“World Spins Madly On” – The Weepies

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you’d gone
and let the world spin madly on

Everything that I said I’d do
Like make the world brand new
And take the time for you
I just got lost and slept right through the dawn
And the world spins madly on

I let the day go by
I always say goodbye
I watch the stars from my window sill
The whole world is moving and I’m standing still

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
The night is here and the day is gone
And the world spins madly on

I thought of you and where you’d gone
And the world spins madly on.

Letters from the Hedge: November 21, 2014

I had a bad day/night yesterday, and when I turned on my computer this morning, the way the button lit up brought tears to my eyes all over again.  Random things have always made me super emotional – ever since elementary school – but this time I suddenly got very sick of it.  I’m tired of being weak, I thought.  So I Googled “why do random things make me sad” and got my most favorite YA of all time, by Yahoo! user Keena, which I will post below (with added paragraph breaks.)

I asked a similar question a few years back, of course my story was a bit different. Today, I still get highly emotional/hypersensitive, however I feel way better than I did before. My psychologist said about the same thing to me, except she phrased it like “you make it seem really bad that you’re emotional/sensitive”.

At first, I didn’t take her words very well, but she was right. I wasn’t accepting who I was, and if some people can’t handle my sensitivity, they don’t deserve to be my friends. I did more research on being a big cry baby all the time, and believe it or not, there’s TONS of people like us. After I accepted who I was, I started noticing others similar. They were the most gentlest, caring, and had the brightest smile.

However, too much sensitivity can really cause a drain in one’s energy. So I’ll give you some tips on how I became slightly less sensitive and hopefully it would work to the best of your luck. The biggest link of depression is negative thinking. Think positively, even if things are falling apart. Try starting small first, like if someone cancelled on you, instead of “no one likes me” think “now I have more time for myself”.

Once you got a little power over your thinking/mindset, challenge yourself to desensitize from minor details that you would usually care about. I’m not saying, stop caring about everything, but pick which things to cry over, and which to not. If something on tv made you upset, that’s completely normal, you can cry about those things because it really doesn’t matter if you did or not.

The only problem is people who don’t accept other people crying from something that made them emotional. They simply don’t understand, and that’s not something you need to stress about. The world is not going to end. This is usually easier once you feel more in control of your mind, or rather how you perceive things. For instance, if you lost a game and your partner yelled at you, don’t worry about it. Justify your actions, instead of criticizing.  Accept if things are a mistake, and learn from it, rather than dwelling on it. It’s better to move on knowing what you did wrong so you can improve on it, then to move on feeling guilty and weeping about it.

Whenever you start to feel upset/emotional, analyze your feelings. What made you feel this way? What exactly happened? Will things get better if you cried? Are you going to be fine? Breathe, smile, and most importantly, find someone you can trust to express openly. A lot of times, I found myself bottled up with emotions, and thus believe it to be one of the biggest reasons why I would cry easily at anything.

Your psychologist is a great person to go to in times of rant. Trust that being emotional and hypersensitive is nothing to worry about. If people can’t accept that part of you, then I feel deeply sorry for them.

Hazy Shade

It’s 12:45 AM and we’re walking, the three of us,
through downtown Houston. The air is patterned lightly
with the scent of French fries and mustard,
sparked with orange from the welders
across the street, and as I hop from one
concrete island to the next all I can think about is how,
if my elementary school had a drama program, I’d be walking
a little taller tonight, my voice would have a little more
weight to it instead of simmering away
on the November breeze. I am twenty-one and already tired
of my voice, but there it is, just like the hair on my arms
or the low, wide angle of my hips, structured
to last me for decades. Now and again, I catch snippets
of the conversation my friend is having
with the man walking on his other side. It sounds like
he wants to teach drama, which makes me fidget
with the bottom button of my peacoat as I struggle
against the words Where were you ten years ago,
but they notice nothing, and the tears in my eyes
eventually roll down my face, one after another,
and blow away into the darkness.

I decided a long time ago that art was important.
How important is a different question and
not one I’m ready to answer. I already know
that poetry cannot protect me – not from greasy fingers
sliding around the edges of the shorts
my mother bought me at Macy’s, not from my own
fingers scrabbling for the keys late at night, and not
from the absolute terror that fills me as I wait
for audition results, or exam grades, or the next words
from the doctor’s mouth. In the face of failure
I am ten years old again, looking for a way out,
bony chest alive and crawling with fear.
The last train slides by. North. The same direction
from which the wind is blowing. We reach our destination,
pull the door shut behind us, lock it firmly against the cold.
Everything will be okay, not tonight, but
maybe tomorrow. Sunday, or next April.

In the morning, when it is tomorrow, I will walk alone
down the steps and pass someone, an engineer I think,
who I knew years ago. Creativity is useful in business
and science, I will remember her telling me. I will think,
as I look down at the edge of her butterfly-embroidered
scarf, about the strange places we find beauty, and step out,
blessed for now, into the sun.

“Take Your Time” (Acoustic) – fun.

Original lyrics not included in this version are in italics.

Take your time coming home.
Hear the wheels as they roll.
Let your lungs fill up with smoke.
Forgive everyone.

She is here and now she is gone
We had plans, we can’t help but make love.

It’s a beautiful thing when you love somebody,
and I love somebody.
Yeah I love somebody.

Take your time coming home.
Hear the wheels as they roll.
Let your lungs fill up with smoke.
Forgive everyone.
I don’t think I’d been misled,
it was a rock ‘n’ roll band,
I’m still standing,
Take your time coming home.

See, of everyone who called,
Very few said “We believe in you.”
The overwhelming choice said
I’m just a boy inside a voice
and if that’s true, is it true, if it’s true,
then what the fuck have I been doing the last six years?
How did I end up here?
How did I find love and conquer all of my fears?
See, I made it out.
Out from under the sun.
And the truth is that I feel better because I’ve forgiven everyone.

Now I’m not scared
of a sound
or the states
or the stages.
I’m not scared
I’ve got friends,
took my call,
came courageous.

Now I feel like I am home.

One more thing, I keep having this dream
where I’m standing on a mountain
Looking out, on the street
I can hear kids in low-income housing singing
“We’re through with causing a scene”
I don’t know what it means
But I too, am through with causing a scene.

She is here and now I think she’s ready to go.
For every love that’s lost I heard a new one comes.

So come on with me, sing along with me,
Let the wind catch your feet.
If you love somebody,
you’d better let them know.

Take your time coming home.

“Moonlight in Vermont” – William Matthews

For best results, have this playing in the background.
It’s the very end of summer
and one night, probably this week, frost will sear,
like dry ice, a few leaves on trees that forayed
a few feet from the huddle of the woods, and there

they’ll be, come morning, waving their red hands
like proud culprits.
One year mosquitoes clung to and trailed from
the walls and ceilings thick as tatty fabric,

and another rain lambasted us derisively
until the sogged lawns steeped like rice
in paddies. But each
year there’s a dusk when the moon, like tonight’s,

has risen early, and every hue and tint of blue
creeps out, like an audience come to music,
to be warmed by the moon’s pale fire. A car
or truck whisks

by on 125.
Somebody’s hurrying home, I suppose.
Each blue is lined with a deeper blue, the way
an old magician’s sleeves might be composed

of handkerchiefs. There’s no illusion here.
It’s beautiful to watch
and that’s reason enough for blue after blue
to blossom, for each decaying swatch

to die into the next. The faster it goes
the less hurry I’m in for home or anywhere.
Like a vast grape the full
moon hangs above an empty Adirondack chair.

By now the moon itself is blue. By this
we mean that we can see in it the full freight
of our unspent love for it, for the blue night,
and for the hour, which is late.

Artist Removes One Letter from Famous Movie Titles and Illustrates the Results


Writer and illustrator Austin Light recently shared a funny series of sketches from his notebook that reimagines movie titles with one letter removed. The idea started on reddit where users were asked to, “Pick a movie, remove one letter, give a brief description“.

As a daily art project, Light took the concept one step further, drawing a scene from the imaginary film. He also penned a brief synopsis for each. You can see the entire album on Imgur. For more from Austin, check him out at the links below.

Website | Twitter | Online store

1. Obocop

The story of how a police officer works through his PTSD and adjusts to his new robotic implants with the help of the sexy soothing sound of his oboe

movie titles with one letter missing illustrated by austin light (1)

Website | Twitter | Online store

2. Rave

One red-haired Scottish girl. One dance floor…

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