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Mysticism, at its finest.

On tuesdays, wednesdays, saturdays, Somedays,

the unspoken words of our unrequited characters crash

into the hard wood.

The speakers scream

mouthfuls of ceramic tiles painted blue and green --

spilling into lagoon at the center of it all.

And when the statue melts into the pediment

of your collared colloquialisms,

I'll mark it on my calendar,

and dance to the sound

of your hair being brushed and

your fingers praying for Magic.

Scattered Swedes

An old favorite, a Scandanavian throw back. DUNGEN.

Trendy Suburban Get-Together, The Musical

Had some lovely old friends over for drinks, tasty food, and pleasantries tonight. Oh, and some delightfully cliche indie musics.

Here's the pairing menu:

Fleet Foxes | Tiger Mountain Peasant Song

RATATAT | Everest

The Bird & The Bee | F*cking Boyfriend

Camera Obscura | Razzle Dazzle Rose

Andrew Bird | Fitz & Dizzyspells

Sydney Wayser | La Di Da

Volcano Choir | Island, IS

Monsters of Folk | Dear God (Sincerely M.O.F.)

Asobi Seksu | Thursday

Bon Iver | Brackett, WI

Broken Social Scene | Swimmers

Lykke Li | Let It Fall

MGMT | Time to Pretend

The Smiths | There is a Light that Never Goes Out

Radical Face | Welcome Home

Radiohead | Weird Fishes/Arpeggi

Regina Spektor | Two Birds

Stereolab | Window Weirdo

(Let's measure this in) Metric.

Radiohead, meet The Smiths

Cover of The Smiths' The Headmaster Ritual

Broad Leaves

In the morning light bittersweet kissed my hair

Shedding slowly like the feathers from the barn owl I used to love
Molting seems too ugly a word to describe the release

We used to play with Stories in the tall grass
Like finding syllables in seed pods, you'd say

How perfect

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The piles of heavy rocks stood tall in the open field where they fell in love. Stacked solid against one another, the weight changes their shapes and things. Sometimes when the light falls strangely and foreign against the places he once thought were familiar, shadows and mists and old leaves tell stories that taste right. And safe.

If you fall quietly into the wool, there's a chance he'll find you there again. Because when it's silent, there's nothing more to do than look for one another. It's hard to know what lives underneath that soil now. I suppose someone along the way has just learned to assume his field and grass and consistent expressions have been forgotten.

But I think if look closely, you'll see that the view from here isn't bad. The city below, where the sheep and cicadas and stalled cars wait for the signs of him again. Emerging from deep within the shoveled sand and snow, in our city bed, a world is left unsettled by unsettled by unsettled.

And and and

This is all I want. Slipping into sleep with the weight of your should on mine until the sun rises and sets again. Soft cells sinking. Ink drying. And praying for something placid.


"I am a strange loop" Arms & Sleepers

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I was happy sick for days when I thought you had told me the tonic. But when we packed it all into boxes I knew that where the cardboard met the puddle it would melt into wasted paper and that would be that. So how dare you look at me with that listerine mouth of yours. I know it stings too. I've folded your self righteous shirts for too long and I need to launder myself now. So learn to iron and lather, rinse, repeat me from your world.

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That morning, just after the kettle screamed the world awake, she tied a ribbon into her hair like a sweet white flame striking in the pulpit of a young flower. The earth spun faster than usual as the sun slid quickly across the kitchen floor playing in the pieces of scattered glass. A collection of misplaced paradigms, he sat in the chair in the corner next to the lamp that has never worked and the old porcelain statue of a fawn, listening to the world. Like the broken chain of a favorite necklace lost between the radiator and the wall, the metals in her face, too expensive to magnetize, waited to be found. So the two sat in silence. Kissed in the quiet. And waited to burn the world down.

But This House Just Ain't No Home

Bill cries in this clip. I've never noticed until today.

GNARLS BARKLEY COVERING RADIOHEAD'S "RECKONER"

This is almost too good to handle. I'm DYING.

Grey White Grey

Tonight, you can wear my skin as your skin

It's tough and worn and impermeable and impossible

with the date stamped even though the queue is long

because it seems all a bit Dali

But on nights like this

when the soft of clouds is scratchy like a sweater on sale

it will fit like a pigeon in a clouded window

or a spiked sill

And the sun will stay set for a while this time

Because he's tired and I'm tired and sleep would come easy

if the curtains weren't drawn and the timing wasn't wrong

And I knew the words that fit easily in your lips and mouth and tongue

And if our beating hearts were proximal like we're taught to understand

and the dirt we breathe could be listed as

holistic and sadistic and scientific

I would tell you the truth

But the worms have lied

and the birds aren't early

so no one gets anything except the feeling of empty

and a shaking hand holding a sallow lantern

But when my hair is tied back with twine

and the Autumn feels sweet and safe again

Things will return to almost as they were

before the fall

Barcelona (or, In a city built on waves of beautiful glass)

PJ Harvey and John Parish "Blackhearted Love"

Well isn't this lovely dark and deep.

The Cure "The Lovecats"

On the Morning of My Release

And the wood cracks and cracks and snaps and

when the leaves begin to fall like splinters of themselves

I miss what was

When the green light is new it rises and lifts and applauds

our youth and hair and skin

And in that moment you looked so gold

Truths were told and folded and beholded

when the sky was something grey like a wolf

that only wanted to sleep, not eat

And inside wanted outside with the tag out

but you'd fix it for me

because I'd fix it for you

Where's the Garbage Bin?

Sometimes I write things. And then realize it's complete rubbish.

The aftermath:

In One Night: Grizzly Bear, meet The Knife