this is my (mostly) music blog. you'll also find writing related things, since that's what i'm doing these days and other pop culture miscellanea, up to and including my obsession with all things british.

things you need to know: i live in chicago, but i used to live in new york city. i go to a lot of shows. i stopped being ashamed of my musical tastes a long time ago. the first time i heard "eleanor rigby" by the beatles, i was nine years old and it changed my life.
Background Illustrations provided by: http://edison.rutgers.edu/
Reblogged from shadesofbrixton  217 notes

Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street. By Frida Kahlo (via amcjimsey)

Reblogged from lavishness  3,916 notes
amustsayb:

“I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.”
—Zelda Fitzgerald, in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald

amustsayb:

I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.

—Zelda Fitzgerald, in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald

Then I started thinking maybe we actually represent something to people, maybe when they hear the name "Foo Fighters" they just think rock’n’roll, and I thought, "Wow, that’s cool." Then over the years playing shows I’d look out at the audience and see kids with Nirvana shirts and their parents with Foo Fighters shirts — which seems upside down — and I’d see moustaches and kids at their first rock concert. Our audience became so diverse I thought, "Man, they just want to see a rock show." Go see Bruce Springsteen. Go see Tom Petty, AC/DC, Roger Waters, any of these people. Go see Pearl Jam or Soundgarden. I went to see Soundgarden four or five months ago; I didn’t stand in the VIP section, I ran down and got crushed in front of the stage and danced around sweaty with a bunch of people I didn’t know for an hour and 45 minutes. By

- dave grohl, billboard magazine

seriously, how is he so awesome? 

Reblogged from blurintofocus  5,491 notes
blurintofocus:

chanelleberlin:


Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan

Clearly I need to read this book, because it is singing my life with its words.

Feelings and thoughts.

seriously, any of you that have not yet read will grayson, will grayson need get on it. it’s the kind of young adult novel that i can only hope mine will be.  also, it has some of the greatest lines ever, including the ones above and my personal favorite: “how am i dating this sprinkled donut of a person?”

blurintofocus:

chanelleberlin:

Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan

Clearly I need to read this book, because it is singing my life with its words.

Feelings and thoughts.

seriously, any of you that have not yet read will grayson, will grayson need get on it. it’s the kind of young adult novel that i can only hope mine will be.  also, it has some of the greatest lines ever, including the ones above and my personal favorite: “how am i dating this sprinkled donut of a person?”

Reblogged from akafoxxcub  1,253 notes

For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again. By F. Scott Fitzgerald 

Reblogged from blasfemme  165 notes

We are a generation told not to try too hard. The world is going to shit, so why break a sweat? We are reminded daily not to trust our gut or follow our hearts, your dreams are unattainable and unrealistic…Fear is the eternal enemy. If they can keep you scared, they can keep you controlled. We too came face to face with this saboteur, and found the strength to break through and carry on. We are here as a reminder that the world is not better off without you… these are dangerous days we live in and you, the artists, are our last defense. Art is the Weapon. Your Imagination is the Ammunition. Stay Dirty, and Stay Dangerous. Create and Destroy as you see fit. Embrace your Originality. The Aftermath is Secondary. You can and should do Anything…Love what you do and who you truly are. Be willing to die for it. If you are true to yourself, you can never go wrong. And remember when life gives you lemons, MCR says start a fucking band. By Frank Iero (via allysongeray)

Reblogged from sarahspy  11 notes

New York had a way of doing that. Every now and then the city shook its soul out. It assailed you with an image, or a day, or a crime, or a terror, or a beauty so difficult to wrap your mind around that you had to shake your head in disbelief.

He had a theory about it. It happened, and re-happened, because it was a city uninterested in history. Strange things occurred precisely because there was no necessary regard for the past. The city lived in a sort of everyday present. It had no need to believe in itself as a London, or an Athens, or even a signifier of the New World, like a Sydney, or a Los Angeles. No, the city couldn’t care less about where it stood. He had seen a T-shirt once that said NEW YORK FUCKIN’ CITY. As if it were the only place that ever existed and the only one that ever would.

New York kept going forward precisely because it didn’t give a good goddamn about what it had left behind.

By Colum McCann, Let the Great World Spin (via sarahspy)

This is the song that says it all – you need to strap that person down and say, “Sit still. Stop struggling, you won’t get free. Listen. This is what I need to say to you. But I’m not articulate enough, brilliant enough, or brave enough.” Bravery is what it comes down to. Songs that can touch raw emotion are also a remarkable display of vulnerability; the writer puts his or her innermost thoughts out for the world to listen to. It must be incredibly scary to commit your memories to the recording studio, but also freeing. And, if you do it well, satisfying. By  - tasha frost, “on music and melancholy” from thought catalog

Reblogged from awesomejuice  64 notes

Anyone who understands how standing in a crowd of sweaty people, elbow to elbow, screaming along to the words embedded in your heart, can give you the most happiness ever needed. When you’re shoved against a sea of bodies and you don’t know what sweat actually belongs to you or your neighbour, you can barely breathe and in that moment, your favourite song starts playing and you forget about everything: all you’re concerned with is the melody, rhythm, and beat of the song. All you care about is singing your heart out and knowing it’s okay to love something maybe a little too much as long as it’s real to you. By

Gerard Way (via younevercared-)

this. always, always this.

Reblogged from slaughterhouse90210  344 notes
slaughterhouse90210:

“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter.” — Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

slaughterhouse90210:

“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter.”
— Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

Reblogged from lyriquediscorde  32 notes

There’s so many different ways to be connected to people. There are the people you feel this unspoken connection to even though there’s not even a word for it. There’s the people who you’ve known forever, who know you in this way that other people can’t, because they’ve seen you change… they’ve let you change. By Angela Chase (via mellymayhem)