I can't believe it's almost been 6 years since Elliott Smith died. Every time I listen to him now I am haunted by that day: locked in the photography dark room at high school, "Figure 8" blasting through the stereo, making the teacher incredibly angry from preventing the rest of the year 12 students from finishing their assignments, a fragile ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

( Read more... )

( Read more... )

( Read more... )

( Read more... )

( Read more... )

( Read more... )

I want to sleep the sleep of apples,
I want to get far away from the busyness of cemeteries.
I want to sleep the sleep of that child
who longed to cut his heart open on the high seas.

I don't want to hear again how the corpse keeps all its blood,
how the decaying mouth goes on begging for water.
I don't want to learn the tortures of the grass,
nor of the ( Read more... )

I don't care about anything at all at the moment, if i could i would pack up all my things, leave my attachments behind me and cross the border now.