Life is both an instructor and a plaything.
To Jonathan the J Clyde bartender: the cider was rad, but your wit was worth...
The sun sets in the West and we lay side by side on our wide bed. In the fading autumn light, I watch the rhythm of your chest. I watch the swathes of colored sky fading neatly down the hills: purple, blue, green, all falling down to gold, to illuminate the dusky landscape below us. Below us is a rural quilt where treelines are the seams that sew the fields together on the earth. The ridges...
314 A Christopher Street, across from the Fat Cat bar. She is freezing in the snow. She is coming to meet you. She is on the subway, off the subway, on the subway again- thinking of the dark subway and the first time you kissed (which was on the subway, the red line, the 1 train). You were only friends (you are only friends), but she, cold, is coming to meet you. You acted like it...
father, can i?
Father, can I please come home? This asphalt place is not for me: I hate sight of high-rise glass. I miss our tall magnolia tree. Father, can I please come home? Cold drizzle’s more than I can bear. I long for Georgia thunderstorms, the heat-thick rain, electric air. Father, can I please come home? The crowds here make me ill at ease. I’d rather be surrounded by our throngs of gentle...
The only time I ever saw my father cry, his nine gnarled fingers clawed the driftwood kitchen table, his stony fingernails caked with blood from his own palms. He sobbed silently. His ragged breath was the only sound in the room, except the audible tap of his large tears on the rough wooden tabletop. His form was a portrait of anguish. He made me wonder, “Is sorrow the only intrinsic human...
No compulsion in the world is stronger than the urge to edit someone else’s...– H. G. Wells (via nevver) Amen. And millions feel the same way about my documents, I’m sure.
Because the gifs and images displayed on a Tumblr page are meant to reflect the...– The Tumblr trap: Is Internet culture turning musicians into content-producers? | Music | For Our Consideration | The A.V. Club Nailed it. (via nedhepburn) This is true for creatives of all walks of media.
Every day, we purchase our life with our obedience to Nature.
A Tarantino film soundtrack, Brit punk, and rockabilly had a threesome - and...– my review of the Holy Smokes music set, Chattanooga, TN
That particular way you have of pursing your lips just like so (which, by the way, you should know, propels me straight into daydream) compels me to ponder over your perfections, imperfections; our relations in relation to that one pronunciation: p. People, poetry, fluid plans, paso doble in the public park (our rhythm pulsing after dark, perfection in our parallels, of paso-...
My mother was a dancer, once. You can still see it in the way she moves about her daily chores, and never really seems to bore of purposefully adding grace to the lighting of a wall sconce. She has a smooth and airy way of taking coffee off the brew: she glides across the kitchen tile, humming hymnals all the while and asking, “One lump, dear, or two?”, but her red hair is turning grey. My...
A person doesn’t have to live in the South to want to share good food...– Carlton Riley Smith
Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.– Ralph Waldo Emerson
What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what...– Ralph Waldo Emerson
It’s the sensual texture of things here. It’s the wood smoke...– Willie Morris
Through the smoke and the racket of the noisy Chicago bar float Louisiana...– Langston Hughes
The atoms of my heart were forged in the Great Fire, and in the dark I feel my...
Am I moving through time? Or am I still, and time is passing over me? Am I the...
ontological obsession in american subculture
Journal Entry: Refuge In the book Refuge, I am finding an intriguing triangulation between religion, the desert, and the study of death. Religion and the desert shares an obvious tie: my interest in the Burning Man community. However, I also find it interesting that the narrator notes that all pilgrimages involve the desert in some way…perhaps because it completely exposes you, and you...
Coming back home after six years is strange. The schism that geography creates is more than just physical distance. My father smiles at me like I just came home from school, but my bones feel echoes from 1990 and they remind me that I’m only a visitor now. I’m reminded of Spring cleaning to CCR and Journey tunes (when my mother was still young and vibrant), and of how I used to be so...