Scarlet Begonias

I never realized one of my favorite Sublime songs was actually originally a Grateful Dead song. Recently I've been more interested in Pink Floyd and the Doors and now the Grateful Dead for all there music that makes me have feels (am I a Dead Head yet???????)

"She had rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes.
And I knew without askin she was into the blues.
She wore scarlet begonias tucked into her curls,
I knew right away she was not like other girls, other girls

...

Well there aint nothing wrong with the way she moves,
Scarlet begonias or a touch of the blues.
And there's nothing wrong with the look that's in her eyes"

But this is more my hot-n-gritty 90's in Miami style:

"A tie-tie-dyed dress , she was a psychedelic mess
We toured to the north, south, east and west
We sold some mushroom tea,
We sold some ecstasy,
We sold nitrous, opium, acid, heroin and PCP
And now I hear the police coming after me
Yes now I hear the police coming after me
The one scarlet with the flowers in her hair,
She's got the police coming after me"

YEAH SUBLIME STAY KOOL 4EVR

Sometimes i get art

Georges de la Tour is my new idol. Ironic, seeing as he is a fanatically christian painter and I just broke the 3rd amendment by having an idol...other than God...yeah that was a joke.

The light is so BEAUTIFUL. Just look at how the face of the young'n is illuminated and such a contrast against an old man against a midnight background. And all that the light hits are just shapes, yet our eyes fill in the rest of the space and we basically make up the scene in our own heads, guessing where the two are and what they are doing. Look at the hand!! It's a ghostly hand that cups the light source from actual view, as if la Tour is holding back a secret from his audience. Wow.

My Grandpa, Popfly

     He's a strange fellow. When I was little I thought he was the most clever soul on earth. He would always use cryptic little sayings as if to catch his grandchildren in their own confused contradictions. He would speak in riddles, always leaving a trail for us to figure out. He used to be a mystery to me, but in a way that filled my child's-mind with wonder and admiration.
      A year and a half ago, my 70-year old Popfly was getting divorced from Grandma Jane. I only learned the truth that summer, something that my parents had tried to keep from my not-yet-jaded knowlege. He had cheated on Jane with a mysterious woman from Israel, and now he was going to live with her. He was not sorry, for he was a proud man. But I was not proud of him. I was almost more angry with the fact that he would never apologize for his stupidity than for the fact that he ruined many relationships other than his. I no longer can talk to Jane's side of the family without the strain of knowing that his shadow loomed from the back of my eyes and haunted them.
     He doesn't know all of my anger. He only thinks I will love him unconditionally, as my parents had relied on me to do. But love is a hard thing. Trying to find trust in a person who you thought you knew, only to have them fall from your carefully constructed pedestal, is something that takes strength. And right now, I can't seem to find that power in me, no matter where I have looked for the past one and a half years.