Leonard Cohen - Blog Posts

Leonard Cohen, September 21, 1934 – November 7, 2016.

Leonard Cohen.

here, have my favourite pictures of leonard cohen and care

happy birthday to leonard cohen born september 21 1934 if everyone doesn't say happy birthday to leonard i'll blow this whole place up.

Just learned of the passing of Leonard Cohen and thought I would share this. The painting below, was one I made while at SVA in the early 2000's in Ju Chung's class. We were all given a song and told to make a painting from it. I was given Leonard Cohen's "Tower of Song". It was the first song I ever herd from him and only one of two I can still recall ('Hallelujah' being the other). Now, I have no idea what a 'tower of song' is, but I loved the idea of a swirling tower of record pages going up into the sky. Another lyric I landed on was "I was born with the gift of the golden voice" and the sound of the song sounded so morose and dark, and I liked the idea of this golden voice burning like a fire inside this person. And so I painted this. Not a direct, or great interpretation, but merely incorporating a couple of the things found withing.  During class when we had to present our work I remember the teacher stopping at mine and being silent for a second. He then turned and said "I have no idea what this means, but it's pretty cool."

"Beautiful Losers", Leonard Cohen

Listening to Suzanne by Leonard Cohen repeatedly and I am sick I am SICK, she feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from china and the sun pours down like honey on our lady of the harbor.. unwell quaking astral projecting screaming into this void etc.

Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers

“birds of a feather we should stick together”

i used to skip class in high school to go to concerts

and pinned the tickets on my bedroom door

(which is kind of stupid come to think of it now)

(if you don’t want your parents to find out somehow)

didn’t allow me to go and see placebo

went to muse without telling

2003

i was fifteen

badass 😂

a note my dad wrote in a book he gave me

jonathan franzen - freedom

ripped the page out

because i had to leave the book behind

somewhere in australia

a backpack ain’t a hogwards trunk 🫠

———

“like a bird on a wire”

Conversation with friend(s) - recycled

....

….

…

TAYLOR f*cking ALISON SWIFT

🤯🤯🤯🤯

WHAT ARE YOU DOING

i’m scared

this is starting to feel like a never ending fever dream

or more like a (girlfriend in) a coma

it’s serious i know

but please take us with you when you go

Why don’t we just set off? nothing we do will be enough.

if you ever were the real deal

Then I would have known it by now 

Your nightmare, it will haunt

Never seemed like me, never indeed 

one lifeless dream, one breath ceased, empty

little scenes and pieces of the

audio visual cool girl

scatter into the screen

with hues of purple light blinding her machines

paths and documents and crowds and rejections

brilliantly laid out, a world of nonfiction

will she ever surmount to the crazy idle teen

but I know most times it never hurts for her to try, however alone she might be

Dissolve

But I'd want

you to know

I'd happily

dissolve

I don't have

much more to do,

I'll tell you

that, yes,

I'll happily dissolve

-s's.

Leap

all I did was leap and miss

I'm this,

retroactive, pining for a sliver of him

golden embroidered

hummingbird pin

-s's.

but why

I swim close to electric currents and blue fire shorelines

And why do the girls get close to outer edge of their textiles

and take out tapestries in a rush to see them torn apart

from all that's good and plenty?

I stay close to eclectic women and new diamond landmines

but why?

It's for nothing.

-s's.

I am myself as one says I am,

Suggesting my home of a soul stay the way

I have been all morning sitting sitting sitting boring

-s’s.

Remember me I used to Hate you Remember me I used to Play along to Stupid scripts You write to Kill me off They came true

-s’s.

Listen to my song It plays a violin And it tries to take you away from me Darker than the storm I once let in It plays in my mind softly

-s’s.

as I’ve seen you last

driving into the milky way

with high hopes of calmer place

As I’ve seen you last

staring down the world into oblivion

city inside a city

eyes within eyes

dream of a dream

-s’s.

pre-cognitive poetry

takes place without me knowing

and as soon as any old day goes by

I sit beside a pond

inside my head psychic grip then

releases me back into the world again

-s’s.

I set my eyes forward, still

and pray

I sit alone, watch the streetlights decay

now my room is frozen black

Distant whistles of the train

I’m amused by hypothetical pain

I sit here and think of what I would say

I set my eyes on the wall

and pray

-s’s.

what’s meant for me will come out of you

what’s been ignored is the bitter truth

what’s the deal with my indifference?

I should decorate this innocence

with roses

-s’s.

A minor imposition I create, but I insist

it’s a habit that I can’t resist

what I believe to be true might haunt me one day with flaming glory

like a sun,

like one bright sun in front of me

the light of which drowns out the dreams I hide;

the dreams I might not have

ever discovered

-s’s.