Word of the Day

dynaminian [dahy-duh-min-ee-an]


v.
1. One who follows trends respectively, makes friend tactfully, stays on topic/ is well versed in the world's diet, but somehow lacks innate class.

2. One who compliments philistinism, but not the duties to be respected.

3. One from a well-to-do and cherished family, but skipped it a generation.

4. Someone who is not my friend anymore.


(dyn (power) + ami (love) + min (small, limited) +(ian)

The Music Box

Remembrance Is a Word Spoken Too Soon.

Its impossible. You cannot do it. You cannot silence an orchestra with your one violin, constricting your bow from one part of the movement. Even if you do, the show must go on, and it will, so you will just have to find your place afresh and get lost in the drifting and returning -ever so lightly- wave of melody, where the soul flutters in pallid remembrance to call the sound we all feel.



I went to a funeral where my grandmother played the organ this weekend. It was the daughter of a woman from the church I used to go to. I felt angry because the cause of death was avoided from the stillness of the room. I felt angrier at the fact that something which could have been avoided was causing the stillness in the room.

It all sounded so beautiful, the music of the cathedral, the retrieving souls lost for the meditation of a golden deity to take and blame for their black gypsy blood.

How could someone be pushed to box all the music out?

"I wish I could throw off the thoughts which poison my happiness. And yet I take a kind of pleasure in indulging them."

"The three most celebrated doctors on the island have been to see me. One sniffed at what I spat, the second tapped where I spat from, and the third sounded me and listened as I spat. The first said I was dead, the second that I was dying and the third that I'm going to die."


-Chopin.

My harp teacher and I were discussing the difference between German and Russian arts. She basically said German arts (she is German) are heavy, but give a German a beer and a sausage and his heart is fulfilled. Russian arts may have an effervescent ending, but there will always be a prepensely abandoned hurt in the soul. The heart is hollow without hurt.

Which one are you? Which one would you rather be?


P.S. I organized some new music to display. My Antarctica of followers kindled a desire for the warmth of these. It may be cold out there, but thank you for following, you warm my wit!

I scanned Waltz in E Minor. I love how the music just jumps, but when I attempt to play it, the music sort of waits around... maybe for a pianist. :(

Love's Grown up God

Forgive me, I just received the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe, and I am- so far - drunk off of it. So I will begin my drunk typing crusade.

"But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty-
Where Love's a grown-up God-
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship on a star."
Israfel, Edgar Allen Poe

In here, he talks about Love in heaven being 'grown up'. But yet still a God, as Love is. I have thought, but never too deeply, about if I were to fall in love and my love and I were to fall together in heaven, whether it would be necessary to become sexually attracted.

I doubt that, so I wonder what Love feels like in heaven.

Which Love is like looking at Monet? Don't look to closely, or it will lose its magic.

Valley of the Unrest

Sebastien Querec

"Over the lillies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:-from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:-from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems."
-Valley of the Unrest, Edgar Allen Poe.

Cinderella - A Portrait

She's come to dine on my bones,
That twisted sister like a ghost,
The more Im with, the more Im alone.

-Lillian [(by myself), how it feels living in Disney's Asylum].

Le Doorbell

Le Fortune and Men's Eyes

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

-Shakespeare-

Le Raven

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting,
On the palid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door,
And his eyes have all seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor,
And my soul from out that shadow that lies on the floor,
Shall be lifted-
Nevermore!
Edgar Allen Poe

Le Vincent

“and my soul from out that shadow
that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted?
Nevermore…”

Le Satorialist

My top favorite Sartorialist images:




#1
This girl will always be number one. She has this natural rebel pout in her expression and features. I would love to be around her to radiate her energy, which sparkles as a dim-lit neon sign would. Her make-up isn't done enough to really care, and neither is her clothing. Her beauty shines through the contrast of her bold, but not too edgy look.



#2
I could either imagine the man in the center left going home later that evening to a shabby apartment in a french suburb. The next morning he wakes up, puts on his slacks and sweatshirt, takes a shower, brushes his teeth, eats breakfast and goes to work. And while working at his office he receives an email with the photos of last night's event. A twinkle comes to his eye.
But I believe its fitting to imagine them in their uniquely Roman, 1963 inspired penthouse planning another luxurious benefit fit for a King.



#3
Personally, this street looks all to familiar to me. This boy looks all to familiar to everyone.



#4
I don't want to know who he is or what he does. All I know is that the moment I saw him on film, his presence caught me by surprise. The anonymity makes it easier to imagine what I please about him.



#5
I like to imagine they are little funeral faeries going to the funeral of their latest victim.