kalpurna

Non-fanfic rec: Under Milk Wood, by Dylan Thomas. This website has the full text of the radio play, with embedded audio, which is exactly the best way to experience it. I like to listen to the beginning of the recording as I'm falling asleep. Everything about this play is numbingly beautiful; language and characters and quiet ordinary miraculous dreams. I want to quote every line, but, well, to begin at the beginning:

It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea. The houses are blind as moles (though moles see fine tonight in the snouting, velvet dingles) or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump and the town clock, the shops in mourning, the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds. And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.

Well, I had a really long, thought-provoking meta post all typed up, but then two things happened: first, I closed the window and LJ didn't save it (WTF, LJ?), and then I saw the new Cobra Starship video.

You guys.

YOU GUYS.

You've seen the Church of Hot Addiction video, right? (Oh my God, why not? One word: FURRIES.) Well, then take a look at this.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GABE SAPORTA LOVES ME AND WANTS ME TO BE HAPPY.