This is what I think.

 

Here is really the only thing of note I’ve written recently that didn’t involve demanding money from a lawyer. I just love this song so doggone much I had to reblog it. I am hoping to write another piece soon the next time I feel wistful about a musical muse from my youth.

teenageguide:

"Enjoy the Silence," Depeche Mode

First off, it seems worthwhile to preface that “Enjoy the Silence” might be about Depeche Mode lead singer Dave Gahan’s near-fatal heroin addiction. A lazy and inadequate Google search yields no conclusive interview or proof one way or another aside from internet comments citing unspecified interviews with Gahan, so if somebody could point me in their direction, by all means do. Taking the song’s phraseology literally, it’s not hard to come to that conclusion. It is, after all, the drug you literally put in your arms.

It’s also true that a projection of one person’s demons could affect someone else in a profoundly different way. That’s what art does, of course. While the song itself, without any further background, is easiest to view as a tribute to a silent embrace with a lover, the video always painted a different view to me, and not one that necessarily had anything to do with drug use, either. 

Here in the video, after the customary black-and-white intro (Depeche Mode loved black and white), we see Dave Gahan dressed as royalty. But he’s a lonesome king. In fact, the entire video is shots of Gahan ceaselessly wandering various visually appealing locales, bereft of any other human contact, with a lawn chair. It’s not flashy. It’s not action packed. But I always found it relatable.

Really, aren’t we all King Gahan at some point? Wandering around the world with a lawn chair, looking to set down somewhere until we find some peace from the voices inside and outside our heads? That place could be something different for everyone. Maybe it’s a lover’s arms, maybe it’s a lawn chair in the middle of some idyllic plain. Whatever it is, many of us struggle to find it, and maybe for Gahan and others that’s what leads one into the throes of addiction.

Enjoy the silence. —Tino Evangelou

Sorry Long Island OKC, you just lost your most interesting and unique snowflake for probably the 15th time.
And I totally burned you BAD on the way out LOL!!!

Sorry Long Island OKC, you just lost your most interesting and unique snowflake for probably the 15th time.

And I totally burned you BAD on the way out LOL!!!

Any time I’m at a book party or reading, and soccer comes up in conversation, I find myself surrounded by young men in shabby-genteel, loosely fitting tweed jackets gushing over the Gunners,” Ms. Schaap said. “In such settings, being an Arsenal supporter is even more predictable than having an M.F.A. or a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

Never Forget

rapunzelie:

chocolatemermaidya:

rapunzelie:

do you ever feel like there’s just so many pretty girls but most dudes are just subpar like there are radiant goddesses everywhere and just piles and piles of guys in backwards baseball caps and sandals

it’s called makeup

you can put eyeliner on a frat boy that doesn’t change the fact that’s he’s wearing a neon muscle shirt and nike flip flops

Missed you tumblr, some really strong debate here on the issues.

I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, ‘cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you… I don’t see an intelligent, confident man… I see a cocky, scared shitless kid.

No matter how much of a cold-hearted bastard I become, this monologue (and really this entire movie) will always get to me. Farewell, Mr. Williams.

It’s absolutely ridiculous. I MUST have it.

Millennials And Me

Lately, I’ve been thinking of writing a big Generational Thoughtpiece on My Generation, The Millennials. It’ll be a sober, thought-out self-analysis of my peers and I. First, I’ll start with a blistering take on how the poor economy and limited career opportunities have stunted or redefined the transition into what was traditionally considered “adulthood”, followed by a look into the economic depressant that is student loan debt that kind of trails off without any real ideas on how to solve it.

I’ll then take a look at how we cope with our surroundings - our sexual habits (we are the first group of people in the history of the world to enjoy fucking each other, it turns out), our drinking habits (screenshots of thousands of tumblr posts here), our music and fashion, and then top if off with a backhanded complement about how in tune with new technology we are while wondering if it has hurt the creation of meaningful interpersonal relationships and made us self-indulgent narcissists.

Did I hit everything? I think I hit everything. I think it’ll be really hot and original and really blow the lid off the many mysteries surrounding us that I don’t think anyone has really tried to explain yet. Maybe the New York Times would even pick it up. Imagine that!

Your parents were fighting machines and self-pitying machines. Your mother was programmed to bawl out your father for being a defective moneymaking machine, and your father was programmed to bawl out your mother for being a defective housekeeping machine. They were programmed to bawl each other out for being defective loving machines. Then your father was programmed to stomp out of the house and slam the door. This automatically turned your mother into a weeping machine. And your father would go down to the tavern where he would get drunk with some other drinking machines. Then all the drinking machines would go to a whorehouse and rent fucking machines. And then your father would drag himself home to become an apologizing machine. And your mother would become a very slow forgiving machine.

Dwayne Hoover’s meltdown in Breakfast of Champions. Did you know Bruce Willis once played Dwayne Hoover? Seems fitting after you spend the better part of 10 hours being an Insurance Machine so you can afford being a Drinking Machine and all the other machines of vice that make you a machine that doesn’t have a Dwayne Hoover meltdown and smash anyone’s face into a piano keyboard. Isn’t it great? It’s great.

I’m sorry if I just ruined Breakfast of Champions for anyone.

Player Piano

I just finished reading Kurt Vonnegut’s first book, Player Piano, as I try to make a dent in all the books I’ve collected and neglected then past couple of years. It’s a good read, especially if you’re a Vonnegut fan - it’s obviously not his best, but there are themes and a style which he perfected later on, primarily in the mix of social commentary and absurdist humor. Unlike 1984 or Fahrenheit 451, the dystopian nature of Vonnegut’s future United States isn’t as obvious, but there’s a lot of Guy Montag or Winston Smith in the protagonist, intentional or not.

Like all dystopian novels, it’s also a bit unsettling when put in perspective. Without giving too much away, Vonnegut’s world in the book is a two class system, a world of immensely self-important Engineers and Producers on one side creating a supposedly better, consumption-driven world, and a disaffected working class, totally directionless and without purpose, on the other. Another recurring theme is the importance of testing determining one’s ultimate destiny in life, something that’s also becoming a little too real these days.

It also bears mentioning that with the BCS title game tonight, there’s an aside in the story about college football becoming a money-driven behemoth. The book was published in 1952, when the NFL wasn’t the juggernaut it is today, but it’s pretty great that Kurt Vonnegut still wasn’t too far off about the ultimate destiny of college athletics here.

Overall, it’s definitely an enjoyable read. As I wrote in the introduction, it’s not among the rarified company of Vonnegut’s best, but I would recommend most of his books to anybody and this is no different.