{JT.}

I am the literary equivalent of a broken record/I am the failed writer filling his entire manuscript with a single page/I am the cluster of synonyms you look up in your dog-eared thesaurus to make your prose appear more eloquent/I am that fucking selfsame key you’ve left your fat lazy finger on for far, far too long. If these self-defeating words read familiarly, it’s because
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
I am the literary equivalent of a broken record
&c.

{JT.}

148.

Track: Calexico—Fortune Teller, 2012

I couldn’t sleep, not after what I’d heard—

would there have been a point to it?

We spend a third of our lives eyes closed

Add to that a fraction, through waking hours,

in which the absence of light hits our corneas

So much wasted time

so much haste, in time

Eventually, I lost the match.

You and I were in symmetry for a moment

except that now, I’m awake

with the weight of guilt resting heavily on my eyelids.

{JT.}

There is a man in my little town who has a habit of waiting for answers to disembark from glass bottles unto his shores. He waits with a pitiful sort of pensiveness, thinking that perhaps they’d be sent from some antipodean sea with the same painstaking care he parceled his verses with. He waits by the moonlight for each turn of the tide, but he’ll be waiting a long time still because no one in town had told him that it’s the currents he should commit to memory—like shrugged shoulders and dispirited breaths, tides can only go up and down.

{JT.}

144. Creep.

{JT.}

143. David Bowie’s “Sound and Vision” by Beck

This is music, the way it should sound; art, the way it should move.

142. Vancouver

Words & photograph: Justin Tan

141. Three crooked hearts and swirls all around

No Code is arguably the most underrated album in Pearl Jam’s catalogue and incidentally my favourite record by the band. Although it didn’t have much of the songs the band is famous for, everything else about it was perfect—the musical direction and experimentation, the Polaroid-motif album packaging, the sense of mystique that surrounded the band at the time. I haven’t listened to any of my old music in a long time, and certainly not this record for years, but doing so today (on my stereo) brought me back to that once-immortal state I called my youth.

{JT.}

140. Through their eyes

I heard this song while watching a Sex Pistols documentary last night. Everyone wishes they were born in an earlier time and partook in something… better.

{JT.}

✱Track: The Creation—Through My Eyes, 1967

139. Vanity moment

I don’t normally smoke, but..

{JT.}

138.

✱Track: Ludovico Einaudi—Berlin Song

137. Easing oneself into a body bag

There are few things in life that are as wonderful as PJ Harvey. Perhaps one such thing is the PJ Harvey of 20 years ago.

{JT.}

✱Track: PJ Harvey-Plants and Rags, 1992

136. Self-reblog №8

typophotography:

Words: Justin Tan

Photograph: Bianca Müller

135.

Thank you, seagull