transient stars









The sky is blue and the grass is green,
everything's cool.


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west coast dreams


And all the children are insane,

all the children are insane

Waiting for the summer rain, yeah





(Source: Spotify)





What moves lives. What is said endures. There’s nothing in life that’s less real for having been well described. Small-minded critics point out that such-and-such poem, with its protracted cadences, in the end says merely that it’s a nice day. But to say it’s a nice day is difficult, and the nice day itself passes on. It’s up to us to conserve the nice day in a wordy, florid memory, sprinkling new flowers and new stars over the fields and skies of the empty, fleeting outer world.