MIKE QUINN - BIG SHIT from Mike Quinn on Vimeo.
Big Shit is the first video off one of our favorite albums of recent memory. Mike Quinn's Magico helped us get through the 14th hour of our drive back from Austin a few weeks ago and it helped us burn the bacon in our fry pan this morning. It helped us wash the snarkiness of LCD Soundsystem from our mouth even though we think the snark was ironic-snark. It helped us rethink the word "magic" and have a moment where magic isn't about wizards and potions, but about waves bouncing off the walls and into holes in your head that causes you to stop everything and start dancing.
61 comments:
This album may be the best thing to come out of Scranton since Pogash pizza!
hahaha :((
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Thanks You. I like eat the pizza
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Very cool behind the scenes insite, thanks for sharing!!!
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You can learn much more about marketing by just listening to this guy talk. he is such an amazing personality. See as eben pagan releases his master class..
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It properly. You really smart. I am very happy for it. Wish a nice day.
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I was alone on a sunny shore
by the forest's pale blue lake,
in the sky floated a single cloud
and on the water a single isle.
The ripe sweetness of the summer dripped
in bead of every tree
and straight into my opened heart
a tiny drop ran down
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
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"The falling leaves, drift by my windows.
The Autumn leaves of red and gold.
I see your lips, the Summer kisses,
the sunburned hands I used to hold.
Since you went away, the days grow long.
And soon I hear Old Winter song.
But I miss you most of all, my darling,
when the Autumn leaves start to fall.."
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As my eyes search the skies from the edge of the shore
You are here in my arms for a moment or more
Then a tear rushes down to the sand and the sea
And it cries "Come to me, come to me."
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I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
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Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
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Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
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I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
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I loved you, and I probably still do,
And for awhile the feeling may remain;
But let my love no longer trouble you,
I do not wish to cause you any pain.
I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew,
The jealousy, the shyness -- though in vain --
Made up a love so tender and so true
As may God grant you to be loved again
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The flower, very dry and scentless,
I see in the forgotten book;
And now, with the strangest fancies,
Is filled my soul’s every nook.
Where and in which spring was it grown?
And how long? By whom was cut?
By a hand known or unknown?
And why was put this page behind?
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George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again.
“That little git,” he said calmly. “He wasn’t so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came run¬ning into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?”
“Nearly wet himself,” said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.
“I wasn’t too happy myself,” said George. “They’re horrible things, those dementors. …”
“Sort of freeze your insides, don’t they?” said Fred.
“You didn’t pass out, though, did you?” said Harry in a low voice.
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The Grim’s not an omen, it’s the cause of death! And Harry’s still with us because he’s not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I’d better kick the bucket then!”
Ron mouthed wordlessly at Hermione, who opened her bag, took out her new Arithmancy book, and propped it open against the juice jug.
“I think Divination seems very woolly,” she said, searching for her page. “A lot of guesswork, if you ask me.”
“There was nothing woolly about the Grim in that cup!” said Ron hotly.
“You didn’t seem quite so confident when you were telling Harry it was a sheep,” said Hermione coolly.
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I was alone on a sunny shore
by the forest's pale blue lake,
in the sky floated a single cloud
and on the water a single isle.
The ripe sweetness of the summer dripped
in bead of every tree
and straight into my opened heart
a tiny drop ran down
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My soul awoke with decision:
And you again came as a blest,
Like an enchanting fleeting vision,
A spirit of the pure grace.
My heart beats on in resurrection --
It has again for what to strive:
Divinity and inspiration,
Life, tears, and eternal love.
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The flower, very dry and scentless,
I see in the forgotten book;
And now, with the strangest fancies,
Is filled my soul’s every nook.
Where and in which spring was it grown?
And how long? By whom was cut?
By a hand known or unknown?
And why was put this page behind?
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Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
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You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
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i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
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There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
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The flower, very dry and scentless,
I see in the forgotten book;
And now, with the strangest fancies,
Is filled my soul’s every nook.
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As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught him¬self thinking almost longingly of life at number four without her. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do. Aunt Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement. She delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge plea¬sure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn’t got a present too.
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I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o' er vales and Hills.
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of goden daffodils:
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in a never-ending line
Along thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing thier in sprightly dance.
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"The falling leaves, drift by my windows.
The Autumn leaves of red and gold.
I see your lips, the Summer kisses,
the sunburned hands I used to hold.
Since you went away, the days grow long.
And soon I hear Old Winter song.
But I miss you most of all, my darling,
when the Autumn leaves start to fall.."
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I shall gather myself into my self again,
I shall take my scattered selves and make them one.
I shall fuse them into a polished crystal ball
Where I can see the moon and the flashing sun.
I Shall sit like a sibyl, hour after hour intent.
Watching the future come and the present go -
And the little shifting pictures of people rushing
In tiny self-importance to and fro.
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I looked around to ask what happened, if somebody'd known,
Found no one but living room as a flood.
Running away by myself on the village road,
Not knowing where to go but heading for my teacher
Realizing she's the only one who could help to clear my throat,
But this time she gave up, telling me strange things in fear.
Hermione was examining her new schedule.
“Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,” she said happily.
“Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, “they’ve messed up your schedule. Look — they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough time.”
“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”
“But look,” said Ron, laughing, “see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And” — Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving — “look — underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?” career counselorfulvic ionic minerals
“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”
“Well, then —”
“Pass the marmalade,” said Hermione.
“But —”
“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my schedule’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”
The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands; Diggory smiled at Wood but Wood now looked as though he had lockjaw and merely nodded. Harry saw Madam Hooch’s mouth form the words, “Mount your brooms.” He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it over his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant — they were off.hansgroheedinburgh hotels
Harry rose fast, but his Nimbus was swerving slightly with the wind. He held it as steady as he could and turned, squinting into the rain.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o' er vales and Hills.
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of goden daffodils:
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in a never-ending line
Along thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing thier in sprightly dance.
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Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
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The flower, very dry and scentless,
I see in the forgotten book;
And now, with the strangest fancies,
Is filled my soul’s every nook.
Where and in which spring was it grown?
And how long? By whom was cut?
By a hand known or unknown?
And why was put this page behind?
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And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
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Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
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The Fox/rightwing blog propaganda apparatus decries the very notions they exhault when the "aggrieved" peoples yearning to be free are proper red state whitefolks: liberty & democracy. We love to bathe in hypocrisy--and conveniently forget, either out of ignorance or a bootstrapping law of . . .
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I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
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Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in a never-ending line
Along thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing thier in sprightly dance.
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Crime scene clean-up businesses are a growing industry in the United States. These firms provide a valuable service to bereaved or victimized families by cleaning up the aftermath of a violent death or injury and returning the property to its original condition
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Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow
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You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
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Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
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Its been a while since I have seen someone play the hemonica and guitar like that at the same time. Cool Video. I wonder how they modified the seat for him to sit in.
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Phil Hartman (1948–1998) was a Canadian-born American actor, comedian, screenwriter, and graphic artist. Born in Brantford, Ontario, Hartman and his family immigrated to the United States when he was ten. After graduating from California State University, Northridge with a degree in graphic arts, he designed album covers for bands such as Poco and America. Hartman joined the comedy group The Groundlings in 1975 and there helped comedian Paul Reubens develop his character Pee-wee Herman. Hartman co-wrote the screenplay for the film Pee-wee's Big Adventure and made recurring appearances on Reubens' show Pee-wee's Playhouse
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