April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow,
Mea Culpa. We need to do a whole episode of FU just for me to apologize for this abomination. Sorry: to T.S. Eliot, for butchering the greatest poem of the 20th century; to Ezra Pound, Petronius, Dante, Ovid, Jessie Weston, et al, by extension; to Superchunk, for stealing their slidey, distorted octaves; to drummers everywhere for only using one lame drum loop; to human ears for rushing out a mix that I will heavily tweak as soon as I get a chance; to The Nerds of Back to Work for taking two motherscratching weeks to record FIVE (5) different versions of this atrocity. So: Sorry.
That said? I really like this song a lot. Singing is fun. ↩
“Many films diminish us. They cheapen us, masturbate our senses, hammer us with shabby thrills, diminish the value of life. Some few films evoke the wonderment of life’s experience, and those I consider a form of prayer. Not prayer “to” anyone or anything, but prayer “about” everyone and everything. I believe prayer that makes requests is pointless. What will be, will be. But I value the kind of prayer when you stand at the edge of the sea, or beneath a tree, or smell a flower, or love someone, or do a good thing. Those prayers validate existence and snatch it away from meaningless routine.”—Roger Ebert on Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life (via viafrank)