So the problem is ...
Nov. 2nd, 2008 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fiercelydreamedThere are three things happening right now:
1. I'm too busy to be able to write this week.
2. I've been getting awesome new music at a pretty rapid rate.
3. I've been mainlining various TV shows for background distraction when I'm doing something non-cerebral.
This adds up to me having a lot of ideas for potentially awesome vids I do not have time to make.
The last half-hour's addition? A vid of the Tenth Doctor's relationship arcs with each of his companions to Jim White's Phone Booth in Heaven. I'm sorry, it's hard to think of a better epitaph (or condemnation) for him than there's a phone booth in heaven that no one is calling.
Oh where are we going? Oh where have we been? Our hush-a-bye angel, she's safe and tucked in. I drive around town, while you sit and watch the rain. There's what you think with your heart and what I feel with my brain.
For those who plant nothing but the seeds of the falling there is a phone booth in heaven that no one is calling. It sits on a highway that leads nowhere. I'll drop you a line next time I find myself there.
Remembering them days, how we wore our weakness well. There's some say that heaven can't exist without hell, well if the proof's in the pudding, and that axiom's true, somehow the heart of the matter escaped me and you.
For those who plant nothing but the seeds of the falling there is a phone booth in heaven that no one is calling. Though the ghosts of redemption might whisper odd promises, I for one don't put much faith in them specters.
Now the blueprint for sorrow is just to put off the hurt 'til the price of tomorrow becomes more than love's worth. 'Til what's begged and what's stole is just the hollow remains of some beautiful failure that we cling to in vain.
For those who plant nothing but the seeds of the falling there is a phone booth in heaven that no one is calling. The truest word heard there is the word that's unspoken 'cause you can't mend what the Good Lord designed to be broken.
Oh where are we going? My darling oh where? Our sweetheart's in dreamland, please let her stay there. We are two separate people, with two separate ways. Until we come to our senses, it's our sweetheart that pays.
I think it may be time for me to post a "Vids I'm Not Making" mix, complete with notes, to give away the ideas I'm pretty sure I won't follow up on. Yay? Nay?
1. I'm too busy to be able to write this week.
2. I've been getting awesome new music at a pretty rapid rate.
3. I've been mainlining various TV shows for background distraction when I'm doing something non-cerebral.
This adds up to me having a lot of ideas for potentially awesome vids I do not have time to make.
The last half-hour's addition? A vid of the Tenth Doctor's relationship arcs with each of his companions to Jim White's Phone Booth in Heaven. I'm sorry, it's hard to think of a better epitaph (or condemnation) for him than there's a phone booth in heaven that no one is calling.
Oh where are we going? Oh where have we been? Our hush-a-bye angel, she's safe and tucked in. I drive around town, while you sit and watch the rain. There's what you think with your heart and what I feel with my brain.
For those who plant nothing but the seeds of the falling there is a phone booth in heaven that no one is calling. It sits on a highway that leads nowhere. I'll drop you a line next time I find myself there.
Remembering them days, how we wore our weakness well. There's some say that heaven can't exist without hell, well if the proof's in the pudding, and that axiom's true, somehow the heart of the matter escaped me and you.
For those who plant nothing but the seeds of the falling there is a phone booth in heaven that no one is calling. Though the ghosts of redemption might whisper odd promises, I for one don't put much faith in them specters.
Now the blueprint for sorrow is just to put off the hurt 'til the price of tomorrow becomes more than love's worth. 'Til what's begged and what's stole is just the hollow remains of some beautiful failure that we cling to in vain.
For those who plant nothing but the seeds of the falling there is a phone booth in heaven that no one is calling. The truest word heard there is the word that's unspoken 'cause you can't mend what the Good Lord designed to be broken.
Oh where are we going? My darling oh where? Our sweetheart's in dreamland, please let her stay there. We are two separate people, with two separate ways. Until we come to our senses, it's our sweetheart that pays.
I think it may be time for me to post a "Vids I'm Not Making" mix, complete with notes, to give away the ideas I'm pretty sure I won't follow up on. Yay? Nay?