Good questions asked by Michael Bolton.

Michael Bolton asks way too many questions.


She’s like the wind through my trees. Best song ever.

I don’t get why you can’t write songs like this.


If you’re ever in need of a dose of perspective, NASA has you covered.

This is the second-best idea NASA ever had, after going to space in the first place.

I love this so much.

Watching this video, listening to Sufjan’s intro to “Now that I’m Older,” my eyes traveling unconsciously up and down the neon tape he has all over his shirt and arms, the name Duncan flashed into my brain. “Duncan?” Duncan, my Music Hum professor ten years ago. A decade after college, I hardly remember any of the names of my professors. Duncan was a guy I haven’t thought about since then. So, why can I recall his name? The brain is a funny thing. If someone had asked me 10 minutes ago what my Music Hum professor’s name was, I wouldn’t have been able to tell. But looking at that neon tape, remembering a professor who once came to class with pants made out of red, green and yellow duct tape was the key to unlocking that little neuron which held the answer. Duncan. Duncan, wherever you are thanks for expanding my knowledge of music. I still listen to many of the compositions and composers you discussed in class. And I will never forget your pants.

The Story of a Town and the Cards that Fell

I thought my house of cards had fallen. That all my secrets that held those walls of lies, the smoke and mirrors, had been unearthed. But I find once more myself living in a house of cards. Worried about the dead bodies lying underneath. It’s as if the walls never fell. Did no one see them fall? Couldn’t they see? Or did they just make believe? Maybe they just didn’t want to see. Maybe the walls collapsing around me made them fear their walls would also fall. Maybe I’m living in a town of cards. One misstep and everything falls, everyone’s left naked, and alone. Or maybe finally we wouldn’t be.


The shadows will fall behind

Oh, optimism. Sometimes, the sunshine blinds.

He was climbing up a rock at the edge of a lake. Not too tall, maybe twice his size. The sun was high; its light bright white. The boy’s palms were sweaty. He was following his friend, his best friend. A quick boy of similar age, but much smaller in size. He couldn’t tell how far ahead the other boy was, but he knew he had to catch up. He knew he might miss him. He felt that if he didn’t reach the top in time he would never see his friend again. His climb became frantic, his breath, short, and as he stretched his hand forward to to pull himself to the top, he saw the other boy’s legs, standing.


To live in the hearts we leave behind

"… is not to die." - Campbell

Once we realized we would eventually die, we became obsessed with cheating death.