Woody Allen: A Documentary

I'm not saying that my grim appraisal is right, of course I think it is, but this is only my particular take on everything- that we all know the same truth, and our live consists of how we choose to distort it.

Wind and Walls

Well always will and would is while you thought you heard him say
So you drifted off to see what's not in yourself
Light is turning slowly, will it lay I ought on the plains
No more night to watch you, roll back in no relief of no rain

It's the same sounds of rivers that you axis it with it
And telling people lies of lying treasures and cares
Nothing's more revealing than the dancer and the doubt
Waving to forget what's never gone, always right, never right

And all these riots of broken sound
Like the last voice you heard
Then you drowned

This is where your passion end of seasons and distress
And this is where you breath and walk and know they will aim
Light is turning slowly to the hand upon your chest
So lay it on the plains where there is fun, there is love, there is rest

From all these riots of broken sound
While you sleep on the track every night

tallest man on earth

Thrasher

With a one-way ticket to the land of truth
And a suitcase in my hand
How I lost my friends I still don't understand

They had the best selection
They were poisoned with protection
There was noting that they needed
Nothing left to find
They were lost in rock formation
Or became park bench mutations
On the sidewalk and in the stations
They were waiting, waiting

So I got bored and left them there
They were just deadweight to me
Better down the road without that load

neil young

The Age of String

So many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days you can hear their chorus rushing past: IwasabeautifulgirlPleasedon'tgoItoobelievemybodyismadeofglassI'veneverlovedanyoneIthinkofmyselfasfunnyForgiveme...


There was a time when it wasn't uncommon to use a piece of string to guide words that otherwise might falter on the way to their destinations. Shy people carried a little bundle of string in their pockets, but people considered loudmouths had no less need for it, since those used to being overheard by everyone were often at a loss for how to make themselves heard by someone. The physical distance between two people using a string was often small; sometimes the smaller the distance, the greater the need for the string.

The practice of attaching cups to the end of the string came much later. Some say it is related to the irrepressible urge to press shells to our ears, to hear the still-surviving echo of the world's first expression. Others say it was started by a man who held the end of a string that was unraveled across the ocean by a girl who left for America.

When the world grew bigger, and there wasn't enough string to keep the things people wanted to say from disappearing into the vastness, the telephone was invented.

Sometimes no length of string is long enough to say the thing that needs to be said. In such cases all the string can do, in whatever its form, is conduct a person's silence.

nicole krauss

East Harlem

Sound is the color I know
Sound is what keeps me looking for your eyes
And sound of your breath in the cold
And the sound will bring me home again

zach condon, beirut

Cleopatra (1963)

"How strangely awake I feel, as if living as been a long dream. Someone else's dream, now finished at last. But now I will begin a dream of my own, which will never end. Antony."