[another space song]

[wax poetic]

Winter's celestial ceiling is an ethereal maw waiting to swallow the earth, the stars circling through the vacuum like vultures; stepping outside into the moon's recycled sunlight, I feel the warmth slipped off my skin by the infinite obsidian sky above my head. I sip the night's frigid air, and my lungs burn; my bones ache against gravity as I'm pulled by the plutonian magnetism of outer space: I grip your hand even tighter. 

[where the wild things aren't]

There appears to be a chance that the current film adaption of the children's book Where The Wild Things Are [currently slated to be released this October] could be shelved by Warner Brothers. According to the internet [which is always correct about everything], the executives at WB are concerned that the film may be "too dark" for children; an unfinished clip from the film was released last year:

[come, my sunshine]

You have to take advantage of the warm weather, kid; when you're released by the winter's frost-covered teeth, you have to savor the sun while it lasts. Your thoughts thaw in the warmer weather--the glaciers retreat from your mind; with sun-soaked skin, anything is possible. Sure, the future is frozen, but right now you're free: