wrist—”whereas the age of man
    is equivalent to the tip of my fingernail.”
    The man on the couch gets up, goes to the window.
    At nine o’clock on the longest day of the year,
    there is still light behind the jagged scaffold of the city.
    He will need a way to fall asleep. There’s more
    beer in the fridge, an unopened fifth of scotch,
    pills behind the bathroom mirror, NyQuil.

  6. 13:27 6th Jul 2014

    Notes: 62000

    Reblogged from lifeisfeedingcaketozombies

    image: Download

    (Source: jiinzo)

  7. 12:27

    Notes: 6

    Reblogged from slothnorentropy

    Why were we put here, so inclined to love, when end of our story = death? That harsh. That cruel. Do not like.

    Note to self: try harder, in all things, to be a better person.

    — George Saunders — from “The Semplica Girl Diaries” in Tenth of December (via slothnorentropy)
  8. 12:17

    Notes: 6

    Reblogged from tumbledowntongue


    Raymond Carver - Shiftless

  9. 17:23 4th Jul 2014

    Notes: 5

    Reblogged from fileacomplaint

    Tags: a little time

    Plays: 29

  10. "One Season", by Tony Hoagland


    That was the summer my best friend
    called me a faggot on the telephone,
    hung up, and vanished from the earth,

    a normal occurrence in this country
    where we change our lives
    with the swiftness of hysterical finality

    of dividing cells. That month
    the rain refused to fall,
    and fire engines streaked back and forth crosstown

    towards smoke-filled residential zones
    where people stood around outside, drank beer
    and watched their neighbors houses burn.

    It was a bad time to be affected
    by nearly anything,
    especially anything as dangerous

    as loving a man, if you happened to be
    a man yourself, ashamed and unable to explain
    how your feelings could be torn apart

    by something ritual and understated
    as friendship between males.
    Probably I talked too loud that year

    and thought an extra minute
    before I crossed my legs; probably
    I chose a girl I didn’t care about

    and took her everywhere,
    knowing I would dump her in the fall
    as part of evening the score,

    part of practicing the scorn
    it was clear I was going to need
    to get across this planet

    of violent emotional addition
    and subtraction. Looking back, I can see
    that I came through

    in the spastic, furtive, half-alive manner
    of accident survivors. Fuck anyone
    who says I could have done it

    differently. Though now I find myself
    returning to the scene
    as if the pain I fled

    were the only place that I had left to go;
    as if my love, whatever kind it was, or is,
    were still trapped beneath the wreckage

    of that year,
    and I was one of those angry firemen
    having to go back into the burning house;
    climbing a ladder

    through the heavy smoke and acrid smell
    of my own feelings,
    as if they were the only
    goddamn thing worth living for.