Living in constant fear of making plans with yourself, isn’t living. Screw #foreveralone, in a world plagued by social media shooting you with news about who’s dog just ate chocolate chip pudding, sometimes, just maybe you’d need some time alone to think?
The Geek-Art of Fabian Ciraolo
Chilian illustrator Fabian Ciraolo did a hell of a job with those awesome illustration from our childhood memories. When cartoons get fashionized… I really love Fabian universe, and invite you to discover more in the full article !
“I’d love to teach kids songwriting, ‘cause I think that it’s a skill, it’s not really innate. I mean, you could have like sort of a gift, sort of a brain for writing a song, but I’d love to teach songwriting. That’s one of my dreams, I’d like to teach at Berklee College of Music in Boston, have office hours, develop inappropriate crushes on my students.”
— John Mayer (via misslellow)
(via backtojm)
John will get better, guys. Haven’t you ever seen an episode of Superman where he’s hurt but he still saves the day?
Why, yes, yes, I have.
(Source: sandwhichartistintraining)
ONE FORTY PLUS: I have no idea how to introduce this post, so I’m skipping the first...
I’d wait a thousand years.
I have no idea how to introduce this post, so I’m skipping the first paragraph.
During rehearsal on Tuesday, it came to mind that I should see my throat doctor because something didn’t feel/sound right. I went in for a visit on Wednesday and a scope of my vocal cords revealed that the granuloma…
Come out angels,
come out ghosts,
come out darkness,
bring everyone you know.
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 29, 2006
CHANGE
I’ve been thinking about something lately.
Imagine this:
You’re on an airplane, sleeping with your head against the window, your heart set on being home this time three hours from now. All of a sudden, something goes very wrong. The plane stops moving across the air and instead starts falling through it. The lights are flickering and the movie is skipping. The plane dips hundreds of feet in seconds, and the yellow cups fall from the ceiling. They’re a brighter shade of yellow than you remember, because unlike the demonstration, these cups have never been handled before. “Flight attendants take your seats now”, you hear, the pilot’s voice trembling over a cacophony of alert tones. You get that smell in the bridge of your nose like you’ve just been hit with a football. That’s what the fear smells like. The plane is going down.
Four more drastic drops in under a minute. People are crying. For all the folklore about how your life flashes before your eyes, you’re remarkably fixed on one vision - your parents. They’re sleeping at this very moment, in a bedroom so quiet they can hear the clock in the kitchen. And you can see them, clear as can be. You wish you could see a playground or a first kiss, but all you can see is your parents sleeping. Huh. Well, that’s that.
Several long minutes go by. Then, all at once, the lights come back on and the plane somehow rights itself. Some people cheer, but most people cry harder. The plane lands about an hour later, and as soon as you feel that touch down - hell, even when you were within 50 feet of the ground and could still technically survive a fall - you realize that however you brokered the deal between you and God worked; you’ve just been granted life in overtime.
Here’s the question: what do you change? Whom do you call that you haven’t spoken to in years? Whom do you realize has been toxic to your heart and drop with surprising ease? What trips do you cancel, and what trips do you book? What can’t you be bothered with anymore? What’s the new you like?
Think about that, and then ask one more question. Why not just change it all right now?
- John Mayer
(Source: kdtesting123, via )
Jimi Hendrix by John Mayer
Jimi Hendrix is one of those extraordinary hubs of music where everybody lands at some point. Every musician passes through Hendrix International Airport eventually — whether you’re a Black Sabbath fan or an Elmore James fan; whether you like Hanson or the Grateful Dead. He is the common denominator of every style of contemporary music. There were so many sides to his playing. Was he a bluesman? Listen to “Voodoo Chile” and you’ll hear some of the eeriest blues you can find. Was he a rock musician? He used volume as a device. That’s rock. Was he a sensitive singer-songwriter? In “Bold As Love,” he sings, “My yellow in this case is not so mellow/In fact I’m trying to say it’s frightened like me” — that is a man who knows the shape of his heart.
So often, he’s portrayed as a loud, psychedelic rock star lighting his guitar on fire. But when I think of Hendrix, I think of some of the most placid, lovely guitar sounds on songs like “One Rainy Wish,” “Little Wing” and “Drifting.” “Little Wing” is painfully short and painfully beautiful. It’s like your grandfather coming back from the dead and hanging out with you for a minute and a half and then going away. It’s perfect, then it’s gone.
I think the reason musicians love Hendrix’s playing so much is that the language of it was so native to his head and heart. He had a secret relationship with playing the guitar, and though it was incredibly technical and based in theory, it was his theory. And I think that was sacred to him. That’s why you almost never read an interview with him explaining his live-gear setup or his favorite scales. That’s part of what made his playing so compelling — all you heard was the color. The math is what’s been applied ever since.
I discovered Hendrix by way of Stevie Ray Vaughan. I heard Stevie Ray do “Little Wing,” and I started working my way backward to Hendrix. The first Hendrix record I bought was Axis: Bold As Love, because it had “Little Wing” on it. I remember staring at the album cover for hours. Then I remember spending months listening to Electric Ladyland, which was very creepy. There’s something dark about it in certain places that maybe Hendrix was too honest to hide.
Hendrix invented a kind of cool. The cool of a big conch-shell belt. The cool of boots that your jeans are tucked into. If Jimi Hendrix is an influence on somebody, you can immediately tell. Give me a guy who’s got some kind of weird-ass goatee and an applejack hat, and you just go, “He got to you, didn’t he?”
Hendrix has the allure of the tragic figure: We all wish we were genius enough to die before we’re twenty-eight. People want to paint him as this lonely, shy figure who managed to let himself open up on the stage and play straight colors through the crowd. There’s something heroic about it, but there’s nothing human about it. Everybody is so caught up in the otherworldliness of Jimi Hendrix. I prefer to think about his human side. He was a man who had a Social Security number, not an alien. The merchandising companies made the Space God. They put Jimi Hendrix’s face on a tie-dyed T-shirt, and somehow that’s what he became. But when I listen to Hendrix, I just hear a man, and that’s when it’s most beautiful — when you remember that another human being was capable of what he achieved. I will always try to attain that kind of control on the guitar: Hendrix’s playing was sloppy, but it was controlled. Who I am as a guitarist is defined by my failure to become Jimi Hendrix. And that’s who a lot of people have become. However far you stop on your climb to be like him, that’s who you are.
(From RS 946, April 15, 2004)
(Source: kdtesting123, via inyouratmospherejohnmayer)
