We can figure out ways to complain there’s nothing new. Afternoons spent on a park bench where everyone acts like you, telling you what you already new: that this time was better, or that way was better. Don’t let me know you. I think you heard me. You gave me nothing. But I offered less than you.
I’m back etc.
Honolulu had it’s annual lantern floating festival this past Memorial Day. I usually try to avoid Ala Moana Beach Park because of the crowds, especially during this event, but I was somehow duped into coming by friends. By the time the sun had set it was literally a back to back, ass to ass mass. Honestly, the ceremony was a bit too ridiculous and drawn out. Usually monotone Buddhist chants were set to western chord progressions and the taiko drum routine sounded like a rock and roll concert. It was a shining example of the western appropriation of Japanese culture in order to appeal to clueless tourists as well as locals. I would have preferred the original tÅrÅ nagashi and not this sloppy imitation.
I can’t believe it’s been only three years since Camera Obscura released Let’s Get Out Of This Country. It seems like so much longer than that. And only lately have I been playing 2001′s Biggest Bluest Hi-Fi on repeat, an album that holds a special place in my high school heart. Their most recent album, released last month, crept up on me and I haven’t found the time to listen to it the whole way through. The first video from this release is typical Camera Obsucra, simple but endearing with excellent camera work that highlights the thrill of running off with someone you love so perfectly.
This is a letter by Jack Abott written to Norman Mailer from a federal penitentiary in the 1980s. I came across it in my readings for class and it really struck me because it was written so beautifully and because of the real saddness I felt from it. It’s a bit long but it’s an interesting read. This was taken from “Is There a History of Sexuality?” by David Halperin.
It really was years, many years before I began to actually realize that the women in my life–the prostitutes as well as the soft, pretty girls who giggles and teased me so much, my several wives and those of my friends–it was years before I realized that they were not women, but men; years before I assimilated the notion that this was unnatural.
Never Draw So Close to the Heat
“Lomo Sunset” by Marie B.
There’s a point in every summer day just before sunset when the wind picks up and the heat becomes tolerable, tolerable enough to come out from under the shade not worry about sweat or tans or burning. This summer, I climb onto my roof, panels still slightly toasty from the sun, and just sit. It’s my absolute favorite thing to do right now. This interval is what I like to think of when I look back on the season.
That voice and jangly guitar. So quintessentially folk-pop.
I’ve never been to New York City in the summer but if I did this is probably what it would be like.
The only necessary backing track/band of a sunset on a roof or anywhere at all. Beach House solidly delivers everytime.
An old classic from one of my favorite artists ever.
These are just a few of the songs that come to mind plus an amazing video of Beach House live at The Northcote Uniting Church in Melbourne, Australia performing “Astronaut” under the cut. Enjoy!
Read More »