“If there’s someone you absolutely miss, you might find yourself talking to them a lot in your mind, creating those fake conversations with them and you answer yourself in their voice in your head. Maybe it’s a girlfriend who dumped you or you know someone who died or that sort of thing, you adopt their personality or the memory of who they were as a means of staying close to them. People talk about spirit, but I have this idea that when we die, we’re gone. All that lives on is our memory and how we affected people, the way we changed people throughout our life. Whether you’ve had a good effect or a bad effect on people, that’s your afterlife—the people who live on after you.”—Matt Berninger (via replayingthemoments)
“Yeah, we decided to name the band The National… it was the idea just to have a meaningless name… a name that was very benign and nothing fancy. It turned out to be a little bit of a mistake though, because no one could find our website…”—Matt Berninger
I love taking walks in low to moderate temperature with my headphones in. I love spirits mixed with orangeade. I love summer sunsets. I love my guitar and I love playing it and feeling like a Dessner. I love the Coen brothers. I love Ken Kesey. I love the first seventeen pages of Infinite Jest and I love the opening line of Alligator because of all the things that it precludes. I love the chaos theory episode of Community. I love my girlfriend’s smile. I love that I can tell the difference between an idle text from her and a text from her where she wants to be made to feel less lonely. I love Hyde Park. I love Guildford. I love Kopparberg at 8:30 pm. I love Douglas Adams and Bill Hicks and Matt Berninger and Charlie Brooker and I love the thought that at my best, maybe I could be one of them on a bad day.
I have a capacity for love that I used to think was being stifled because I didn’t know where to direct it but it turns out I’m directing it everywhere, and it’s OK.
“When I was living up north I wrote a letter. I’d come across a story about this Alaskan town that the people, the first snow of every year, they come out of their houses and gather in the town square. They hug and kiss each other and they say “Bon Iver.” I was like, “whatever that is, that’s cool!” So I would write it down. I signed off my letters as that. I went down to North Carolina to go on tour with the Rosebuds. I played them the record and they were huge supporters of it. I was like, “I don’t know what to do man. I don’t know if this should be a band. I don’t know if I should put this out. I’ve never been on a label. I’ve never toured. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on.” They were like, “Dude, don’t worry about it. Bon Iver— that’s your name.” I was like, “alright, let’s figure out what it means.” I already knew what it meant to me— it was whatever those people said to each other. Then I found out it was French and I was like, “Ohhh.” I’m not French, I don’t want to bastardize this. Then I found out how it’s spelled and it was sort of disappointing. I didn’t like how it looked. It didn’t have any emotion. Looking at it didn’t make any sense. I wanted to look at it and feel something.”—Justin Vernon, on why he chose the name “Bon Iver” (via shakerhymns)
“couldn’t have just reblogged the photo i also didn’t take, and thus have no grounds to whine about someone else posting it, but copied from flickr and posted on tumblr?” Unless anon did take the photo (but I doubt it).
“Each of us is like a planet. There’s the crust, which seems eternal. We are confident about who we are. If you ask, we can readily describe our current state. I know my answers to so many questions, as do you. What was your father like? Do you believe in God? Who’s your best friend? What do you want? Your answers are your current topography, seemingly permanent, but deceptively so. Because under that face of easy response, there is another You. And this wordless Being moves just as the instant moves; it presses upward without explanation, fluid and wordless, until the resisting consciousness has no choice but to give way.”—John Patrick Shanley