You lost me while you were finding yourself. I lost you when I tried to find someone else. We lost each other but found something greater, better. You lost me, to find the reasons why you should hold on to me. I lost you to find the reasons to find myself. This is how you lost me. Reblogged this on Faith.
Travel and commented: im lost. You lost me with your short answers to my questions. With your hands that were taking off mine from your body […]. Sign up for the Thought Catalog Weekly and get the best stories from the week to your inbox every Friday. You may unsubscribe at any time. By subscribing, you agree to the terms of our Privacy Statement.
What does "You lost me" mean? | HiNative
BrunoBrunan I can be the one that got away. More From Thought Catalog. Get our newsletter every Friday! You're in! Follow Thought Catalog. Post to Cancel. I don't want you to see me this way, What a way to die in Down in the ground we can sing from the grave, take a breath, take a breath I would never lie to you, But I'm gonna have to tell the truth.
Ah-ahh, you lost me. Teenage metal heads, in your denim vests, cause you're holding hands, through your favorite bands, all your favorite bands. Your not the only ones down beneath the sun who never had any fun, you walk around town with your heads way down. No Replies Log in to reply. There was an error. Hysteria is easily one of my favorite records of all time. A young couple who ended up committing suicide behind a Circle K. You sort of bond over that, and that you have nothing in common with anybody else. It just ended up happening. Alexis and I started talking about it, and stumbled on this story.
It felt like this was what the song was about. General Comment tinyurl. Get A Copy.
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Showing Rating details. More filters. Sort order. You Lost Me There is the debut novel of the co-founder of The Morning News, and there probably is no bigger fan of the site than this reader. This is a more than fine pedigree for a freshman novelist in the internetty age.
And Baldwin can certainly write well and engagingly, even the worst moments in YLMT ar You Lost Me There is the debut novel of the co-founder of The Morning News, and there probably is no bigger fan of the site than this reader. And Baldwin can certainly write well and engagingly, even the worst moments in YLMT are suffused by the light of the guy's obvious talent.
You Lost Me at Hello
Vic's area of expertise is Alzheimer's and it's in his work to seduce and tame the disease that offers Baldwin plenty opportunity to muse on the nature of time, memory, and that most unstable of elements, lurve. Yet, what one finds in YLMT is that most common of writerman problems: characters in search of a story. While God knows this reader is no strict formalist, there is a science to narrative construction.
When fashioned with a greedy beaux-arts eye the gleaming marble balustrade minus one carefully chosen baluster or the slashing cursor of an ego-pig deconstructivist DJ CAD Jockey's Bauhaus Fractal Remix , structure can be more than style or evidence of closed-off neural pathways, it can be the very wordstuff of the author's voice, the very thing that by its girdings transmits the fluttering light of inspiration that set pen to paper.
Inbetweensy fits of subway car narcolepsy, I'm reading Roa Bastos' I, the Supreme the original Spanish title, "Yo el Supremo," is a life-giving mantra when shouted at 4 a. The book is proving to be one of the most ballsy fuck-yous to the ideas of character and plot ever dreamt up by the Dalkey Archive. Bastos has something sincerious going on, however; one voice by turns shouting and sputtering for pages is all that's needed.
Baldwin just simply ain't there. In YLMT , Victor's wife's notecards the wife is dead, by the way, and the notes written for aborted couples therapy are a classic use of the epistolary voice, an 18th Century hold-over device that continues to pay off from Dear Mr. Henshaw to Ada-ville. Here though, they are not enough. They don't bracket parts of a story; rather, they serve as well-executed, mind you timeouts.
Again, you like the elements, moments, and phrases very much.
But then you have Vic's diversionary loves, a slow-motion chaos of unfurling grief that strikes the right note here and there, but then prematurely runs out of breath. Whereupon, a heretofore second-string character is tagged in for an unsatisfying conclusion. Perhaps in a different time, last year or a fortnight from now, I would be all about Baldwin's first foray.
But these days? Kiss it up, I know. But really though, every day, every day I abandon the el-shrouded lee of my Queens and trek to a small room in Brooklyn to proofread reams and reams of shyster deposition transcripts, where I am beset by Staten Island's most feared temp-trolls, and most days I read only in quick snatches on crowded, post-budget cut trains, and then you'll find me working off-the-books after close-of-business.
In library stacks Westlaw used to be a friend of mine.
If you confuse prospects, you lose prospects
These days, you got to grab me, son. This present review is offered to you by Tecate by its damned self. It was all an elaborate set-up for this: this past Fourth of July, I spent a weekend on an island in Casco Bay, Maine where George and Babs Bush took in a fancypants restaurant's luncheon, a likely low-salt repast which coincided with my noontime arrival on that very same spit o' land.
At that moment, I was less than a mile from the molten, sulphurous core of whiteness and the scenery couldn't have been lovelier. View 1 comment. Jan 24, Stina rated it it was ok Shelves: Victor Aaron is a dull, dull turd. Why would any of the other people in this book have a relationship with him? He was lame, self-centered and shitty. I would give 1.
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View all 10 comments. Mar 14, David rated it did not like it Shelves: never-gonna-finish , disappointing , read-in This is turning out to be disappointingly heavy sledding. Maybe because the whole thing feels too much like a cerebral exercise -- the characters are there just as a means of exploring the fallibility of memory, not because there's a story that needs to be told.
I like a good story myself. Update: 2 months later. Oh dear. This "critically acclaimed" "novel of ideas" turns out to be just the kind of book that exposes me for what I am. The kind of reader who finds a certain kind of serious "novel of This is turning out to be disappointingly heavy sledding. The kind of reader who finds a certain kind of serious "novel of ideas" to be essentially unreadable.
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I like Rosecrans Baldwin for reasons I'll explain below , I could see him straining to write a serious novel that would receive critical acclaim, I was rooting for him to succeed. And possibly, for some subset of discerning readers, he has. Those readers will need more patience than me. I found the characters uninteresting, the structural devices a little too forced, and the prose was way too solemn for my taste.