Do you orient yourself so as to see what’s coming,
or what has just gone by? Do your cows angle
forward in backward pastures; is there spinback
on your trees?
The east-streaking rain on the observation car
window as we careen out of Montana
is telling. We all travel how we must:
facing, not facing.
This is the best of my present
abilities. The five days packing for a four
day trip. Pill by pill,
shirt by possible shirt.
My mind is not what it was,
because it is becoming.
The Columbia opens suddenly to the north
and south, encircling us. I wasn’t wrong
after all, to expect a river on both sides.
Mount Hood’s summit emerges,
a great white fin,
whose body below reorients
the wondering, and the wandering.
Isn’t it good, I say mostly to myself,
that we’ll all arrive together,
no matter where our minds go
"Stuff I Listened To In High School"
Getting lots of spins on Spotify: my “Stuff I Listened To In High School” playlist.
Here’s a random selection of artists:
The All-American Rejects // Anberlin // blink-182 // Bloc Party // Coldplay // Dashboard Confessional // Death Cab for Cutie // Eminem // Fall Out Boy // Hawk Nelson // Imogen Heap // Jack’s Mannequin // JamisonParker // Jet //Jimmy Eat World // Keane // The Killers // Maroon 5 // The Postal Service // Rachael Yamagata // Relient K // Rooney // Something Corporate // Switchfoot // Yellowcard
I’d forgotten how much emo/punk pop I listened to. Wow.
I’m digging this track from Bleachers, the side project of fun. guitarist Jack Antonoff. It’s giddy, skittish and, dare I say, a ton of fun.
Source: SoundCloud / Bleachers
Just as music’s bird from paradise
is caged in a piano’s lacquered keys,
our words, memory flowing toward a form
then settling in autumn ice.
Here, walking among foam-thrashed leaves,
the summer’s spent wine making us forlorn
while house lights kindle along shore roads
and a gull’s wing cuts the soft mellon
of a rising moon, I won’t concede
the territories your strong forehead,
your silk-wrapped hips have won
in me by giving them a name, for fear
the casual stab of my pen’s art
will land too heavy, and graze the heart.
-Alex Miller Jr. via Curator Magazine
"Running" by Stepdad: pop perfection.