pale as a lemon

upturned moon; urging on the night.

"To classical, you listen stubbornly. Some mania is also of use. At the beginning at least. The tracks combine to larger chains of sounds and called funny Italian names. You should repeat listening to the sound-pileups even if you don’t like to. Especially if you don’t like to. Listening to classical is like listening to a tale told in a foreign language you’ve had no idea it existed. After the tale has been repeated a hundred times you still don’t understand the language, but miraculously you know, what the tale is about."

Patefoni, on classical music.

While we’re on that,

Damn, I have tonnes of random songs downloaded. When was the last time I listened to The Young Romans? Ages ago. I did listen to all 69 love songs by Magnetic Fields but I remember only the Kuckoo song because it was the first track of the first part of the album. Mono kicks my fucking gut it’s unbearable. We The Living was my gym song (can’t believe I actually used “gym song” in a sentence, although to be honest it was 30 minutes trying to catch my breath, lets be real ok.)  Guys, I have Taylor Swift — I don’t mind Taylor Swift. (This is probably the right time to confess that I also have One Direction somewhere, and today, while I was driving, One Direction was playing on the radio and !surprise! I was singing along.) Tonnes of OST, I am a soundtrack girl. I love soundtracks like I love my paperbacks. I hoard them and I love them and I overuse them and I share them. The past year, I’ve probably listened to Daughter the most because it’s my go-to music every time I do Maths. There’s Rachmaninov, Bach and Vivaldi; the only classics I downloaded but I honestly don’t know how to listen to classics. Carlos Paredes was a lovely, lovely rediscovery.

I like Bastille’s Oblivion. “Are you going to age with grace?” is what I ask myself every time I see the reflection in the mirror.

I was tagged by sexymnymphos

Rules: YOU CAN tell a lot about someone by the music they listen to. Hit shuffle on your iPod / iPhone / iTunes /Media player and write down the first 10 songs. then pass this onto 10 people.

  1. Damien Rice - Sleep Don’t Weep
  2. Carlos Paredes - Variaçães Em Re Maior
  3. We The Living - History
  4. Magnetic Fields - I Shatter
  5. My Morning Jacket - Circuital
  6. Kenji Kawai - Making of Cyborg
  7. Magnetic Fields - Promises of Eternity
  8. Bombay Bicycle Club - Home By Now
  9. The Young Romans - Lemon Trees
  10. We The Living - Barometers

The shuffle option is freaky.

Optional tag (just because I am curious), but you guys can totally not do it :- kaash, patefoni, litafficionado, mmrdsr, heliophobus, ehmiyat, mangostreets, teteroroma, peachdrug, alqam-r.

"The tragedy of love is not death or separation.[…]The tragedy of love is indifference."

W. Somerset Maugham, from The Trembling of a Leaf (via litafficionado)

Alice Faye – You'll Never Know (22 plays)

I speak your name in my every prayer
If there is some other way to prove that I love you
I swear I don’t know how

(Source: tacheia)

After some reflection, I’m very sure it is applicable to say “I like my man like I like my wine.” — old, and something I don’t drink i.e. unattainable i.e. gay.

Things could mean dearly to me or otherwise. Otherwise being a state that I couldn’t care less. A state where the cruelty of ignorance doesn’t even apply. Because you simply don’t exist and you simply won’t affect me. I wish — I wish for a bionic heart. But I’m no runner and the sun scares me. 
When I was in my teens, I told my Mum I couldn’t stop crying as I’ve gotten older. “I don’t understand why I cry all the time”. She told me this is a sign of maturity, “You’ve grown to be sensitive to others.” Hypersensitive, in fact. Thus far, existence has been about being on the edge of a cry. For good happy things, I’ll cry; for stupid bullshit fuckeries, I’ll cry; when I breathe, I cry. I’ve told you here (dear Tumblr) I feel the most beautiful when I cry. 
Too bad, I almost always hide this. My beautiful crying face is not something I share, I couldn’t. Unless someone looks close enough, which is infrequent and not something I sought for, crave or wish to ever happen. It’s intrusive, you could be my mother and you’re still a stranger to a crying me.
addendum: my feet is on the left. This was from 2 months ago, I’ve gotten a sandal tan and it’s still so obvious. Picture is not related to post, I just feel like posting a picture.

Things could mean dearly to me or otherwise. Otherwise being a state that I couldn’t care less. A state where the cruelty of ignorance doesn’t even apply. Because you simply don’t exist and you simply won’t affect me. I wish — I wish for a bionic heart. But I’m no runner and the sun scares me. 

When I was in my teens, I told my Mum I couldn’t stop crying as I’ve gotten older. “I don’t understand why I cry all the time”. She told me this is a sign of maturity, “You’ve grown to be sensitive to others.” Hypersensitive, in fact. Thus far, existence has been about being on the edge of a cry. For good happy things, I’ll cry; for stupid bullshit fuckeries, I’ll cry; when I breathe, I cry. I’ve told you here (dear Tumblr) I feel the most beautiful when I cry. 

Too bad, I almost always hide this. My beautiful crying face is not something I share, I couldn’t. Unless someone looks close enough, which is infrequent and not something I sought for, crave or wish to ever happen. It’s intrusive, you could be my mother and you’re still a stranger to a crying me.

addendum: my feet is on the left. This was from 2 months ago, I’ve gotten a sandal tan and it’s still so obvious. Picture is not related to post, I just feel like posting a picture.

We were out of time, so we didn’t get to visit the Picasso Museum. My travelling partner consoled me with “Next time, when we’re in Barcelona, okay?”

We were also in Cordoba for a few days and I missed out the Julio Romero de Torres Museum because of time constraint. I’m actually considering another trip just for this museum.

Above & in between.