I’ve been writing crap online for 10 years. For those of you who have attempted to read my poorly spelled, grammatically criminal ramblings for any length of time I say thank you. I’m glad you’ve found time to scan these pages, I think I may leave it at that. Possibly sensible things are afoot.
Archive for the 'Ego' Category
like poo. i’m not really that angry… this has happened before. I’ve lost everything, at least the data on my mac is current and alive, just a bitch about people’s photos being destroyed. I can re-download all that tormented Seinfeld and Sopranos. May this be a lesson; a backup only works if its backed-up twice.
i.e. a backup isn’t a backup without a backup.
get me? what I should do is keep my aperture library - of raw originals or ‘masters’ on both my mac, my backup disk and periodically (by client or month) on DVD. this is the only way it works. that kind of backup is even built into the app.
start from scratch then. can someone send me all my favourite Godard films again. thank you.
I believe that you heard your master sing
when I was sick in bed.
I suppose that he told you everything
that I keep locked away in my head.
Your master took you travelling,
well at least that’s what you said.
And now do you come back to bring
your prisoner wine and bread?You met him at some temple, where
they take your clothes at the door.
He was just a numberless man in a chair
who’d just come back from the war.
And you wrap up his tired face in your hair
and he hands you the apple core.
Then he touches your lips now so suddenly bare
of all the kisses we put on some time before.And he gave you a German Shepherd to walk
with a collar of leather and nails,
and he never once made you explain or talk
about all of the little details,
such as who had a worm and who had a rock,
and who had you through the mails.
Now your love is a secret all over the block,
and it never stops not even when your master fails.And he took you up in his aeroplane,
which he flew without any hands,
and you cruised above the ribbons of rain
that drove the crowd from the stands.
Then he killed the lights in a lonely Lane
and, an ape with angel glands,
erased the final wisps of pain
with the music of rubber bands.And now I hear your master sing,
you kneel for him to come.
His body is a golden string
that your body is hanging from.
His body is a golden string,
my body has grow’en numb.
Oh now you hear your master sing,
your shirt is all undone.And will you kneel beside this bed
that we polished so long ago,
before your master chose instead
to make my bed of snow?
Your eyes are wild and your knuckles are red
and you’re speaking far too low.
No I can’t make out what your master said
before he made you go.Then I think you’re playing far too rough
for a lady who’s been to the moon;
I’ve lain by this window long enough
you get used to an empty room.
And your love is some dust in an old man’s cuff
who is tapping his foot to a tune,
and your thighs are a ruin, you want too much,
let’s say you came back some time too soon.I loved your master perfectly
I taught him all that he knew.
He was starving in some deep mystery
like a man who is sure what is true.
And I sent you to him with my guarantee
I could teach him something new,
and I taught him how you would long for me
no matter what he said no matter what you’d do.I believe that you heard your master sing
while I was sick in bed,
I’m sure that he told you everything
I must keep locked away in my head.
Your master took you travelling,
well at least that’s what you said,
And now do you come back to bring
your prisoner wine and bread?
-”Master Song” from Songs of Leonard Cohen






New RSS Feed
i have subscribers? apparently so. i’ve moved my feed over to this address:
update your bookmarks if you’d like. also, there may be a new podcast coming some day soon, keep up to date via the Podcast RSS Feed. i know it has been 3 years already.