Joni Mitchell in a 1979 Rolling Stone interview with Cameron Crowe.
why the hell did I think Grimes was a boy??????
from finding books of old photographs in the smallest bedroom of my grandfathers house to having my dad ask me to forgive him to having people come up to me to whisper in my ear ” you know, you were your grandma and grandpa’s favorite. they always did love you best….”
I’m a wreck.
I didn’t realize how much this affected my family but its torn us apart and brought us together at the same time.
funny how life works isn’t it?
the funeral is tomorrow and we’re leaving soon to be with my family.
to tell you the truth, I’m scared out of my mind. I don’t want to go but when people are calling you and leaving ten messages on your phone every day telling you you have to go you kind of give in.
I keep trying to make sense of a boy who says he likes me and acts like he does, but then completely closes himself off when he gets busy and doesn’t notice me at all. Its been different since Monday, and I keep trying to figure out why but I’m realizing that if something doesn’t feel right you should backtrack a bit and try to figure out why that is. I’m also realizing that if a girl tells you no, or to please stop, you should stop. you shouldn’t say ” shhhhh.” and just keep doing whatever you were doing to her. I think that some things can feel empty and the reason they feel empty is because there isn’t anything there.
you say you like me. why do you like me?
you say you like being around me, why?
I don’t understand relationships and I don’t understand sex and I don’t know how a person can enjoy something that feels empty. maybe for guys its different, maybe they don’t care about connections or feelings, maybe they can shut off easier, but girls fucking read into everything, they want someone to care about them and to brush their hair out of their face and to hold them if they’re crying and they don’t want to feel empty.
I don’t want to feel empty.
Frank O’Hara, from an interview in What’s With Modern Art? quoted by Buongiorno.
Much of our technological and cultural labor is driven not by our interest in ending death or securing the safety of the species, but by our desire to take the attention of others —against their will and without their permission— and use it for our own ends: some high-minded, some commercial, some gently egocentric. There is innocence in our pursuit of one-another’s attentions, but there is also consequence: we may be ordinary hawking proles just trying to get by in the attention-economy, but when the “slightest loss of attention leads to death” the lolling, gesticulative banter of the advertising-sponsored Internet masks an undeclared, unfavorable exchange: our time, awareness, attention for diversion, small serotonin bumps, temporary highs, the exhaustion of drives rather than their culmination.
This is why attention-seeking is not merely aesthetically unpleasant but is in fact immoral: to insist on taking the attention of another is a kind of theft, a destructive coercion. Rare moments and our works notwithstanding, our shared failure is that we are all bored, lazy, trivial, and proud; the lifelong struggle to be attentively engaged, hardworking, serious, and humble is both ennobling and quixotic, but part of that effort must be that we refrain from stealing one another’s attention for boring trivialities or the lazy pride we accrue like sediment.
The humblebrag isn’t harmless, and neither are products which game your attention, whittle away your life while you’re too distracted or addicted to notice, and return to you only the shaved splinters of your software-interaction memories and the experience of unmemorable occupancy.