So, here's my post about Gaga. I thought I'd keep it short and sweet - we all know what the deal is. In line with the renaming of the blog to something a little less pretentious I've decided to give you a combination of what I'm interested in, with one common theme - Gaga.
A while ago I read Letters To a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke. It was, as the back cover explained to me, a fresh source of inspiration and insight. I think I am a fan. I also like several of his poems in Sonnets to Orpheus. Another fan is that sweet old gal we like to call Lady Gaga. She likes him so much that she tattooed a quote from him onto her arm in the original German.
It goes a little something like this:
'In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?'
I'm not going to lie - it helped me out, better so than for Igby. Who hates it, but still bares an uncanny resemblance to Holden Caulfield. Anyway, here she is in a dress made out of raw meat but contains no real substance:
And now something with substance from the Gaga:
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