fire in the goal, regurgitant match-box
For some reason, for the past two weeks I’ve been listening to music I listened to a decade ago, Nick Cave (newer Nick Cave albeit, but he doesn’t get into my ears often anymore), Ride, Catherine Wheel, Swervedriver, Cranes, Psychedelic Furs.
Either I’m having early-onset mid-life crisis or the new music of today is driving me back there. Or I’ve made another giant leap onto and across the luna and have no idea what year it is or what year anything belongs to or what my attic attaches to each year. July 5 was no easeful solace.
Landing strip tells, when a memory presents itself on your lips, speak it lest you vomit it up the next day with a slice of pizza or eggs on a street in Philadelphia. Powers to the peoples! Except for the people who walk slowly in the dead center of hallways. They are bad blind buddha-mites of the highest degree, and you, lurking behind them, are the backseat asshole.
Too much fun induces reflection and potentially self-loathing, which inspires a vigorous jog through thick humidity and demon heat. For some people.
Here’s to multi-faceted, multi-lingual cursing! Diamond exclamation! Now let’s light a sandcastle on fire in the air. That way we will still be able to see when the sky turns dark with wisdom.
I have said veritably nothing here. What’s new. Tomorrow I make my virgin trip to Virginia where there will be ship and family and a pond with ducks.
Either I’m having early-onset mid-life crisis or the new music of today is driving me back there. Or I’ve made another giant leap onto and across the luna and have no idea what year it is or what year anything belongs to or what my attic attaches to each year. July 5 was no easeful solace.
Landing strip tells, when a memory presents itself on your lips, speak it lest you vomit it up the next day with a slice of pizza or eggs on a street in Philadelphia. Powers to the peoples! Except for the people who walk slowly in the dead center of hallways. They are bad blind buddha-mites of the highest degree, and you, lurking behind them, are the backseat asshole.
Too much fun induces reflection and potentially self-loathing, which inspires a vigorous jog through thick humidity and demon heat. For some people.
Here’s to multi-faceted, multi-lingual cursing! Diamond exclamation! Now let’s light a sandcastle on fire in the air. That way we will still be able to see when the sky turns dark with wisdom.
I have said veritably nothing here. What’s new. Tomorrow I make my virgin trip to Virginia where there will be ship and family and a pond with ducks.
2 Comments:
Hello dominic. I think I heard about the Nick Cave screenplay. Haven't seen it, though. I don't know what's happening. I'm still half on this looking-back kick. I really like Abbattoir Blues--more than I'd liked his other more current albums.
I say you've been driven back by the music of today which, quite often, is the music of a couple years ago just sampled with a drum loop over it. Is it time for flannels again?
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