I’m putting them up here so I don’t have to go digging for them in the future. They’re both from my creative writing class in high school. It was an okay class… the teacher was a nutcase, but usually sweet; however, the assignments were usually pretty structured. Enough complaining.

This first is a poem. It’s no great feat, just a sonnet, but I’m particularly poor at writing verse and I like the simplicity of the rhyme scheme and the vocabularly. It’s very straightforward, on purpose, and thus very comforting. I like it, which can hardly ever be said about poems I write.

On The Steps Of Widener
Through columns that guard this temple of books
My infrequent glances fly, passing looks
At a world surreal and strangers glum
As raindrops fall, a cloak over the sun.

My pen spills ink, but I don’t even watch
Thoughts flow like rain, but all too soon blotch
I try not to think, and in a dream
Watch it splash on my pages and wash me clean.

Words and pictures blur in front of my eyes,
Make self and world seem somehow to switch size
Quickly now, I start beginning to mend
So that I can believe what I pretend:

That I understand both small world and great self,
And can put both pen and book back up on my shelf.

Next, a short story, a genre I was really interested in trying out and of which this is my only attempt since the age of about eight, if you don’t include some recent fictional post(s?) that I really don’t think count(s) as “short story”. In related news, just bought a book of Hemingway short stories, which includes my current favorite short story of all time, Hills Like White Elephants. If I can ever write something a hundredth so subtly, soul-crushingly intense, I will be immensely surprised and delighted. Anyway. Here goes. Aaaghh so much typing.

Catching Raindrops

The monotone hum of car engines barely disturbed the night’s crystalline silence. Instead, the continuous purr lulled Rachel’s indolent body toward unconsciousness. She drifted between sleep and waking, the bumps on the highway jarring her just enough to ward off a nap for a few moments longer. It had been a long day, one of those that feels like you’re swimming against a slow, powerful current self-wrought from boredom and anticipation - but it was ending.
In the driver’s seat, Rachel’s father rubbed a tired corner of his eye, then scratched his neck, keeping one hand on the wheel. He drove lazily, with the thoughtlessness of both long experience and encroaching drowsiness.
Rachel’s mother sat stiffly beside him, her eyes focused on the crepuscular horizon. Her body was tense with a self-inflicted anxiety, a contrived guilt. Surely, her husband needed sleep more than she did, and her dozing off would only shake their fragile bonds.
This thought was only on the edge of her mind; buried somewhere beneath was the knowledge that the foundation of her marriage itself was crumbling. Truly, she did not know why, or how. She wasn’t the type to spend time questioning the philosophy of relationships. Maybe that was why, and how.
This knowledge was more than subconscious to Rachel. The arrogant pessimism characteristic of teenagers had, as it often does, to the only realistic viewpoint on the subject.
She wondered why they didn’t split up. Hope, religion, money - or their children, herself and her younger brother, Chris, whose spindly adolescent legs were sprawled recklessly across the back seat. Even with her sore eyes close, Rachel knew this, and knew that his mouth was open wide, his head back, as if he was trying to catch raindrops.
The drain was clogged with the debris that was any of those possibilities so that the tissue-thin marriage couldn’t wash down. After all, they had invested a lot in Rachel and Chris. Too much, arguably. Not only their happiness, but also their health and their relationship with each other hinged on their children’s perfection. In short, they were never happy, healthy, or on speaking terms, not anymore.
Rachel’s views, while augmented by her own standards, had strained her relationships with both of her parents for years. Indignation created contempt for the weaknesses she saw, and the pressure to please them had all but disintegrated into a secretive rebelliousness. She didn’t see it that way, of course: to her, it was independence.
She wasn’t an idiot, despite what her grade point average might speak to. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how well her parents thought she could do; it was that what they thought was marred by their obvious dissatisfaction with their own lives. She used this infallible logic to support her rebellious mindset. No amount of scolding or grounding seemed to matter when it came from mouths that only knew anger and sorrow. Rachel thought she was different. Her parents wouldn’t approve of the drugs, the drinking, or the boys, even if they knew, but she enjoyed her Saturday nights more than the middle-aged couple who sat at home, now arguing, now sitting silently, always wondering if, when, the other was going to get up and leave.
Sometimes she hated herself for the things she did. Sometimes her parents’ problems were all her fault. Mostly, though, she buried guilt in the back of her mind, and she hated them instead.
Her head lolled; the night and the traffic flowed implacably on toward whatever “home” was. Suddenly, she was thrown against her father’s seat. The sedan crumpled against the telephone pole; her ears roared, and she would never remember hearing the crash. Her first thought, however, was not of herself. She flung the door open and ripped Chris out of his seat and out the door after her.
“Go around and get Mom out.” Her voice was authoritative, tense, and somehow calm. She touched the door handle, and she knew. She knew that whatever anger she felt wasn’t hate, and that even in its sorriest state, love kept people together who never seemed to belong.

The end needs work, but damn, I love the title image.
Tomorrow I’ll type up the essay I wrote on the plane to Tampa. Actually, I haven’t read it since I wrote it, so if it’s utter nonsense or really terrible I won’t type it up. But I think I remember it being okay. At least it’s writing. Woo, writing, I need to do more of that.

So, I get all these grand ideas for how I’m gonna keep up with the blog, and update regularly, maybe even twice weekly, ohmigosh. Somewhere in there is the faint notion that perhaps if I’m witty enough and update enough I’ll get readers I don’t actually know - people besides Rob, Alex, and my aunt Nancy, who likes to “make sure I’m doing okay”, which I thoroughly appreciate.
Anyway, these plans are usually forgotten in favor of homework, extracurriculars, sleeping, or whatever TV show I’m currently addicted to (Right now, it’s Lost; more on this later).

So, I am in Cleveland, Ohio, the birthplace of rock ‘n’ roll, as my mother reminded me when I spoke to her upon landing. At the moment, all that makes me think of is Francesco, the italian glam-rocker from Berklee who came to the last-day-of-classes-slash-holidays-beginning party in Severance last week. He’s a freshman, but according to Margaret, that’s okay, “because he’s foreign!”. Reason enough to use the brilliant line “Do you want to see more of campus?” Good one, Margs; I can only hope that the revelation that his vocabulary consists solely of “rock ‘n’ roll!” and eurotrashy Italianglish flirting has begun to convince you out of the paradigm that being foreign can make up for any number of absolutely offputting qualities.
Speaking of horrible qualities (very obscure reference here; just ignore it), I’ve had any references in songs to Cleveland or Ohio that I can remember stuck in my head for weeks now. C’mon, my school just did The Last Five Years. It has a whole song about the wonders of Ohio.

My favorite of them, though, (here’s where the reference might make sense for some hardcorish people) is Josh Ritter’s Leaves and Kings. I think I’m gonna try and learn it tonight when I get home. It’s super fast and the strumming sounds like it might give me trouble, but I’ll definitely be able to sing it. Josh and I have an understanding about acceptable keys and ranges, for the most part. I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna play Morning Is A Long Way Down in the original key. I have a deep voice for a female singer, but not that deep. Anyway, I digress. Leaves and Kings immediately ensnared me and convinced me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, upon my first listening to Josh Ritter’s self-titled album that here was yet another practically perfect folk album composed in the last ten years.
I met you at a party, or on a crowded street,
A silent singularity when glances chanced to meet.
You looked into my glasses, said you’d seen a ghost,
I tried my best to make you smile as we calypsoed close.
Now, I had been to Cleveland and you had been to jail,
You seemed to be recovering, but I felt a little pale.
And his accent is so much more pronounced than in his later albums, and he sounds younger and adorable, but his words still have the quality of being written by someone who, at one point, had seen too much of the world to find anything beautiful, but saw even more and now can’t find anything but beauty.
I’ll do my best to keep up with blogging over the break. Peace, sheeple.

Will you say to me, “a little rains gonna come,”
When the sky can’t offer none to me?
Cause I will come for you,
When my days are through,
And I’ll let your smile just off and carry me.

Will you comfort me in my time of need,
Can you take away the pain of hurtful deeds?
Cause I will comfort you
When my days are through,
And I’ll let your smile just off and carry me.

Talked to Sean for the first time in… a very long time. I saw him the night before he left for the Army. I miss Seany.

My fingers are bruised and swollen from playing more guitar in the last two days than ever before, total. I’m kind of obsessed, and I don’t mind.

No class tomorrow and Tuesday, hooray! Hopefully I’ll get all the homework I have finished… I don’t want to think about how much caffeine I will consume in the next two days.

I’m facing a lot of things I don’t want to face recently. But I know I want to fight, and I believe it’s worth it to fight, and I believe I’ll win. So take that. If I win I’ll have pieces of my life back that I really, really need, and new pieces that I really, really deserve.

I would like to stop coughing. The weather has been nice during the days lately, but the nights have been icky.
I’m picking up a shift tomorrow, woo.
I fly home November 25th.
I stayed in Mississippi a day too long.
I love Ellen Tucker.
I had a dream about my old dogs last night, Molly and Bentley. I miss them.
I’m worried about my brother. Neither of us is handling school well these days.
I know my time is surely gonna come.
I am so lucky. Life is so beautiful.
I miss Alena. She’s never around.
Theater makes me whole.

I am happy.

Top 11 Artists of My 2008 So Far
11. Amy Winehouse
10. Modest Mouse
9. The Arcade Fire
8. Death Cab for Cutie
7. The Decemberists
6. Iron & Wine
5. Ryan Adams
4. Brand New
3. The Beatles
2. Josh Ritter
1. Bob Dylan

Top 7 Artists I Think I’d Like If I Listened To Them More

7. Reel Big Fish
6. Sufjan Stevens
5. Coheed & Cambria
4. We Are Scientists
3. Guns ‘n’ Roses
2. Yo La Tengo
1. Wilco

Top 7 Artists I Think I’d Like If I Listened To Them At All

7. Of Montreal
6. The Pixies
5. Ani Di Franco
4. The Clash
3. The Doors
2. Interpol
1. Bloc Party

Top 7 Little-Known // “One-Hit-Wonder” Artists I Like

7. Maldroid
6. Flobots
5. Jason Mraz
4. You Can Be A Wesley
3. M.I.A.
2. HUM
1. Tally Hall

This post is not about Walt Whitman. At all.

It’s about an interesting correlation - between my loves of Ceylon and ‘Dro.

I’m sitting here, sipping a nice, hot cup of tea made using my illegal hot pot and ingenious strainer-cup, thinking how much more I’d like the tea, the music I’m listening to, and the philosophy I’m supposed to be studying if I were high. Now, this may or may not be related to all the Sublime I listened to yesterday; the evidence there is questionable. I noticed, however, a strange similarity in the method of intake, and it led to plenty of others.
I’m not saying that everyone who likes tea is a stoner - I’m gonna go ahead and guess that your Red-voting, drug-law-upholding grandmother who loves her afternoon spot of tea isn’t dipping into her stash beforehand, nor, probably, are the vast majority of less stereotypically anti-drug folks out there. I’m also not saying that all stoners are doing the lighter leaves on the side. Tea has a very “indie” rep these days: it’s the drink of early-twentysomethings who went to top-tier liberal schools to get their indie-liberal cred, particularly the ones who play both guitar and chess. This group is also leading the way into making marijuana the mainstream. They’re pushing for medical legalization - people are in PAIN, MAN! - and letting people know the quite-boring-compared-to-cigarettes facts. Oh, and they’re doing their research, hands-on.
Now, I hope we’ve established that I’m generalizing everything except the equality of the sets containing (a) the people who drink tea and (b) the people who smoke pot. On to these fun similarities!

1. The aformentioned similarity of intake. At least for me. I drink tea in long sips and hold it in my mouth, enjoying the taste and the heat. Then I swallow and exhale slowly. Familiar.

2. Heat. Either can easily burn your mouth/throat/tongue, but you do it anyway.

3. Leaves. Just dry and add heat. Tasty!

4. The expensive stuff is so much better. So worth it. Try it. Don’t give in to the impulse to get Lipton’s or the cheapest shit that your friend’s friend’s friend’s cousin’s friend grew a year ago that almost died.

5. Perception alteration. Aren’t caffeine and THC your two favorite compounds, too? Besides Dorito’s and THC, at least.

6. Cred. A completely worthless concept in theory, in practicality it opens doors. Often doors to more tea and weed. Rock on.

In conclusion, an excerpt - from To Be Young (Is To Be Sad, Is To Be High) by Ryan Adams.
Young gal you done me bad and I went and did ya wrong
Young gal you done me bad so I went and did ya wrong
Then I got high, Lord, I got high
Now you got a bone to pick with me, but I wish you’d let me be,

Oh the days the rain would fall your way
Oh the days the rain would fall your way
Then you be high, cause you got sad
Cause you got sad, oh man.

Temporarily, “Three Stories”.

I.
My breath stopped. I was getting better and better at hiding the pain that gripped me every time he kissed me. I made myself breathe quietly and evenly, although he’d probably just mistake any heavy breathing I did for arousal. I wanted to run; instead I faked a smile and sat on the bed. I needed to get off my rebellious feet, and the sooner this was over, the better. I knew that in our eight years of marriage I had yet to not enjoy the sex, and the familiarity would overcome my disgust soon enough. I just had to wait, play the part, and not think about the many ways in which I would not forgive myself tomorrow morning. Even now, I would rather hurt myself than him, even something as inconsequential as this. Or - maybe I thought it would fix something. Sure, right. Just like every other time. I pretended he was a stranger, some random guy I’d dragged to an imaginary one-bedroom apartment for a night we would both forget entirely within a month.
“I love you, Samantha.”
Strangers don’t say that. “You too,” I muttered. Pretend he’s a stranger, pretend he’s a stranger…

It was eleven p.m. when Nick’s barely-obtrusive snores started. I relaxed a little, but the glance I stole at the darkened half of the bedroom turned into one of those fixative, thoughtful gazes that you promptly and purposefully forget about. I set the book I’d be pretending to be engrossed in open and facedown on the comforter that covered my up to my lap, and kept watching him sleep. I watched his open mouth, his messy hair, his still hands. That was all I did these days - watched. I avoided initimacy, conversation, even eye contact up to the point at which it would be blatant. But I watched, whenever I could, and he knew it. He probably thought my distance was some effort to appreciate our relationship more - that was something I would have done, two years ago, or ten. I’d have sat him down and smilingly explained that nothing was wrong, I just wanted to … exult in every millisecond of the time we spent together. Something dramatic and silly, like that. This time there had been no brief sit-down reassurance, but neither had I given any clue as to my discontent.
The next morning I actually woke up before Nick, for once. I had rolled over and knocked the book, which I had apparently never picked up again, off the bed. Saturday, around 6:30 a.m. I got up and pulled a sweater over my tank top, careful not to jostle anything as I closed the bedroom door behind me and headed for the kitchen. There was a sliver of hopeful sunlight reflected off of the March snow, growing as I watched it. I made coffee and sat down with a crossword, but was again distracted by my thoughts. James would be awake soon; he was an even earlier riser than Nick. Or maybe he was the reason Nick was an early riser. Good one, Sam. I decided to email Shannon about having lunch, maybe going running. That would certainly tip her off that something was wrong, though. Summer was coming, eventually - maybe I just want to start swimsuit season early.
Defending myself from my best friend? Why couldn’t I tell her about the problems I was having with Nick? She knew, of course, but - she didn’t take it that seriously. Everyone always assumed Sam and Nick were fine, even when they said they weren’t. I sighed and tried to focus on the spot where sunrise might happen soon - early mornings could be lonely without feeling wrong. Best friends could not, not without reminding me of the isolation and mediocrity I had lived within for the last thirteen months.
I made the boys breakfast when they woke up, and set James up with his usual cartoons. He watched t.v. differently than most people, or maybe children were just different. He was so engaged and responsive, nothing like the vegetables Nick and I were when we watched movies. A hand on the small of my back startled me from yet another reverie. I turned slowly to prepare my fake smile for Nick - was it easy from practice or genuine cheer?- only to be confronted by his concerned-eyebrows. Oh, great.
“Come and talk?” I dropped the smile and crossed my arms, nodding, and followed him into the kitchen.
“Don’t leave.” Isolation and mediocrity it is!
“Okay.”
In that moment, I meant it.

II.
My breath stopped. I was getting better and better at hiding the pain that gripped me every time he kissed me. I made myself breathe quietly and evenly, although he’d probably just mistake any heavy breathing I did for arousal. I wanted to run; instead I faked a smile and sat on the bed. I needed to get off my rebellious feet, and the sooner this was over, the better. I knew that in our eight years of marriage I had yet to not enjoy the sex, and the familiarity would overcome my disgust soon enough. I just had to wait, play the part, and not think about the many ways in which I would not forgive myself tomorrow morning. Even now, I would rather hurt myself than him, even something as inconsequential as this. Or - maybe I thought it would fix something. Sure, right. Just like every other time. I pretended he was a stranger, some random guy I’d dragged to an imaginary one-bedroom apartment for a night we would both forget entirely within a month.
“I love you, Samantha.”
Strangers don’t say that. “You too,” I muttered. Pretend he’s a stranger, pretend he’s a stranger…

It was eleven p.m. when Nick’s barely-obtrusive snores started. I scurried from the bed to the closet, pulling a large suitcase off the highest shelf in the light of the reading lamp on my side of the bed. I changed into jeans and a t-shirt and slowly, obsessively neatly, I packed the suitcase full of clothes. When it was full, I carried it to the garage and put it in my trunk. I came back into the bedroom and got another suitcase down, packed it full of toiletries and books and anything else I spotted that I might want, but nothing that reminded me too much of them. I turned out the reading lamp and, using my cell phone, explored the house as if it was a crime scene, poring over every inch, picking up framed pictures only to make myself put them down again, collecting whatever I thought would fit and would help. I quietly went into James’ room and let myself softly kiss his pale chestnut curls, then forced myself out before I could change my mind.
In the dim white glow I snuck back into my bedroom - our bedroom? - his bedroom, and meticulously placed my treasures in the suitcase. When it too was full, I carried it to the garage and put it in the back seat of my Honda, and for the last time, reentered the bedroom.
I stood a moment in the doorway, then walked to my reading lamp and flipped it on. The sudden light startled Nick from his sleep, but his grogginess vanished when he saw that I was dressed. He leapt toward me with a soft whisper of “no,” and tried to put his arms around me, but I stopped him.
“Why now? June is…” Our anniversary. Did he think I’d forgotten?
“Because I can’t make myself stay any more.”
“You’ll go to Shannon’s.”
“For a while.”
“James-”
“Will probably hate me for the rest of his life.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” He knew I didn’t just mean regarding James. He choked back sobs and tried to hug me again, and I had to let him. I just stood there a moment, then hastily hugged him back and dashed from the room.
I had my shoes and keys within seconds, and seconds later I was , driving away from my family, forever. I knew it was risking everything, but high stakes can mean winning everything as well as losing everything. In that moment, it was worth it.

III.
My breath stopped. I was getting better and better at hiding the pain that gripped me every time he kissed me. I made myself breathe quietly and evenly, although he’d probably just mistake any heavy breathing I did for arousal. I wanted to run; instead I faked a smile and sat on the bed. I needed to get off my rebellious feet, and the sooner this was over, the better. I knew that in our eight years of marriage I had yet to not enjoy the sex, and the familiarity would overcome my disgust soon enough. I just had to wait, play the part, and not think about the many ways in which I would not forgive myself tomorrow morning. Even now, I would rather hurt myself than him, even something as inconsequential as this. Or - maybe I thought it would fix something. Sure, right. Just like every other time. I pretended he was a stranger, some random guy I’d dragged to an imaginary one-bedroom apartment for a night we would both forget entirely within a month.
“I love you, Samantha.”
Strangers don’t say that. “You too,” I muttered. Pretend he’s a stranger, pretend he’s a stranger…

It was eleven p.m. when Nick’s barely-obtrusive snores started. I sighed, glanced at his shadowed, sleeping form, and went back to my book. Hours passed like minutes when I could get into the correct state of mind, and right now I could let myself go entirely to the words. Tomorrow I would be calm and resolute, tonight, I let myself cry quietly for as long as I possibly could, wiping the tears away only when it was necessary to distinguish the letters. Anything I could do not to think about Nick or James or money or court or next year or what I’d do if I regretted it. I knew I wouldn’t, though. That thought arose only because I was an objective person, and its only effect was to cast doubt on whether or not I even wanted to go through with this. When I finished the novel I picked up another. When my eyes burned and I physically couldn’t keep them both open, I set the book down on the night table, flipped the light off, and prayed only for sleep to overtake me before I started crying any harder.
I missed the next morning entirely, not waking up until 12:30 when there was a loud smack against the bedroom window. Startled, I got up. The bedroom was empty, but I could hear James’ happy chatter from outside. I went outside in my pajama shorts and tank top, knowing anything more would be miserable in the end-of-summer heat. September, and still 95… that was Florida.
Sure enough, Nick and James were playing tee-ball.
“Have you two eaten lunch?”
“I want a GRIIIILLLLED CHEEEEEESE!”
“You want a grilled cheese, what?” It was automatic, at this point.
“I want a grilled CHEEEEEEESE, PLEEEEEEASE!” James giggled at the rhyme a moment, then went back to swatting at the ball.
I actually chuckled, heading back inside. “No, keep your eye on the BALL, not on me… good.. no, the whole time you’re swinging, watch the ball, Jay,” Nick tried to coach the insatiably energetic six-year-old. That silly nickname. I sighed, closing the door so I couldn’t hear them anymore.
I made the sandwiches robotically, and with uncanny timing James zoomed into the house and grabbed one.
“Go sit down, honey,” I instructed, shepherding him to the table with a napkin and a glass of juice. I hoped he would slow down…
“Nick.” I made myself say it, but it was flat and obvious.
“We’re going to talk about this now?”
“Do you have a better time?” Silence.
I pulled the papers out from a stack of mail and to-do lists. He had known, but seeing the paperwork made his neck tighten and his eyes water. He took them from me, skimmed quickly, nonchalantly, as if fending off the reality for fear he would break. I could see the fear, and the pain, in his harried movements. When he finished browsing the last page, he put the packet carefully down on the counter, as if it could break as well.
“You want custody.”
“Yes.”
“I want to see him, too.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean -”
“I know. Just needed to… fight for something, I guess, since I can’t… can’t fight for you anymore.”
I looked at him condescendingly. It was difficult to muster condescension.
“Are you leaving?”
“As soon as I can take James with me. I don’t want to impose him on Shannon or anything.”
“Sure. Sure.”
As if on cue, the toddler rushed over to us. He knew something was strange, and looked up at me with a strangely serious expression.”
“What happened?” he queried.
“We might go live somewhere else, honey, is all,” I tried to find the right words, ones that weren’t a lie but that didn’t hurt too much.
“Oh.” He was confused. I picked him up, holding him tight and swaying a little, breathing in his warm child-smell. I knew I had embarked on a struggle that would not end anytime soon, and might not even end any better than things were now. But James would be there, most of the time. I knew I needed him, to make this worth it, even as I knew how much harder it would be to take care of him alone. I needed him, and certainly still loved him, and would until I died. In that moment, he was enough.

I’d like to create a semi-complete record of how I feel about my life right now. I haven’t blogged anything all that meaningful in a long time, and I do look back on these posts to try and figure out what was going on in my head at various points along my life-curve. Really, I’m trying to keep from sleeping. I’m also going to make myself get up tomorrow, no more than nine hours after I go to bed.

Since I got my ipod and, correspondingly, itunes on Christmas, I’ve started defining.. collections of emotions by making playlists. On a particular day, or another time period, I generally have a somewhat consistent range of emotions I’m not saying the emotions are consistent, that’s a laugh. Just the range. Sometimes the playlists are just a date, sometimes the date has a title of sorts, sometimes it’s both a chronicle and a projection. I rarely care about the order; I like to listen to them shuffled into whatever order itunes gives me. This one, though, I intend to order. I want some kind of musical and emotional curve, a sense of flow. It’s an album, I suppose, a little concept album for me and about me to try and convince myself that the incomprehensible and indefinable things going on in my head are not only normal but somehow… solveable. I realize it’s just a playlist. But it’s still a playlist.

Since I intend to put it onto CDs, it’s in two parts. This is probs the final order, plus quotes or other favorite parts of each, perhaps to support their relevance.

“Disc 1″:
A Praise Chorus - Jimmy Eat World
My favorite song for quite a while, sometime around seventh grade. “I’m on my feet, I’m on the floor I’m good to go/Now all I need is just to hear a song I know/I wanna always feel like part of this was mine/I wanna fall in love tonight.” “Why did we ever part?/Kick start my rock ‘n rollin’ heart” … adorable, I know.

All These Things That I’ve Done - The Killers
Beautiful buildup and an amazing choral interlude - it does have soul, more than a lot of rock songs these days. “Another head aches, another heart breaks/I am so much older than I can take/And my affection, well it comes and goes/I need direction to perfection, no no no no” “Over and in, last call for sin/While everyone’s lost, the battle is won/With all these things that I’ve done/If you can, hold on.” Even just the title is apt… all these things that I’ve done take up a lot of thought these days.

It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue - Bob Dylan
So much love, all over now. Alex’s favorite Dylan song, at some point when that question came up. “The empty-handed painter from your streets/Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets.” “The lover who just walked out your door/Has taken all his blankets from the floor.” “Strike another match, go start anew.” Movin’ on’s the toughest thing to do, yep.

3rd Planet - Modest Mouse
MM has a way with blunt words and uniquely simple but intriguingly supportive riffs. “Everything that keeps me together is falling apart/Ive got this thing that I consider my only art of fucking people over.” “Your heart felt good, it was drippin’ pitch and made of wood.” Also, Isaac Brock’s vocals are just… something entirely else.

Dead Leaves And The Dirty Ground - The White Stripes
Let’s get something slightly upbeat in here. Great album opener, with the simplistic song structure that I love the Whites for. “I didn’t feel so bad ’til the sun went down/then I come home/no one to wrap my arms around” “soft hair and a velvet tongue/I wanna give ya what you give to me/and every breath that is in your lungs/is a tiny little gift to me” “well any man with a microphone/can tell you what he loves the most”

Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect - The Decemberists
Classic Decemberists - another time and place, characters bluntly open about their moral failings, lush instrumentation. “And just to lay with you/There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do/Save lay my rifle down.” “And I am nothing of a builder/But here I dreamt I was an architect/…/This structure fell about our feet/And we were free to go”

Such Great Heights - Iron & Wine
Cover of the Postal Service song, which I much prefer to the original (and not just because of Garden State). I love Sam Beam’s voice and lilting fingerpicked acoustic interpretation of the techno-esque original, the halved tempo. “I am thinking it’s a sign/that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images/and when we kiss they’re perfectly aligned” “they will see us waving from such great heights/ ‘Come down now,’ they’ll say/But everything looks perfect from far away/’come down now,’ but we’ll stay.”

Save the Population - Red Hot Chili Peppers
Recently re-listened to the RHCP greatest hits album on a long drive, and subsequently re-realized how much I love singing this song. The usual too-fast-to-sing-accurately parts, decent repetition - but the outro, done in round, is just lovely and singing the high part is invigorating. It’s obviously sexual, but not really in a good way. I don’t think it’s blunt to be humorous or demonstrate closeness - to me it’s desperation, trying to save the emotional closeness with the physical. Fail. “I put my cards upon the table/I do this because I am able/One picks his broken down devotion/I threw my pistol in the ocean./Eyes wide with revelation/Shine at the police station/And when the verdict comes round/I’m sure that you will go down/Stay all night, we’ll save the population.”

Fake Plastic Trees - Radiohead
Have to have some Radiohead on any decently mopey mix. FPT reminds me to pay attention to what I’m holding on to, what I’m working for, and make sure that it hasn’t become something pointless that I’m just doing because I always have. “She looks like the real thing/She tastes like the real thing/My fake plastic love./But I can’t help the feeling/I could blow through the ceiling/If I just turn and run./And it wears me out, it wears me out./…/And if I could be who you wanted/All the time, all the time…”

Fork and Knife - Brand New
I finally stumbled upon an actual release of this song - with an extra verse. Awesome. Need to update the sheet music I wrote out for it with a couple small flourishes, but I’m very glad that they really kept the same feeling as the demo, as well as the interesting interplay of just piano and drums. I think I’ve posted the rest of the lyrics, so the new verse is “I know you’re busy, but please won’t you come visit me?/You are an aimless ghost; you haunt your bag of bones./The wolf messed with your vision, he is sitting in your kitchen/While you sleep tonight, he will eat you young/And you will act surprised.”

After An Afternoon - Jason Mraz
“Tonight, Not Again” is one of the best live albums I’ve heard, rated based on the improvement of music over album versions. And how many times have I heard it? Bajillions. It’s pretty much what I associate with Tampa roads I’ve either never been on or only vaguely recognize, driven at night when I’m bleary- but wide-eyed “You have offended my faith and my trust.” Do I really even need to explain that? Don’t think so. Future self, if you don’t get this, you suck. Wow I think I’ll start talking to my Future Self more in blog posts. Anyway. “There’s something in the way you laugh/And it makes me feel like a child.”

Evening On The Ground - Iron & Wine
Big on being blatant lately. Blatantly honest, angry - in this case, sexual. I don’t really know what to think of this song on the whole, but it’s quite a departure from usual Iron & Wine - the emotion is all in the music, there’s a lot more music than usual, and it’s very fast compared to most I&W. “garden wall of eden/full of spiderbites and all your lovers/we were,/we were born to fuck each other/one way or another.”

Losing My Religion - REM
Rob discovered this song. It’s … wow. I mean, I’d heard it hundreds of times over the course of my life, I’d sung along in the car on innumerable occasions. But then Rob read it at Poetry Club, and it kind of… hit everyone. The desperation and loneliness. “Oh, life is bigger/It’s bigger than you/And you are not me/The lengths that I will go to/The distance in your eyes/Oh no, I’ve said too much/I set it up.” “I thought that I heard you laughing/I thought that I heard you sing/I think I thought I saw you try/But that was just a dream/That was just a dream”

Good Man - Josh Ritter
I’ve blogged this song before. I love it. It is lovely, hopeful and nostalgic at the same time. It accepts and believes. “Thought about the first time that I met you/All those glances that we stole/Sometimes if you want them then you’ve got to/Babe we both had dry spells, hard times in bad lands/I’m a good man for you, I’m a good man.”

All I Need - Radiohead
One of the first In Rainbows tracks I got into. Green Plastic had very few fans, but I was among them. It’s very IR, very self-deprecating… it knows the solution but won’t do it. “I’m the next act waiting in the wings/I’m an animal trapped in your hot car/I am all the days that you choose to ignore” “It’s all wrong/It’s all right/It’s all wrong.” Yeah it’s all of those.

I Will - The Beatles

“Disc 2″:
Anna Begins - Counting Crows
Half of “August and Everything After” is really incredible. The two songs I was familiar with before listening to the album as a whole are clearly the best, but this one is a clear third, and one that really caught me on the first listen. Also “anna” is part of my name and guess what started in august? Everything after which I think about? Yeahuhm. Also this song is twangy and rhythmic. Also, Anna - Closer character I identify most with, despite what I’ve said in the past. “Oh, she says, we’re changing./But we’re always changing/It does not bother me to say this isn’t love/Because if you don’t want to talk about it then it isn’t love.” “I am not worried, I’ve done this sort of thing before/But then I start to think about the consequences/Because I dont get no sleep in a quiet room and this time when kindness falls like rain/It washes me away and Anna begins change my mind.” “Her kindness bangs a gong/It’s moving me along, and Anna begins to fade away/It’s chasing me away/she dissappears, and oh lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”

I Want You - Bob Dylan
I was never all that into this song until seeing I’m Not There. Really, I don’t need anything more than a Heath Ledger almost-sex-scene to get me into a song, but it’s a really amazing song to boot. It’s upbeat and full of desire, obviously - but the undercurrents of jealousy and pain are included at the perfect level of deliberate un-subtlety. “The guilty undertaker sighs/The lonesome organ grinder cries/The silver saxophones say I should refuse you./The cracked bells and washed-out horns/Blow into my face with scorn/But it’s not that way, I wasn’t born to lose you.” “Now your dancing child with his Chinese suit/He spoke to me, I took his flute/No, I wasn’t very cute to him, Was I?/But I did it, though, because you lied/Because he took you for a ride, and because time was on his side/And because I want you.” Dancing. The irony of “child”. You weren’t very cute. Because I lied. Time was on his side. You want me. It was really nice of Bobby to write this verse for me, as Rob has said.

You Don’t Make It Easy, Babe - Josh Ritter
Josh Ritter is best thing to happen to my repertoire of music since Bright Eyes. By so many long shots. According to last.fm, which is accurate through sometime in March, I’ve played his stuff over 500 times. Since March. And I would listen to it a ton more except that I’m neurotic about other less-played artists feeling bad or something. “Your friends ask about me you say I can be found/With the cheap romance novels with their spines battered down/Oh the heart has no bones you say so it won’t break/But the purpose of loving is the pounding it takes.” “I’m trying hard to love you – you don’t make it easy, Babe/I’m trying hard to love you – there’s gotta be an easy way.” Sorry, there’s probably not an easy way. Honestly.

Feeling Yourself Disintegrate - Flaming Lips
Song I’m least familiar with of all the ones on this playlist, but it’s five lines of true Flaming Lips - trippy, but somehow blunt; lots of strange noises and humming and chirping and aaaaahhhs. “Love in our life is just too valuable/Oh, to feel for even a second without it/But life without death is just impossible/Oh, to realize something is ending within us/Feeling yourself disintegrate.” That’s the entirety of the lyrics.

Helter Skelter - The Beatles
Total rock ‘n’ roll. Angry and demanding and desperate and all-around rockin’. Oh, those Beatles. Again with the dancing! “Do you or don’t you want me to love you/I’m coming down fast but I’m miles above you/Tell me tell me come on tell me the answer/You may be a lover but you ain’t no dancer.”

Gagging Order - Radiohead
What an incredibly beautiful and haunting collection of words and notes. I tend to really enjoy less-produced Radiohead. And this is.. like the best of the B-sides. It’s really the tone of the song that I’m into right now; much moreso than any of the lyrics. “Move along, theres nothing left to see/Just a body, nothing left to see.”

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol
I hated this song when it was first on the radio. Well, not hated. Did not appreciate. I found it again today, however, and I think it’s the best thing Snow Patrol has ever written. Not that Snow Patrol is phenomenal, but this song is perfect right now. It’s a lovely state of being, truly real in its imperfection and joy. “I don’t quite know how to say how I feel/Those three words I said too much, they’re not enough/If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?” “All that I am, all that I ever was, is here in your perfect eyes, they’re all I can see/I don’t know where, confused about how as well/Just know that these things will never change for us at all.”

My Junk - Duncan Shiek
Oh look a showtune! It’s so showy and tuney. I really associate this song with being lonely up at school, because it comes up in the rotation on Katie Dyer’s computer quite often, and I really adore singing it in harmony with her. Plus, Spring Awakening is just… I mean who doesn’t want a musical about kids and: masturbation, sex, gay sex, pregnancy, and suicide? Yeah, those crazy German kids in adaptations of 20s plays. “It’s like I’m your lover or more like your ghost./I spend the day wondering what you do, where you go.” “I go up to my room, turn the stereo on…/Shoot up some you, and the you is some song.” “See we still keep talkin’ after you’re gone/You still with me then feels so good in my arms/They say you go blind, maybe it’s true/We’ve all got our junk, and my junk is you.”

Cath… - DCFC
Definitely my favorite off of Narrow Stairs, which was for the most part a great, albeit expected, disappointment. It reminds me of Transatlaticism, and the relateable specificity that used to characterize Ben’s lyrics. The music is good background, unassuming and simple and supportive, the way it should be with this type of song. “Cath, she stands with a well-intentioned man/but she can’t relax with his hands on the small of her back/and as the flash bulbs burst/she holds a smile like someone would hold a crying child.” “but you said your vows, and you closed the door/On so many men who would have loved you more.” “the whispers that it won’t last roll up and down the pews/but if their hearts were dying that fast/they’d have done the same as you.”

Apollo - Hum
Aaaahhh. Relationship apocalypse. I never want to be the girl he’s talking about - she’s a part of myself that I struggle with, jealous, controlling, and selfishly limiting. “she said you can find a space between my arms if you will stay/like if we ignore the system they’ll just blink out and quickly go away/she said I’ll keep all the signals that you send home to me/and I’ll meet you back here on the ground.” “moonlight brings me back again to stay/and I don’t feel a thing here anymore/strings of information slowing to a stop/the tether’s end is slipping from its knot/I’m stretching out in two/I’m thinking of a number between everything and two/and it’s molecules of you.”

Getting Better - The Beatles
Oh, the classic. This is really a crazy weird and not-all-that-reassuring song. “I’ve got to admit it’s getting better/A little better all the time/It can’t get no worse/I have to admit it’s getting better/It’s getting better since you’ve been mine.”

Florida - Modest Mouse
Found this over spring break, while reading the Great Gatsby. That was pretty much serendipitous. Not that they’re similar, but they’re complementary. It’s remarkably apt, since, you know, I live in as well as far from Florida. “Oh, with vague description/Of what we have been missing/So why would anyone try/…/It was always worth it/That’s the part I seem to hide.” “I couldn’t remember if I tried/I couldn’t remember if I took my brain out, threw it so directly at the goal/I couldn’t remember if I…/I could have my mind erased/And still not know exactly what I don’t already know/Even as I left Florida.”

Mad World - Gary Jules
Yes, the version from Donnie Darko. Much more effective than the original, as un-Tears for Fears as it is. Perfect for the movie, and in my opinion, much more in the spirit of the song. The lilting piano, straight out of the score, and eventual violins also make it quite in the spirit of an angsty existential teen time-travel drama. “All around me are familiar faces/Worn out places, worn out faces/Bright and early for their daily races/Going nowhere, going nowhere//And their tears are filling up their glasses/No expression, no expression/Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow/No tomorrow, no tomorrow//And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad/The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had/I find it hard to tell you ’cause I find it hard to take/When people run in circles it’s a very, very mad world.”

Underneath - The Verve Pipe
A perfectly written closer to a concept album about a relationship, from start to finish. Really, every track is a masterpiece illustrating its little step forward - up the hill and then crashing down it, over and over, getting first to higher and higher crests and then sinking only to lower depths with each fall. The music is sparse, though lovely in its simple, understated buildup. “Among the crumpled tissues, white like daisies, fell like soldiers dead determined/I surrender./CD cases broken in a desperate chance to find the perfect ballad/To move you.” “My eyes are on your hands; I’m helpless when I’m looking at you/Be very very careful not to/Crack the seals of last year’s arguments/They don’t hold a candle to the one this year/A disagreement used to be a speed bump on a highway going eighty.” “Fight with little purpose, only meaning to scratch the surface/It’s not pretty underneath/There among debris, find casual in casualty/It’s not pretty underneath.”

Black Flowers - Yo La Tengo
Every line is so careful, so apt. The music and the reassurance the narrator offers are such a realistic blend of hesitant and beautiful. “You can take what you can get/I forgive but I forget/You can never sleep enough/And your alarm is going off/You wake up and you can’t pretend/A dream was just a dream again/Won’t you dry your eyes?/But it doesn’t matter anymore/You did just what you did before/Until you realize the words/Go la la la la la.” “You know you can always change your mind/Maybe I will too in time/Once we understand/No one understands at all.”

Of Angels and Angles - The Decemberists
This song closes Picaresque, and does a beautiful job of it, so it stays as a closer. It’s like a lazy river, all in itself - drifting along, with harried thoughts slowed by exhaustion, and drowning is a major part of it. The lyrics are a strange but accurate combination of poetic description and seeming-pedantic observation. And Colin’s voice is so … calmly haunting? “There are angels in your angles/There’s a low moon caught in your tangles” “There’s a tough word on your crossword/There’s a bed bug nipping a finger/There’s a swallow, there’s a calm/Here’s a hand to lay on your open palm today/…/As on we go drowning, down we go away/And darling, we go a-drowning, down we go away.”

Savannah.

Okay not best song. But really, right now, it’s … great. Hahah. Kind of… giddy. Whee!

I knew you were something special,
When you spoke my name
Now I can’t wait,
To see you again

Whoa, whoa, I
I can’t wait
To see you agaaaain

Incredibly poignant. Josh Ritter just keeps changing my life. Love, music, remembering times together, hoping there’s still something to be discovered together. And I don’t think there’s anything to be read into the gender reversal.

These chords are old but we shake hands,
Cause I believe that they’re the good guys.
We can use all the help we can
So many minor chords outside.
I fell in love with your sound,
Oh I love to sing along with you…
We got tunes we kicked around,
We got a bucket that the tunes go through.

Babe we both have dry spells, hard times
Bad lands, I’m a good man for you
I’m a good man

Theory: Rubber Soul, most underrated Beatles album? Also, better than Boston - Boston.

Either way, it’s … killer. It’s now. It’s lovely, it’s painful, it’s .. the word.

When I call you up
Your line’s engaged
I have had enough
So act your age
We have lost the time
That was so hard to find
And I will lose my mind
If you won’t see me
You won’t see me

Time after time
You refuse to even listen
I wouldn’t mind
If I knew what I was missing
Though the days are few
They’re filled with tears
And since I lost you
It feels like years
Yes, it seems so long
Girl, since you’ve been gone
And I just can’t go on
If you won’t see me
You won’t see me

Also, listening to the new DCFC album. Impressions so far: dunno if I’ll like it as much as my faves, Transatlanticism and WHtFaWVY. It’s good, though, and I knew I’d like this one when I heard the first notes. I’m not a huge fan of the music, so it’s weird that I was just overwhelmed with the knowledge that I would love the track. It’s too short, also.

Cynicism: You Can Do Better Than Me - DCFC
I’m starting to feel
We stay together out of fear of dying alone
I’ve been slipping through the years
My old clothes don’t fit like they once did
So they hang like ghosts of the people I’ve been

There’s times I think of leaving
But it’s something I’ll never do
Cause you can do better than me,
But I can’t do better than you.
You can do better than me,
But I can’t do better than you.