the song is Sunblocks — Ratatat
Okay so I see that you posted this a while ago, but Jenna this is SO CUTE.
|Q:||How do we fall in love?|
|Jeanette Winterson:||You don’t fall in love like you fall in a hole. You fall like falling through space. It’s like you jump off your own private planet to visit someone else’s planet. And when you get there it all looks different: the flowers, the animals, the colours people wear. It is a big surprise falling in love because you thought you had everything just right on your own planet, and that was true, in a way, but then somebody signalled to you across space and the only way you could visit was to take a giant jump. Away you go, falling into someone else’s orbit and after a while you might decide to pull your two planets together and call it home. And you can bring your dog. Or your cat. Your goldfish, hamster, collection of stones, all your odd socks. (The ones you lost, including the holes, are on the new planet you found.)|
|And you can bring your friends to visit. And read your favourite stories to each other. And the falling was really the big jump that you had to make to be with someone you don’t want to be without. That’s it.|
|P.S. You have to be brave.|
Whoever you are, where ever you are, I’m starting to think we’re a lot alike. Human beings spinning on blackness. All wanting to be seen, touched, heard, paid attention to. My loved ones are everything to me here. In the last year or three, I’ve screamed at my creator, screamed at clouds in the sky for some explanation. Mercy maybe. For peace of mind to rain like Manna somehow.
Four summers ago, I met somebody. I was 19 years old; he was too. We spent that summer, and the summer after, together. Everyday almost. And on the days we were together, time would glide. Most of the day I’d see him and his smile. I’d hear his conversation and his silence until it was time to sleep. Sleep I would often share with him. By the time I realized I was in love, it was malignant. It was hopeless. It was no escaping, no negotiating with the feelings. No choice. It was my first love. It changed my life.
Back then, my mind would wander to the women I had been with, the ones I cared for and thought I was in love with. I reminisced about the sentimental songs I enjoyed when I was a teenager. The ones I played when I experienced a girlfriend for the first time. I realized they were written in a language I did not yet speak. I realized too much too quickly. Imagine being thrown from a plane. I wasn’t in a plane though. I was in a Nissan Maxima, the same car I packed up with bags and drove to Los Angeles in.
I sat there and told my friend how I felt. I wept as the words left my mouth. I grieved for them, knowing I could never take them back for myself. He patted my back. He said kind things. He did his best. But he wouldn’t admit the same.
He had to go back inside soon. It was late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldn’t tell me the truth about his feelings for me for another three years. I felt like I only imagined reciprocity for years. Now imagine being thrown from a cliff. No, I wasn’t on a cliff. I was still in my car telling myself it was gonna be fine and to take deep breaths. I took the breaths and carried on. I kept up a peculiar friendship with him because I couldn’t imagine keeping up my life without him. I struggled to master myself and my emotions. I wasn’t always successful.
The dance went on…I kept the rhythm for several summers after. It’s winter now. I’m typing this on a plane back to Los Angeles from New Orleans. I flew home for another marred Christmas. I have a window seat. It’s December 27th, 2011. By now I’ve written two albums. This being the second. I wrote to keep myself busy and sane. I wanted to created worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions. I’m surprised at how far all of it has taken me.
Before writing this, I told some people my story. I’m sure these people kept me alive, kept me safe…sincerely, these are the folks I want to thank from the floor of my heart. Everyone of you knows who you are….
Great humans, probably angels. I don’t know what happens now, and that’s alright.
I don’t have any secrets I need kept anymore. There’s probably some small shit still, but you know what I mean. I was never alone, as much as I felt like it. As much as I still do sometimes. I never was. I don’t think I ever could be. Thanks.
To my first love, I’m grateful for you. Grateful that even though it wasn’t what I hoped for and even though it was never enough, it was. Some things never are…and we were. I won’t forget you. I won’t forget the summer. I’ll remember who I was when I met you. I’ll remember who you were and how we’ve both changed and stayed the same. I’ve never had more respect for life and living than I have right now.
Maybe it takes a near death experience to feel alive. Thanks.
To my mother, you raised me strong. I know I’m only brave because you were first, so thank you! All of you, for everything good. I feel like a free man. If I listen closely, I can hear the sky falling too.
At 7:35 A.M, you lay your tired body on mine
before peeling off, like a slow band-aid.
At 8:40 you sprint home and make instant coffee.
At 9:45 we finally drink it, cold.
I finish your leftover half.
By 10:50 you are already breathless.
I live for every time we overlap.
When 11:55 comes I spend the entire minute convincing you to stay.
You never do.
By noon I put my hands on your shoulders and say, “Baby,
you’re getting thin. All this running in circles and barely sitting down to eat.”
At 1:05 you tell me that while you were gone,
15,300 babies were born.
At 2:10 you don’t say a word,
just come in and kiss me for sixty seconds straight.
At 3:15 we sit quiet, listening to rain falling everywhere
in the world at once: all 15,000 tons.
At 4:20 we pull a little from the tight joint I keep behind your ear.
You do not inhale.
At 5:25 you meet me for happy hour.
My neck already salted, a lime wedged in my teeth,
a shot of tequila sitting on the bar.
At 6:30 I hear the ticking.
I count your heartbeat like seconds between thunderclaps.
By 7:35 I can see you in the distance,
each second a tease until you drape over me.
We always love quick and you never let me hold you.
I dream of drinking you through a straw.
At 8:40 you watch my beard grow 0.00027 of an inch.
At 9:45 we do not speak.
Too many people have died since we last met.
At 10:50 we pray for a meteor,
at least a clumsy kid to spill sugar in our gears.
11:55 is my favorite.
We’re only apart for mere minutes.
But at midnight you’ll apologize sixty times
because it will always be like this.
At 1:04 AM I am already sleeping.
It’s exhausting loving someone
who is constantly running away.
My grandparents’ 65th wedding anniversary would have been this past Wednesday, February 15th. Unfortunately, however, my grandmother passed away in October after a decade of struggling with Alzheimers’. I guess I was still pretty young when she started exhibiting warning signs, so my main memories of her are from my elementary school years, and include her insistence at me watching a Shirley Temple film with her every time she came over- “but GRANDMA. I’ve already SEEEEEEN this one!” “It’s okay! It’s a good one!”
As she got sicker, my grandpa became the greatest example of love I’d ever seen— stubborn about giving her up to a nursing home, but visiting her daily for years once he did, even just to sit with her and feed her as she became unable to talk coherently in her final years.
At times not recognizing him, and longterm memory lost, one day my grandma turned to him and said, “You’re a nice man… but when are you going to marry me?” While I imagine that shook him pretty hard to hear that, my grandfather simply planned for a priest to come to the nursing home, invited his 8 kids and many grandkids and great grandkids, and they renewed their vows.
At Christmastime he told me that, before she took a turn for the worse, he had wanted to throw a party this year to celebrate their 65 years together. I just wrote him a card this morning to let him know I was thinking of them on their anniversary, telling him a little bit about my life and hoping to see him soon. I found myself unexpectedly in tears as I signed my name.
After my grandmother passed away, my mother told me a story of how, in Grandma’s final weeks, Grandpa showed up to the nursing home one day, kissed Grandma on the lips and said, “she never did forget how to kiss!”
What a love story. Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa. I love you.
Today’s Google Doodle. Whether you care about it or not, I hope yours is a happy Valentine’s day :)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PAUL NEWMAN!
Paul & Joanne on “What’s My Line?”
I’ve certainly posted this one before, but gosh darn it they’re so cute.
when Daniel Handler (a.k.a. Lemony Snicket) takes over @HuffPostBooks to give you love advice
even got RL Stine’s seal of approval, haha
[sidenote: this also worked in getting me to just toss $10 for his new book, Why We Broke Up —oops, Kindle, you make reading/bookshopping too easy.]
will you still love me tomorrow // amy winehouse
songs to cry to — this is lovely, amy, thank you.