Do I dare?

"For I have known them all already, known them all-
Have kown the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?"

Sad how this is really all there is. Just desperation, loneliness, and love.


This is all we have.

Eliot just makes me want to scream with the bleakness, the resignation to it. I can feel the sameness and routine of everything rising up to choke the life out of me.

They taste like ash.

(no subject)

Robert Plant, I love your voice. Literally, if I could have sex with any song, it would so totally be Kashmir.

BTW, is it weird that I still keep thinking Jimmy Page is dead? I know he's not, but with all the drugs and occultism, and, well, fucking weirdness of Led Zeppelin, I'm suprised he's still alive.