The Hammock Papers: Stills

Showing posts with label Stills. Show all posts

21 June 2023

Released.

Crosby, Stills, & Nash released Daylight Again on this day in 1982. It's an essential ingredient in any composition of chicken nachos.

"Southern Cross" ...

22 January 2022

03 January 2022

Happy Birthday, Stills

Stephen Stills was born on this date in 1945.

"Bluebird" with Buffalo Springfield Revisited ...

01 August 2019

Stephen Stills, "Come On In My Kitchen"

01 August 2017

Stephen Stills, ¨Johnny´s Garden¨

09 March 2017

Jackson Browne, "The Pretender"

Crosby, Stills and some other guy accompanying ...

24 September 2016

Crosby, Stills, and Nash, "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes"

24 June 2016

Stephen Stills & Manassas, "Do You Remember the Americans"

16 June 2016

Stephen Stills, "Tree-Top Flyer"

I'm flyin' low, I'm in high demand
Go fifteen feet over the Rio Grande
I'll blow the mesquite right up of off the sand
Seldom seen, especially when I land
I'm a treetop flyer
Born survivor

26 May 2016

Crosby, Stills, & Nash, "The Lee Shore"

13 May 2016

Crosby, Stills, & Nash, "Bluebird"

Happy Friday! TURN IT UP!

10 May 2016

"Johnny's Garden"

There's a place I can get to
Where I'm safe from the city blues

Manassas, 1973 ...

Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young, 1974 ...

18 December 2015

Crosby, (Stills), & Nash, "Lee Shore"

Wheel gull spin and glide
You've got no place to hide
'Cause you don't need one

All along the lee shore
Shells lie scattered in the sand
Winking up like shining eyes, at me
From the sea

Here is one like sunrise
It's older than you know
It's still lying there where
Some careless wave
Forgot it long ago

When I awoke this morning
I dove beneath my floating home
Down below her graceful side
In the turning tide
To watch the sea fish roam

There I heard a story
From the sailors of the Sandra Marie
There's another island a
Day's run away from here
And it's empty and free

From here to Venezuela
There's nothing more to see
Than a hundred thousand islands
Flung like jewels upon the sea
For you and me

Sunset smells of dinner

Women are calling at me to end my tales
But perhaps I'll see you,
The next quiet place
I furl my sails

David Crosby

1970

1973

1989

BARRY HINES

"That's why it makes me mad when I take her out and I'll hear somebody say, 'Look, there's Billy Casper there wi' his pet hawk. I could shout at 'em; it's not a pet, Sir, hawks are not pets. Or when folks stop me and say, 'Is it tame?' Is it heck tame, it's trained that's all. It's fierce, and it's wild, an' it's not bothered about anybody, not even about me, right. And that's why it's great.Look, there's Billy Casper there wi' his pet hawk.' I could shout at 'em. It's not a pet, Sir. Hawks are not pets. Or when folks stop me and say, 'Is it tame?' Is it heck tame, it's trained, that's all. It's fierce, and it's wild, an' it's not bothered about anybody, not even about me right. And that's why it's great." (A Kestrel for a Knave)

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

"When I am, as it were, completely myself, entirely alone and of good cheer – say travelling in a carriage or walking after a good meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep – it is on such occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly. Whence, and how, they come I know not ; nor can I force them. Those ideas that please me I retain in memory and am accustomed, as I have been told, to hum them to myself. If I continue in this way, it soon occurs to me how I may turn this dainty morsel to account, so as to make a good dish of it. That is to say, agreeable to the rules of counterpoint, to the peculiarities of various instruments etc. All this fires my soul, and, provided I am not disturbed, my subject enlarges itself, becomes methodised, and defined, and the whole, though it be long, stands almost complete and finished in my mind, so that I can survey it like a fine picture or a beautiful statue at a glance. Nor do I hear in my imagination the parts successively, but I hear them, as it were, all at once. What a delight this is, I cannot tell."

WALT WHITMAN

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.

MARCUS AURELIUS

"Is your cucumber bitter? Throw it away. Are there briars in your path? Turn aside. That is enough. Do not go on and say, 'Why were things of this sort ever brought into this world?' neither intolerable nor everlasting - if thou bearest in mind that it has its limits, and if thou addest nothing to it in imagination. Pain is either an evil to the body (then let the body say what it thinks of it!)-or to the soul. But it is in the power of the soul to maintain its own serenity and tranquility."

VINCENT van GOGH

"What am I in the eyes of most people? A nonentity or an oddity or a disagreeable person — someone who has and will have no position in society, in short a little lower than the lowest. Very well — assuming that everything is indeed like that, then through my work I’d like to show what there is in the heart of such an oddity, such a nobody. This is my ambition, which is based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Even though I’m often in a mess, inside me there’s still a calm, pure harmony and music. In the poorest little house, in the filthiest corner, I see paintings or drawings. And my mind turns in that direction as if with an irresistible urge. As time passes, other things are increasingly excluded, and the more they are the faster my eyes see the picturesque. Art demands persistent work, work in spite of everything, and unceasing observation."