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iscl:

The wind in my ear 
I pedal and push 
Riding my bicycle 

The clouds are too much 
I found the brakes 
Light came down as I rode away 

Tied up my ties 
Tried to look my very best 
Wind off an arm, arms 
Crossed on my chest 

Just what I feared 
A knife or a crutch 
Caught in the spokes and 
Got me all cut up

#pickwick    #fishytunes    #galen disston   

(via flightcub)

winterwasforlovers:

I’ll say the least; my friends are not so cool these days

#watc   
Source: sosbelair

I feel this song so hard

Johnny Cash | Hurt

What have I become

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away In the end

And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt

#johnny cash    #hurt    #music    #johnny cash hurt   

clairebourgeois:

Aidan Knight.

(via reginula)

hannaheppersonmusic:

November 5: It’s a chilly night in Toronto, but warm underground where I shuttle between city coordinates running errands, thinking about irony and trust and commitment. The service underground is devilishly sporadic, so I’ve closed the live stream window for 102.7 fm on my phone, where the Peak Performance Project Top 5 are soon to be announced. My partner is insisting we go above ground to stay tuned as the announcements unfold, but sometimes I don’t have the courage to earnestly admit to my uncertain and fragile hopes. And so I resist, and we make our transit transfers underground. // Above ground: we are sitting on a park bench now. I’ve opened two bottles of warm beer with a sick tube of mascara I found with shaking hands at the bottom of my satchel. Cayne has his phone to his ear and wears a nervous grin: three of five artists have been announced. They’re about to announce the fourth, and the live stream cuts out – classic. Seconds later I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. All I can utter is a whispered “what the fuck?” as a cold-hot electric current pulses through my ribcage and sends a numbing jolt to my heart, which beats fast and slow. // It is a bizarre feeling. Blinding gratitude on a sick park bench in the cold of an unfamiliar city. I can’t see through the blur so well now. I feel a hollowing-out as I brim over. How is it that I feel empty. // A day later: I recently started reading a book by Jedediah Purdy that addresses the culture of irony that has become so definitive of our generation. He writes that “irony is powered by a suspicion that everything is derivative. It generates a way of passing judgement on what kinds of hopes the world will support.” Every single person I have taken the time to get to know harbours their own secluded bay of insecurity, staggering self-awareness and an almost paralyzing capacity for self criticism. To take ownership of our convictions, to be unabashed in our beliefs, can seem embarrassingly naive, and so we cling to our nonbelief with a vague but stubborn pride, which ultimately seems to become our own undoing. // November 8: I don’t know if it is possible to hold self-awareness and unguardedness simultaneously within ourselves, but I am trying earnestly to find a balance. We are all vessels bearing singular-universal dynamic systems of entropy, where the measures of our own internal disorder or progression towards equilibrium are vast, if not infinite. There is value in declaring the hopes that we carry and which we know to be fragile. Maybe it is our capacity for uncertainty that makes us human, but it is the tireless task of seeking hope, conviction and belief in something – in struggling to make reality intelligible – that renders this life meaningful.  image

w-n-d-e-r-l-u-s-t:

Andy Shauf is hands down one of my favorite musicians. His last album inspired me to not settle with my own music. To put emotion into what I write. The Bearer of Bad News makes you feel like death. But it makes you feel. I want to do that. For so long my writings stayed on the surface but I so badly want to drown in my words. 

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