
Origami Around

★
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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@recto--verso-blog
“Without you, today’s emotions would be the scurf of yesterday’s.”
Amélie (2001) dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet
Vita Nulla Est
We spend our money on useless trash, and spend our time numb and black. We take little white pills to not kill ourselves, Until those little pills run out. We kill our fellow man for a measly drop of oil, and somewhere else we push the blame. We say their religion is the route of all evil, but the thing about religion is that it's all the same. The rest of the world is not there and why should we care? We have the next big thing to keep us busy and we have our diamond rings and plastic cities. But what we don't understand is that this is a life we aren't living. I'd pray for peace but I know it's impossible. I'd pray to get through this but I know it's impassible. I'd pray for a place but I have nowhere to go. I'd pray to a god but he turned his back long ago. Eliot said it best: A whimper, not a bang. So from our gold chains and television cables we shall hang.
This Road of Mine
I'm driving on a highway, It's pitch black and my lights aren't working, And I know that at any moment I could crash, And I know that at any moment I could pull the car over. But i know that if i do that I can't reach my destination, But I don't know where my destination is, And every mile marker I pass reminds me that I'm unable to stop, And every mile marker I pass reminds me that the road is unending. Or so it seems Or so it will be. Until I reach my destination And realize that it was all for nothing.
“that made me want to do a show.” (x) - (x)
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
When someone tries to tell you how to live your life.
Happy GIFFing, from us to you.
we’ve been pretty quiet here for a while, writers block city.
Weeaboo Trash
I love japanese poetry, I never knew you could tell such a complex story in just a few lines, and still do it beautifully. I still don't know how they do it, but I gave it a shot. And missed completely. Enjoy -R
A tiger in snow
Knows not the destructive heat
Of the cruel summer.
My frail voice shatters
Like the vase that held your rose.
I fall like the petals.
She yelled today
And threw my belongings out.
The fruit's sweeter here
Rotten apple, rotten tree.
Jersey took apart my soul,
But Tokyo put it back.
All the stars are dead
And one day I will be too,
Or maybe, I am.
Deaf children sing songs,
No rhyme or rhythm at all.
The way of the world.
I'm a shit writer.
Does anyone read this shit?
It's like a child's.
Recto's Theory On Writing
About 60 seconds ago I had a thought. Where do these things called thoughts come from? Where do ideas come from? Why is it that when I write something I don't have to try, the words just seem to come to me? I wonder if Beethoven was ever just walking down the road one day, I don't know, getting groceries, You know, things that Beethoven would do, and he just stopped, dropped everything, said "Holy shit.", ran home, and wrote Moonlight Sonata. This sort of thing just happened to me 60 seconds ago as I got an itch to wrote this post so currently I'm typing away on my phone, parked in front of someone's house. Hopefully they don't call the police. But it's not like I was thinking of anything before this idea came to me, it just happened. Now, any modern day scientist would probably tell you that ideas come from deep inside the synapses in your brain stem. But I have a different theory. Ghosts. "Wait, what, did this motherfucker seriously just say GHOSTS!" Yes, dear reader, I did. But bear with me for a second. Ideas are ghosts in the sense that they find you and they possess you. They become part of you, and use your body as a vessel to become physical. This brings me back to Moonlight Sonata and Beethoven. Beethoven was a genius, obviously, and probably did not sit around his house going "Oh fuck, I gotta write another masterpiece real quick or else I'm really gonna be screwed." The song came to him, it wrote itself using his hands. Just like this idea came to me and is creating itself through my fingertips. I mean, how else could that brilliant bastard write music while DEAF? Ideas are ghosts who float through space looking for someone to create them, some are bad, some are good, some never get found at all, and some, well, some become masterpieces. So if you ever write something, film something, hear something, or see something that sucks, don't get angry or scared or discouraged. It's not your fault and it isn't the fault of the creator, it's the idea's fault for being bad. I mean, how else could the legendary David Fincher create such Masterpieces as Fight Club and Gone Girl while also having created the cinematic abortion that is Alien 3.
Recto's End of the World Mixtape
Today let’s talk about two subjects near and dear to my heart: Music and the Apocalypse. While watching the rain pound the outside of my frail glass window in the darkness of my room today I experienced something I hadn’t experienced in a while: complete and utter silence. Well that is except for the sound of the rain as it attacked my poor unsuspecting house. But, not only was it silence but pure dis-connectivity. My power was out and my phone was dead, my laptop couldn’t connect to the Internet because the WiFi was out, my record player needs to be plugged in to work, and both my guitars are electric. And though I can play the guitars without the amp, it just doesn’t sound the same. Also I’ll never be able to perfectly recreate the mind shattering solo from Spun by Grouplove, the song I was listening to before my fuse box committed suicide. I love music, I listen to it every single day and without it I would easily go crazy. So with nothing to do but listen to rain and read I started to understand how heroin addicts felt, well minus the sweating and shaking and what not. But I was going through some crazy withdrawals. I started singing Spun at the top of my lungs in a broken baritone that probably made my neighbors fear for their lives. It was at that moment that I realized that my parents are products of the 60s and that my house contained the miracle of technology that is the Sony Walkman. It also contained the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy, Awesome Mix Vol. 1, on casette. So, realizing this I quickly got the Walkman, changed the batteries, popped Awesome Mix Vol. 1 in, and got my well needed audio fix. It was at this moment that I realized that we live in a world on the brink of utter destruction. Okay, well not exactly on the brink but pretty damn close. I mean, imagine if one day our glorious leader Premier Putin drinks a bit too much Potato Juice and decides to launch a few teeny - tiny nuclear warheads at America. That would be the end of the world as we know it (cue Jimmy Eat World Song). And in an apocalyptic situation such as this all electricity would probably become non-existant, power would go out worldwide, and all over the world record players and electric guitar amps would cease to work. So it was at this moment that I realized how amazing the Sony Walkman is and I set out to make a mixtape in case of the end of the world. But this is no ordinary mix tape, no this is an END OF THE FUCKING WORLD Mixtape. This is a mixtape that would contain songs that I would have to listen to without getting sick of for the rest of my life. These songs would need to stand the test of time. So, people of the Earth, here is the complete track list to my End of the World Mixtape (All rights reserved to those individuals named and their respective agents and publishers. Please do not sue me, I have about 40 dollars in my bank account you would not get much.) and a not so short explanation of why I love each song. Also note that the average cassette holds about 60 minutes of music.
1. Spun - Grouplove:
The first song that comes to mind is the song that inspired all this. This song was first introduced to me via a friend(*cough* *cough* Verso *cough* *cough*) who put it into the soundtrack of a brilliant film that she wrote. I had never really listened to Grouplove before that film idea was brought to my attention and now I seem to listen to them on the daily. While both of their LPs are full of jams, Spun is the one that I love the most and the only one I feel I could listen to for the rest of my life. Featuring an interesting twist on the band’s usual repertoire in the way of guitarist Andrew Wesson singing the main vocals instead of the usual Christian Zucconi and backed by Hannah Hooper, the band’s second main vocalist, the song sounds completely original and incredible. Also, as mentioned above, the song features an incredible guitar solo that makes me want to ger up and dance even though I have two broken left feet.
That puts us at 56:35 minutes.
2. Dogs - Pink Floyd: If I was going to pick one song to listen to for the rest of eternity, why not pick one that has the run time of about 4 average songs. This song is about 17 minutes long and contains 4 guitar solos and a whole lot of incredibility. It starts off very jazzy with the soft acoustic guitars fading in as Roger Waters raw, natural talented voice echoes over them. Then it gets better and better as David Gilmour’s natural talented fingers play some of the best guitar solos to ever be written. They bombard the song as the acoustics come to a climax and fade out. The songs lyrics are also a thing of majesty, this 17 minute songs contains poetry better than anything I’ve ever written, or ever will write in my entirety. And to make it even better the lyrics are loosely based on George Orwell’s Animal Farm.
That puts us at 39:30.
3. Life on Mars? - David Bowie:
First let me start by saying I love David Bowie. In fact, I have a very unhealthy obsession with David Bowie and his music. Life On Mars? is not one of my favorite songs simply because it sounds sweeter than a Muse’s harp, or because it is performed by a God in human form, David Bowie, but because of its lyrical significance. Life On Mars? is a tale about the modern world which has become too obsessed with the media and being selfish. It is about people who are hooked to silver screen, i.e. TV, Movies, Magazines, etc. The most powerful lines in the song come from the chorus. In it, Bowie wonders if sailors who are beating each other up, and a policemen who are beating up the wrong guy will ever know that they are in the best selling show. What Bowie is really asking, or at least what I think he is really asking, is if these people who are senselessly beating the shit out of each other will ever realize that they are all part of the best program in the universe: The Human Race. Bowie then goes on to ask a question that is reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s incredible song from their 1979 album The Wall, “Is There Anybody Out There?”, which is Is there life on Mars? In this question he is comparing the human race to the barren desert planet of Mars, because we have all become so disconnected and cold toward each other, Bowie is wondering if there are any real people left out there. Maybe this is just because I like to over-analyze things, or maybe it is what Bowie really meant, but either way it is a question that can still be asked of the world today. Also it sounds fucking incredible.
That puts us at 35:47
4. Feels Like We Only Go Backwards - Tame Impala
Tame Impala is the brain child and solo project of modern day Australian renaissance man Kevin Parker. He performs every sound that appears in every song of Tame Impala but delivers none as powerfully or purely as he does in Feels Like We Only Go Backwards. When I first heard this song I was sitting by the ocean and stoned out of my mind. Every single time I heard Parker’s reverb-enhanced voice say “It feels like…” I felt a chill go down my spine. This song did not just make its way into my ears, but into my soul. If weed is still around at the end of the world, I’ll be sure to listen to this while smoking it.
That puts us at 32:35.
Please flip the tape over.
5. Paranoid Android - Radiohead:
Broken into four different sections and detailing a crazy experience that Thom Yorke had at an LA bar this song comes from Radiohead’s third(and best) album, OK Computer. Many people, myself included, consider this to be a perfect record and one of the best of all time, so of course it had to be on the End of the World Mixtape. It’s a song that is unforgettable because of its complex instrumentals and the raw talent that lies within the beautiful voice of Thom Yorke.
That puts us at 26:11.
6. Walcott - Vampire Weekend:
Another song that was introduced to me by a friend who put this into the soundtrack for a film, which also introduced me to this band which I cannot stop listening to. This song is incredible and chaotic. It starts with a crazy piano part which seems as chaos filled as the inspiration for the song: A short film written by lead singer Ezra Koenig about vampires who are attacking the United States. Unfortunately, the project was abandoned and the world never got to see the majesty that would have been Vampire Weekend. But instead, we got something much better: Vampire Weekend. A band that blends classical music, rock and roll, and a whole bunch of genres. They’re one of the most unique bands I’ve ever listened to and Walcott reinforces this originality completely. It’d be especially great to listen to if the apocalypse is brought about by actual vampires.
That puts us at 22:30
7. The Jeweller’s Hands - Arctic Monkeys:
One thing that always interested me is when foreign singers sing in American accents. There has been many times where I was surprised to learn of a British singer’s origins after listening to their Americanized songs for so long. Arctic Monkey’s front man Alex Turner, however, is not one of these people. He sings with a pure and beautiful Sheffield accent that gives the band a distinct sound. This song is almost as unique as the band and singer themselves. It swaps out their usual main guitar for piano and has very little guitar in the song at all until the very end. It has a dark tone and an incredible sound that could be listened to until my ears give out.
That puts us at 16:46
8. Bullet in the Brain - The Black Keys
In terms of musical evolution The Black Keys have evolved incredibly in the past 13 years. Their first album The Big Come Up is almost exclusively blues whereas their most recent album Turn Blue is almost exclusively psych rock. Some people don’t like this and either dislike their early work or dislike their latest work but I like all of their work. I especially like this song. It has a somber and mellow beginning which turns into an upbeat,energetic melody after that. It also has lyrics that are near and dear to my heart, as I too would prefer a bullet in the brain than to remain the same.
That puts us at 12:31
9. Tomorrow Comes Today - Gorillaz:
The world’s first and best virtual band is also one of my favorites. Gorillaz have an incredibly diverse range of musical style and it is almost impossible to pin them down to one genre. But any genre the band attempts is always done perfectly, and no song is done as perfectly as this one. With its amazing percussion and harmonica paired with Damon Albarn’s wondrous voice this song is basically an anthem for my life as I procrastinate when doing just about anything. But I’ll pay when tomorrow becomes today.
That puts us at 9:18
10. Hell Frozen Rain - Akira Yamaoka:
In the apocalypse there obviously won’t be video games. Or at least not console games, there may be the occasional handheld such as a Gameboy but nothing that will allow me to play one of my favorite series ever, Silent Hill. One of the best parts of the nightmarish Silent Hill series is the music. The soundtrack for almost every game is composed by the legendary Akira Yamaoka who blends rock, industrial, and nightmares to create the perfect sound. The soundtracks get especially good after the third game because Yamaoka employs the voice of the beautiful Mary Elizabeth McGlynn to really bring the best of the soundtrack to life. While the game that this song is from(Silent Hill: Shattered Memories) is not the best installment in the series its soundtrack definitely is. Listening to this song will remind me of the good old days of getting my pants scared off in the hellish town of Silent Hill.
This puts us at 3:38
11. Time in a Bottle - Jim Croce:
The final track on my End of the World Mixtape contains a song about capturing those moments near and dear to us and never letting them go. It is also about realizing that someone is the one for you. The one you want to go through time with, the one who you would sacrifice all your time with, the one who you would bottle time with. And if at the end of the world that one is dead then I’ll remember them by playing this song.
This is the end of the tape.
Please rewind the tape.
Thank you for reading this very unnecessarily long list and feel free to tell us what your End of the World Mixtape would contain. Be sure to tag it with the hashtag: #EndoftheWorldMixtape. Sincerely - Recto
Nobody
This is a short piece I wrote one day while feeling depressed. I don't know if I'll turn it into something or not, but I hope you enjoy what I've got. Thanks- Recto For the past twenty minutes I've been closing my eyes and listening to "How to Dissappear Completely" by Radiohead and trying to do exactly that: dissapear completely. But you don't care, do you? No one does. Why are you even reading this? Maybe you're bored on a slow Sunday at the cafe where you're a waitress trying to support your baby son after his deadbeat father skipped town. Maybe you're at Starbucks waiting for your triple shot espresso Frap to finish being blended and pumped full of liquid cocaine. Maybe you're just bored on a Tuesday looking for something to do so you found this and started reading. Maybe you're just another cliché, a plastic human trying to live your life as if you're in some kind of sitcom. But whoever you are that doesn't matter, but it's okay, neither do I. I'm nothing, nobody, a mistake, an abortion, an abomination. But for some reason this mistake won't be whited out, or erased, or burned; this mistake is still in the world, unable to leave, to dissapear, to die. And for some reason you're reading my words. The thoughts inside my head are now being transferred into yours. Well kindred brain - spirit I warn you, I urge you, I beg you to stop. Don't continue on, put the pieces of paper, or the computerized ones and zeros that make up text on a screen down. This is not a happy story, this is not an interesting story, this is not a story you will remember, this is not a story you will want to remember. This is a story about nothing, about nobody, there are no main characters, there is no plot, no exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, or resolution. This is not beautiful, this is not a cotton candy sunset overlooking the water which you just came out of and your skin still smells like salt the next day and your hair is full of knots and there's sand inside your eyelids but you don't want to take a shower because you want to hold on to the memory of that sunset, of those waves rolling onto the shore, into your soul. This is the air around you, this is the carbon monoxide leaking into your house that you can't see or smell, but when you close your eyes because of it you are unable to reopen them. This is nothing, I am nothing, and to me you are nothing. Ever since I was first brought into this cruel nightmare called Earth I was nothing. My birthers - which is what I call them because parents implies love, care, affection, things I do not have for them and they do not have for me - made this obvious by giving me a name for nothings, John. This is the same name they give to dead bodies without faces or distinguishing features, this is the name they give to serial killers who are really good at their job and as elusive as a fart in the wind or a cocaine heartbeat. My birthers are both awful people. The one who pushed me out of her cervix is a small, frail, devilish woman of about 50. She is a failure at life - she never went to college she can't get a stable job, she isn't good at anything - and so she tries to live out her success through me. Forcing me to go to a school I hate to study something I don't like to get a job where 8 hours a day, seven days a week I will hate myself and eventually end my life before I hit 27. I told her I wanted to be a writer, she said art doesn't make money. I said I wanted happiness not money. She said money is what buys happiness. I vomited soon after. But this woman is not as bad as the sperm donor that helped create the amino acids that make up my DNA, his DNA. He is also about 50 except much different than Her. He is tall,fat, disgusting, and has a liver about the size of Oklahoma. He drinks daily and has too much blood in his alcohol system to function usually. His skin is the color of a certain wallpaper that drove a poor Victorian woman into madness and just like this woman he drives me into madness. He yells and screams and tries to change me. He doesn't aprove of this and that, he just doesn't get it. He says I'm a dissapointment, a failure and then he wonders why I hate him. He votes Republican, hates anyone who isn't a WASP and isn't too partial to the fact that I'm into boys. Sometimes I wish I was adopted so that I could run away and meet two people who actually care for me. They'd take me in their arms and say "Whatever you want to be is fine. As long as you're happy." They'd take care of me, they'd love me, they'd give me a cool name and let me dye my hair blue. They'd let me stay out late and play guitar and start a band and be a poet and make films and make art and love whoever I wanted. But these people do not exist, they are too perfect and as the saying goes: Nobody's perfect.
You
You picked me up around 9:30.
You opened the car door for me.
You looked so goddamned cute I could not stop staring at you.
You played Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap
You opened the door to the Rainbow diner for me.
You got coffee and a glass of water with lemon.
You didn’t want to touch the lemon.
You were wearing jean shorts, a black T-shirt, and a red flannel.
You ordered a chicken Caesar wrap that wouldn’t stay wrapped.
You payed for my singular waffle and my cup of coffee.
You asked if I wanted to be in the car when you picked up Emily.
You told me about your taste in music.
You drove to Wawa and bought me a Vanilla Pepsi and a Monster for yourself.
You told me about a party you went to.
You dropped Emily off then drove me home.
You got out of the car.
You hugged me and I did not want to let go.
You looked me in the eyes and pulled my face to yours.
You kissed me and I felt an electricity like nothing I’ve ever felt.
You asked if I wanted to be your boyfriend.
You made it official on Facebook.
You became my best friend on Snapchat.
You came back at 3 in the morning to kiss me again.
You just texted me.
You called me babe.
I think I’m falling for you.
In Case of Insanity Break Glass
Should my candle’s wick be close to its end
Should my light bulb be dimming so quickly
Should my Sense and Reason start to descend
Should my fragile little mind be sickly:
Do not put me with other crazies
Do not leave me here to burden you all
Do not construct any chains of daisies
Do not catch me if I decide to fall.
Take my pillow, smother me while I sleep
Take a gun and just Of Mice and Men me
Take a sharp, steel dagger and plunge it deep
Take something, anything, and set me free.
I want to read and write and be alive.
I want to die if, of these, I am deprived.
If I Should Die Before I Wake
Goodnight moon. If I shall not greet the sun
When he peeks his tricky head o’er the peaks
And wakes the larks to sing songs of John Donne,
Write me a sonnet, or a song, don’t speak.
For the love of whomever ye shall want
Do not shed a tear for my small, meek soul
Do not hold a candle for me, don’t flaunt
Don’t make me a hero, just make me whole.
I’m scared of that unending blackness,
Fourteen Billion years I’ve not existed
And those long, dark years were without sadness.
I wish to be remembered, not missed.
Immortalize me in words of the pen,
Forget God, Earth is where I shall be sent.
Working at the Boardwalk
I am a cockroach with a string tied to his leg
Like one would put a leash on a dog,
But I am not a dog, no, I am less than that.
A dog needs food, water, and shelter to be broken into a subservient slave,
But a cockroach, well, there are billions of them all over the place.
They are not cute, they are not fluffy, they are not loveable.
They do not know you and they do not love you.
They are expendable
They work for you
NO
They live for you
Until you squish them, you take their lives and don’t think twice
And in the end you feel justified.
After all, the fucking customer is always right.
“This Weather Sucks”
Hydrogen and Oxygen mix in the sky
With some toxic emissions from NY.
The sky turns gray, darkness looming,
Shots like guns, from thunder booming.
The kids all wear tank tops and sandals.
They bitch and whine and change the channel.
They cry and fret over the fact that they can’t go to the beach;
Their lives are terrible, awful, new ones they beseech.
But me, I love this elixir from the heavens.
Everything turns a shade darker, all sound is deafened
By the orchestra of nature
Performing her masterpiece, the fruit of her labor,
The headlights reflect off puddles just like in a painting,
Everything is prettier when it’s raining.
So fuck the kids in their wifebeaters
Fuck the people on the sunny side who think the grass is greener
Fuck all the people who give me pain.
Shut the fuck up and let me enjoy the rain.
A Duel in the West
I look the sumbitch right in his cold eyes,
A bandana, a bandolier, a gun,
His eyes, his weapons, pointed right at mine.
This man, this boy, he is somebody’s son.
All around us dust and tumbleweeds fly;
The local peasants hidden behind wood,
Not a sound except our heartbeats, so dry
Wondering if we’d stop this if we could,
But it’s too late now, the duel’s commenced;
A scalp-hunter and a man of good faith,
Two from the same spectrum of level sense,
Each of us Angels, either of us Wraiths.
We pull the hammers back, a mirrored boom,
Bullets enter twin skulls of peace and doom.