Fibre de Verre Paris Combo

Friday, November 26, 2010

Blackbird












Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to
fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and
learn to see
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to be
free
You were only waiting for this moment to arise,
You were only
waiting for this moment to arise,


-Blackbird, The Beatles

6 comments:

  1. Wow great pictures - I am forwarding this to everyone I know that is too young to have seen this in their lifetime.

    Lest me forget, and all.

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  2. Fantastic post. I recently watched Milk and I have been brimming with similar sentiments. What an awful world to live in, but as very truthfully said in the extra scenes of The Boat That Rocked-
    "There will always be poverty and pain and war and injustice in this world but there will, thank the Lord, also always be The Beatles."

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  3. These pictures are brilliant.Where did you find them?They make me feel so terribly sad but also make me realize that life is so much better now,in some ways it is now more equal.

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  4. Thank You. Yeah, I wanted this one to be shocking, yet mellow in with the very sorrowful Blackbird song. Sort of like that scene in the Titanic, when the quartet plays the hymn and everything else is on the brink of disaster. The sorrowful violins give this amazing sense of loss admits the chaos. I could go on. that was an amazing scene.

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  5. These photos make me shudder. Kind of like the Walker Evans photos of the great depression and Dogville...this is why I'm sometimes scared of America (although i know i know it isn't any worse than the rest of the world)...

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  6. This is sheer brilliance in a cup. This post makes me want to cut your head off, devour your brain, and drink your blood from a diamond-crusted goblet, so that I can attain the mystical powers of genius that you seem to express throughout the entirety of this blog. Your prose makes my thighs both burn red hot, and pulsate in an unholy cadence of desire for your gifts.

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