Below you will find a mixture of prose, poetry, random thoughts and a variety of images including some of my favorite music videos. Click on the triple lines in the upper right corner for more information on this blog. And most of all enjoy!
All works are Copyright 2008-2016 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.
At least that’s how I read it . . .
The best piece of advice I ever got was “Follow your own instincts.” Because what else do we have really? I’ve probably been advised to do almost everything and its opposite by one person or another along the way. For good or for ill, you can only live with the decisions that are truly yours, the one’s that come from the most authentic parts of yourself.
Even Kim Kardashian needs to be Kim Kardashian. In the end, the only true emptiness is not knowing who you are.
Via Jessica Valenti, an exchange between two five-year-olds from a British documentary series that (among many other things) concerns gender roles:
7 Punctuation Marks
33 Adjectives or Adverbs
Pinch of context
1) Sift nouns into a bowl.
2) Peel verbs and cut into wedges. Mince punctuation. Combine with nouns.
3) Place conjunctions in a paper bag. Hammer them to bits. Add to mix.
4) Melt pronouns in a greenhouse. Swirl them into the mix.
5) Pour mix into an oddly shaped pan. Sprinkle adjectives/adverbs on top.
6) Bake halfway. Ignore context. Serves whoever.
“I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times”.
Brian Wilson’s succinct expression of alienation. We’ve all felt this at sometime or another, that we don’t fit into whatever world we must inhabit. Truth is–few shapes truly mesh. Ask M. C. Escher.
I suppose it’s both the strongest measure of hope and the sharpest form of self-torment: the ability to imagine a world ideal for us, where we can only thrive.
Terror forms an opinion,
makes hostile urges a martyr.
One does not survive without tranquil
adherence to a subtle light:
The sanctity of each moment,
its own death assured,
Our escape, a chance or loomed in fate
as all horizons burn dusky,
And we hold onto one another to remain
moored to sanity,
Time’s anti-thesis, healing rather than
Fear is self-hatred,
a barking delusion
Quieted in a breath, away
We are not logical beings; our madness is not methodical. Logic is a facsimile of moral aspiration, of hope for a better future, imposed by us on ourselves in an attempt to cure our fundamental irrationality.
Happy New Year! 😉