Grant Robertson · new media superhero

The new Death Cab track is totally rocking my world, for reasons I won’t go into. Suffice to say, you know who you are.

How I wish you could see the potential, the potential of you and me.
Its like a book elegantly bound but in a language that you can’t read.
It says:
You gotta spend some time, love. You gotta spend some time with me,
and I know that you’ll find love, I will possess your heart.
You gotta spend some time, love. You gotta spend some time with me,
and I know that you’ll find love, I will possess your heart.

I will possess your heart.
I will possess your heart.

IMG00213, by Grant_Robertson.

This very blurry picture is proof that I met Mark Cuban. Fear.

The weird thing? He was a little drunk. A few seconds before this picture was snapped in Austin, he told me my hair smelled nice. He’s right, my hair does smell fantastic but, it’s not the sort of thing you expect to hear from a millionaire playboy. Crap. Maybe I missed my chance? I don’t know who that girl was on the other side of him, but I’m guessing that if I really had to, I could take her.

Mark, call me.

Untie me, I’ve said no vows
The train is getting way too loud
I gotta leave here my girl
Get on with my lonely life

Just leave the ring on the rail
For the wheels to nullify

Until this turn in my head
I let you stay and you paid no rent
I spent twelve long months on the lam

That’s enough sitting on the fence
For the fear of breaking dams

I find a fatal flaw
In the logic of love
And go out of my head

You love a sinking stone
That’ll never elope
So get used to the lonesome
Girl, you must atone some
Don’t leave me no phone number there

It took me all of a year
To put the poison pill to your ear
But now I stand on honest ground, on honest ground

You want to fight for this love
But honey you cannot wrestle a dove
So baby it’s clear

You want to jump and dance
But you sat on your hands
And lost your only chance

Go back to your hometown
Get your feet on the ground
And stop floating around

I find a fatal flaw
In the logic of love
And go out of my head

You love a sinking stone
That’ll never elope
So get used to used to the lonesome
Girl, you must atone some
Don’t leave me no phone number there

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

–Rudyard Kipling

And the day bid a candy-colored farewell, by IrenaS.

You want to know why I hate you?
Well I’ll try and explain…
You remember that day in Paris
When we wandered through the rain
And promised to each other
That we’d always think the same
And dreamed that dream
To be two souls as one
And stopped just as the sun set
And waited for the night
Outside a glittering building
Of glittering glass and burning light…

Or loves another

Broken Hearted Saviour (B&W), by redmann.

He thought he was the king of america
Where they pour coca cola just like vintage wine
Now I try hard not to become hysterical
But Im not sure if I am laughing or crying
I wish that I could push a button
And talk in the past and not the present tense
And watch this hurtin feeling disappear
Like it was common sense
It was a fine idea at the time
Now its a brilliant mistake

She said that she was working for the abc news
It was as much of the alphabet as she knew how to use
Her perfume was unspeakable
It lingered in the air
Like her artificial laughter
Her mementos of affairs
Oh, I said I see you know him
Isn’t that very fortunate for you
And she showed me his calling card
He came third or fourth and there were more than one or two
He was a fine idea at the time
Now hes a brilliant mistake

He thought he was the king of america
But it was just a boulevard of broken dreams
A trick they do with mirrors and with chemicals
The words of love in whispers
And the axe of love in screams
I wish that I could push a button
And talk in the past and not the present tense
And watch this lovin feeling disappear
Like it was common sense
I was a fine idea at the time
Now Im a brilliant mistake

Hotline, by splorp.

As cautionary example only, and not for use in any court of law, we present you with 42 facts about Grant Robertson.

p.s. If my mention of Sakura had your mouth watering for authentic and traditional sushi style, look elsewhere. The once shinning star of east cobb eateries has been taken over by the Asian-fusion cuisine mafia. It’s still good sushi; Only now with hip names and hipper prices. My advice? Don’t bother.

Shiokoji sakura, by MShades.

I’m hitting Sakura for sushi with a rapidly mending Agent S. after work. Yum.

I don’t miss living in the East Cobb ghetto.. but I do miss Sakura, Bradley’s and Barrista’s Coffee.

EC/HC 4 life.. you know who you are.

High Fidelity, by drp.

“What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?”

- Nick Hornby’s “High Fidelity”

Weathered Sunset, by Fort Photo.

Now that you’re older
Taking the time to look
Back over your shoulder
On the days confusion took

Now that you’re wiser
Surely you’ve learned to read it
You should know
No surface shines brighter
Than the light that burns beneath it

Never so sure
We always take more
Though we still don’t know what it’s for

Now that I’ve seen you
Stripped to the very core
I know that I need you
Less than I did before

Never so sure
We always take more
Though we still don’t know what it’s for

- Zero 7, “The Space Between”