sometimes she’s here and sometimes she can’t be found*
that children do not distinguish between living
and inanimate objects
i thought [i promised] i would harbor no more sad refuse or broken toys
salt prints of forgotten poets
/but not all of the words are true
but do you not think so far ahead
of things/as if we could plug up the hole to let other experiences in
and once you admit time past is [actually] infinite
being a child gradually fades away
do it all backwards and what do you get
calling and confusion/ i love/ to read the words but don’t hear god in them
the whooshing sound of air blowing air/ something in the head [sounds like
broken glass]
/ roller coasters and my mother used to say a penny for
your thoughts
so it took a long time for the songs to appear and then once they appeared it took a really long
time to make them what they are
[starting from nothing with nothing when everything [refracts everything else]
the way we reach and reach but [can] never touch
a skinny covering overspreads our bones and we think we can fly
there ain’t no right or wrong way just a play from the heart*
i wear my garment so it shows
don’t know why just where it’s been/ to be something about a black
branch
too young to know the score/
///
statistics tell us we’ll see the stars again
i've forgotten just the buttons to push to make this radio play. think of nostalgia from far away
think of writing maps to get there. / the landscape of decades
/to kiss me all the time
will pursue[s] a sound / a direction until it triggers and you’re chasing some other [distant]
[dream
through gritted teeth]
momentum without character
and i can sit and talk, because i was just like you / so arrogant and brave, impetuous and blue
there is a radius of deep water
sometimes burned into you far more than whatever
[comes later]
and we are desperate boys and girls and we need to ask our what to say
and we are desperate boys and girls and we need to stop and ask are we too
i’m trying to say that everyone wants to go
when i shut my eyes
you are lovely and still missing so many things
what can i say, i don’t feel the need to give such secrets away*
i saw you yesterday and you weren’t very good
your wound distracted me [which was salvation]
a million tiny splinters
when I was a kid, there would be lots of storms thunder
and lightning would knock the trees down
But no, wait, some driftwood.
and these are parts of chords that resolve things and tie a bow, and others that keep things open
and unanswered.
and what i've got to say isn't new/so i'll use this old tune. about how all of us are
just coping with each other because we love each other
you make fun of the lines.
but if you wanted a song, you could just write one
but i knew it wasn't going to last forever, it just wasn't the right time
to care
because at the end of the day, it was still the same equation: me in a room
rehashing
seventy two beats a minute [a train]
to capture the things that are so obvious no one notices them
and maybe knowing it was happening
would make us both more certain of our feelings [so we should be holding hands]
and this changes everything
though i prefer the old transitions
sometimes
A mouthful of bees whispering,
[to not have the wind blow back in our faces]
the shades all around aren’t the colors we used to see*
/a love letter to the joie de vivre
all my childhood pop stars are dead
you may also have felt the pang in your heart
the bonds we form in childhood, whose haunting
power we recover at our own risk
whispering it in your ear too, somehow, you can dance to it.
because that dissonant sound was all I could make.
. That's
the history of all music,
It never comes out. The feeling
gasps of blue
for sky,
There ought to be a word
that suggests
how we’re balanced at the very tip
and behind us
we felt as children
that we can never have again.
sitting with my mother's letters, her
handwriting -- you know she took so much care and time to write them
and that’s all i think about
how our lives can
be summed up and
i’m not okay.
because what we’re nostalgic for is an intensity /Here, god,
things are sweet & strange &
unknowably intense
just sort of staggers me.
the ways and means are the parts subject to change*
what we didn’t get then we get now
not by the accuracy of our memories but by our willingness to question them
all these mirrors/say something.
These are the things that were beautiful in my life.
My aunts told wonderful stories. We had a very strong family. My
mother’s sisters loved each other intensely. The uncles loved each other intensely. Those were the
days when it meant something
Now it’s impossible to go back to these places because they’re not there anymore. My generation,
All they say is,
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
there’s just hurt all over because there’s no place
to go home to.
i also meant that on an emotional level we have to skirt around
in order to function. in order to process we can't dwell i don't mean that
in a we're all so damaged kind of way, just that if we stay
[ touching the glass]
[ the sound goes unheard]
this is my experience.
"We live in a generation of not being in love and not being together”
I think I'm perpetually going to be in that wounded faux-wounded,
position
the white noise. the background music.
this is the beginning of the record you like
