Early morning Ironing.

Sore, oh how the backside trembles! I felt it all quiver and shake, quivering, taut and tightening, until the break of bodywave flooded your spine and its tributaries. To have so many fingers as to be able to touch everything at once!

Shake out my hands to press out…

Shake out my hands to press out the tingling, we're more than positive that our feeling is based circulatory, a kreislauf binding, with a heart beat-worrisome.

Based upon his own sham sped semblance, Morton made plans to never to seethe at his seeming.

Two eyes and two Is make two sights and two yous, but spectacles, used or made, make the eyes eight, or draw Is' eyesights to the spectacle's place.

Morton wants to be made of clay and wires. morton wants to figurine. fig urine. Morton wants to be a tree.

I was thinking about it and...

I've decided I still really want to go to space.

Sometimes he felt as if his personal movement...

Sometimes he felt as if his personal movement was to be undermined by fate, that those strings that could possibly hold the universe together not only touch upon everything, but that the movements of celestial bodies acted like a system of pulleys, twisting and sharing the load, the end effect being that he was made to move one way or another, was predetermined to scratch his head there, or check his heartbeat for palpitations, something he had picked up in a frenzy of genetic paranoia after learning that his family had a proclivity for heart disease. A universal machine, one that was formed by the natural laws, that no one could modify without disassembling the entire network, massive and perpetual and powered by some unknown or unproven galactic entity, like anti-matter, and that this machine’s consumption of it could tell us why, despite all of our efforts, we find ourselves unable to detect it. And in spite of its intangibility, every habit we made for ourselves was just another string that happened to be pulled.
That was just the reason why he found himself buried within rows of books at this hour, attempting not to eavesdrop on the inane banter of a nearby table, but failing miserably, mostly because they were making it so easy for him to loathe their easy superficiality, their apparent lack of concern for the fact that he possibly just developed the true theory of the structure of the universe. They couldn’t know, he didn’t tell them, but he felt that for some reason they were required to know. Sometimes he felt that he had earned the right to be noticed for his ideas, even if he never had the courage to declare them. He was aware of his own absurdity.

He moved with two, flashers flashing, into the park......

He moved with two, flashers flashing, into the park, as they streamed out of the bar, 
rested upon a bench three in a row, and they stood for friends or cabs or diveed out 
subway tokens, the pipe embered and sputtered, the girl in prison clothes looked for the 
one who asked to join her in coffee, the boy who sat thought nothing of her or her 
prison stripes, while pulling at her skirt so nervously, or her glasses or squarish 
tattoos, blinking and looking from side to side, just how coffee wasn't such a 
great idea after all, searching for the boy who asked her to coffee, especially 
because he couldn't stand the taste of coffee. 

I inhaled an apricot, I annoyed the...

I inhaled an apricot, I annoyed the subway. Behind the gate rests an empty elevator shaft. Old English, but not Anglo-Saxon. Merlot: don't smash the new glasses.

I saw there was a ledge out your window. I sat myself upon a ledge, a window one, some two stories high, with a witch's hat and a full bladder, emptied with a gravatational trajectory. I hollered at passers, who would toss me cigarettes and lights for charity and entertainment, and kick bicycles of my choosing. Mount Olympus. I couldnt' stop swinging my feet.

Then back to remember the evening in sound, soul crashers melting into my bed. Give a bear a spear. Bouncing sawtooth wavefoms. This is what perpetual motion sounds like. Don't eye me when there's a guy around.

Iditarod

Some say I made it out the best way, but others said I did it all wrong, iditarod.

Enamel Id

I make it out, hot heavy breath tingling with the mild burn of garlic, to cough and smell it quickly, no one's watching, slip in the gum. Offer it others. Stuffing fists in pockets, I heat my gummed heels with brisk pacing towards the windowless cell to bloom a shrine in fewer hours. He's going to be the Joseph in her football fantasy, she's looking fine in her bra and panties, I laugh and lean forward too much and block my friend's eyes.

We go to a pilot's house, and I lose it. The metro riders think I'm an idiot, a forty something, presumably female who looks like she made herself with a flock of seagulls. Try to climb it, the escalator's so slippery, the chasing man in the vest is fast but we're faster.

Find it again at the Chinese restaurant as a mixture from two bottles we smuggled in, spill one, pour another, break a glass, don't care. It runs all hot in my throat. I find her from yesterday, her pants remind me of my eyes, her boots of dress up. We could make it, we probably could, but I'm not concerned.

Let's blow it! There's another place to go. The man is outside, his eye is black and blue and beautiful. I ask him how, he swears he's been jumped. I give him my drink, gin and tonic is his favorite too. They call me after, and my glass meets the sidewalk in shimmering splinters. The metro disagrees again. I weave myself upwards through the telephone booth, weave down. board, disembark. I scare some away cause I'm punching the newspapers, the spitting man wants no charity, even Samaritan.

The last one's almost a blur, but that's where you come in wrapped in almost abhorrent cotton, weaved in stripes. I try to ruin your night. I bite and snarl and froth and snap and yell and bellow. You take it and heavy. There's no reason and I don't need one. don't need one and that's the only one.

Back in the cell, the boys go to bed, somehow my shoes are dirty. we bite and snarl and froth and snap and yell and bellow and you say my name like I'm amnesic and forge black holes on my neck, scratch constellations on my spine. I'm not nearly as empty as the space you make me, but to walk you home remains an impossibility.

D'accord

Ma soeur n'est pas née avant sa mort.

Calls out my name, Ohio

Plucking sentiment from lonely vines
watching the hanged man, until he's ripe
but not to die.

and it came with a whisper...

and it came with a whisper
the murmurs of time fell into pockets,
the new wholeness ringing a new tone.

the world, so wide to find itself restricted to
a few miles, heads bumping,
rooms whirring with the sounds of one hundred inflections.

how we found when our faces pressed together, that they were of the same clay

with a twist it went;
deep in the chest that had housed so many breaths,
our faces pressed and hardened in the sun forced apart,
and the pieces we lost on the ground will wear to dust.

A. woke up one morning to the utter surprise...

A. woke up one morning to the utter surprise that he was no longer alive. He saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing, and thought nothing. Something about all that nothing bothered A.'s soul, so being the selfish thing that souls tend to be, It made A. come back to life, as if nothing ever happened because A.'s soul failed to inform his conscience.

So A. lived for many years, had his times of joy and sadness, and then eventually died, this time for good, without ever realizing that he had already been dead.

The Sky Monster

It is a half-belief in science
a semaphoric hermaphrodeity,
A gaze from a shy-eyed boy
traced with jealousy,
A crux force-fed with
the wranglings of destiny.

Festtage, Verbindungen, und was ich dafür bezahlte

smothered
faking any feeling
the steam
the smell overwhelming,
too greasy with a hint of physical neglect

What I've built is a bundle of energy,
potential quilted,
a possible memory
wrapped in flesh and blood, breathing eventually.

I swore I swore, cried and loved and cried
loved and cried and loved,
swore and lied.

rumble, rumble, ramble,
the people shift in
thier their coatsssss
moving at the speed relative
to ther their own reality
grumble, grumble, gamble


.................................................................
this idea needs a friend, play with it.

And it burns with the words that a thousand taciturns wish to speak,
their tongues turned and tied with foundations of lies,
Whilst the swampy stillness swallows the creeks of our governess,
the fondness fowled in the the trenches our subtext allows,
sheltered from the mortars, our faces pasted, murmuring.

Consciously we expound the wrongs and mutterings we stutter in sleep,
the pensionaires pushing the sutures that birthed us so lovingly.

Temper shatters the tempered shadows

Hello, I see again , it's morning
The sun has broke the night,
the shards lay upon the ocean surface black.
It whispers waves upon the islands
where seagulls play with crabs along the sand,
And you are shipwrecked there, your sealegs broken,
But your spirit escaped unscathed and how it ran

I know, I know, I no, I know, I know, I know

The midday sun, it pours upon your shoulders
And turns them a shade of bashful red
as if your skin were shy before the sun.
The tide is out, so now you go collecting
mollusks from the tide pools in your hands,
To feed your empty stomach that's been twisting,
To settle with your spirit, how it ran

I know, I know, I know, I no, I know, I know

And as night falls, I see you're getting weary
Tiny strings are pulling at your head.
A lilliputian army makes it heavy,
Bound and tied to nature like the day your were born.

I know, I know, I know, I know,
I no, I know, I know.

6.22.1986

How do you name the names of places? the faces,
Streaming across the plane of My conscious,
The knowledge pounding like blocks in tetris, the metric system
Means nothing to us, and the crutches
Support us, our arms useless from tons of the lactic juices,
And it touches us, the hairs on our necks stand
At attention from the tension
Under which we lay.

Purlieu Blues.

Eyes up, seeking for to permeate the haze
Can you feel me rumbling in the clouds?
Have you lost control, will the distance kill the woe?

Seem's like the answer's in the cold, effervescing
Up throught the fissures in your lone dormitory window
To chill your cheek and nose.

Beneath gray skies, silhouettes and rows of stumbling blocks
Pave the path that pushes at your feet.
People, pigeon-toed line the streets in Sunday clothes

And shuffle through the gates of the unknown, and there you'll see me
Citing all the loopholes in your old promissory note
And your dowry has been sold.

But still you claim the world is based on opinions
Tracing your tangled hair to the knots inside your head
Although opinions make us of some importance, you know
When the pressure's on, you've a tendency not to show.

Hurumpfh

I was walking
down the empty streets til the night sinks in,
and steals out
from under my feet
All sense of reason gracefully
whisked away,
the sun is setting but we're soon all forgetting,
Our memories of
twisted sheets wrapped around bare ankles,
screams echo off the ceiling
And those who lay in pleasant captivity recommend all the things they're
pretending to be.

Two German Cereals that are Badass

Every morning, like many people, I need to start my day with a hearty bowl of vitamin fortified processed grain, so since I've been here in Germany, I've been exposed to some new types of cereal that are extremely delicious, and yet are not available in America. This post is half educational, half gloating, because I get to eat these as often as I want.

1.Kellogg's Chocho Toppas

Yes, Kellogg's, a brand that all of us are familiar with. This sort of cereal is also available in a somewhat different form. If you look closely, you'll see that these are essentially Mini-wheats, but wait! Why are they brown?! That's because they're chocolate flavored, yes Chocolate. So that means while you are chowing down on your plain frosted mini-wheats (which are also available here) I am basking in whole grain shredded wheat chocolatey goodness.















2. Nestle Chokella

Yes, around these parts Nestle is a major company. Beyond making it's candy (although all nestle candy bars here go under different names) they also manufacture cereal products. Now this form of cereal may also look familiar to you, in fact, strikingly similar to french toast crunch, being that the cereal pieces are shaped like tiny slices of bread. The difference here is that instead of being french toast style, they are covered with a nutella like substance, and thus I am more apt to call them a "Nutella Toast Crunch" type cereal. If anyone doesn't know what nutella is, it is a chocolate hazelnut spread meant for toast, and it's awesome.

(S)word play

And I am lying if I claim to be the lion
And I am lying beneath the lion's teeth, sighing.

Poo Poo on your Fooey Loo Loo

Take of your dress cause it's a small town baby, hold it up and whirl like a flag
We'll scare the life out of some old town ladies, who shouldn't be strutting the drag
Clench your fists tight, don't let them read you baby, poker-faced is how it's all played
At night, pack a knife it's no shoeshine maybe, then you'll survive the day.

What you call friends are the worst ones baby, they'll drown your conscious in lies
Hold the words back, hold them back cause it's not conversationally wise

As the fog sets it's gonna blind you baby, so keep your eyes glued to the street
Someday we'll pack our bags and ditch this joint, but we all know Someday isn't one of seven in the week.

Die Weggeschmissende

I've been digging through my old xanga lately, and decided some things are worth sharing again. This is a poem I wrote in october of 2005. I still like it.

She looks like the girl that everyone knows but nobody wants to befriend
As she sits across the room, trying not to show that all she can do is pretend

One look can tell that she's lost in her mind, wrapped in thoughts too obscene to explain
And wishes to go where no one can find what she saw to make her afraid

Listen up girl, your bonds all will break
You'll gather them up, and from them you'll make
A shield from the spectors that haunt all your dreams
To finally find who you'll be

She sits in her chair and watches her feet to make sure they're still on the ground
Her body is here but her soul's incomplete, frightened of what she had found.

Her words carry no weight, they hold not a trace of want she wants to believe
And just behind the emotions she fakes, she's struggling not to be seen

Listen up girl, your trembling eyes show
What they're hiding, and secretly know
And whisper to you while you turn in your sleep
To tell you who you need to be

Listen up girl, one day you'll hear
A song to make it all clear
By then you'll forget about me
And finally find who you'll be.

Cheeky Squeakies

Mother, why did you you kill your son?
"His cheeks made squeaks as they shifted into places to make faces and I couldn't face it."

You could have made him a mask.
"Yes, but a mask couldn't mask the massive cheek squeaks creaking like a hinge for oil."

"So I buried him in the soil so deep that his cheek squeaks couldn't leak into the flowerbed to peek their tiny heads, and begin to squeak exceedingly, and creak repeatingly, killing greenery, and rotting the toil."

And from there they turned skybound

How long, how long, we've waited for
A sign, a sign, of something more
We climb, we climb up mountains and fountains
but we cannot, we cannot we cannot

Understand what earlier hands
built till the palms all were red,
and here we stand upon hundreds of years,
our feet scrape the stones and rattle the bones of the dead.

Lo! how the crows bring the city down
and they caw, how they call for fruitful ground
but stones and cement is all they found
until they saw the sky

And wings never seemed more useful
towers never seemed so low
since hundreds of years, all that they've feared
is that there's nowhere left to go...

I ben nämlich der Spion von Aale

I've just returned from a few days visiting old friends in Aalen, the medium sized town located in east Baden-Wuerttemburg, just slightly out of reach of the gaping Bavarian border, snuggled within the most northern points of the Swabian Albs.

Aalen in an interesting city in itself, and rather well known for it's Roman ruins and the legend of the Spy that saved the town from being conquered by a foreign army, but that's all besides the point. If you're really that interested, read about it on Wikipedia here

I started my way there on Thursday, and the be quite honest, I was scared to death. I had spoken on the phone only twice with him since I had left four years earlier, and both had been short, only discussing the details of my arrival.

You know how sometimes you get that feeling that you've stepped into a dream? That's what it felt like as I stepped off the train at Aalen Hbf, nothing had changed. The people I called my friends can still be called friends, and even though I haven't talked to most of them in the four years that have passed, It feels like I was here yesterday. It's also interesting how little people change, the quiet people are still quiet, the annoying ones still annoying.

It's nice to have a tiny little place in the world where you can go and have a whole other group of people that knows you, and possibly sees you completely differently than the people back home. They all still talk about the time I played a song at the school concert....hm.

Cardinal Directions

Fields of green and skies of blue,
never know what they're coming to,
and the lights that fade at night erase
every sign of color and life.

Every scene we're pulling through
helps to reveal what we have to do
and the paper trail that fills my room
wasn't worth the haggling, so I'm traveling on...

To every scenic spot
to stretch my limbs that soon forgot how to move,
and when the red birds sing, their tunes will bring some better news.

Although my shirt is green and my pants are blue,
polarity shifts can't help me through,
the muck and the steam that coats my shoes
isn't worth the strain, so I'll throw them in the bonfire's blaze...

To let it melt away
and to free my brain that soon forgot how to choose
and when the red birds fly, I'll loose myself of this tightened noose.

fencing with flowers
climbing with lace
mid-winter showers
suddenly replaced

With all the things I've got
and never leave this spot that's so overcome with the blues
and when the red bird dies, we'll soon realize,
that sometimes the prize ain't worth getting to.

Bernoulli

The air pushing around the fuselage, Bernoulli at work, his arms stretching from the ground to guide our noses miles above his. And we, hoping his arms never tire.

Sometimes he stumbles, and we shake furiously. We're not even supposed to be here in the first place, are we?

And Bernoulli is an old man, his joints growing weak and his hair thin, breathing shallowly with lungs lined with the dusts only billions of miles can collect, his brow beaded with globules finer than crystals of refined sugar, running salty into the corners of his lined mouth. And while he sweats and toils to prove himself, I worry about getting a window seat.

And he strains
and I sit
And he strains
for a bit
of fame
And they sit
and complain.

Hungarian Police...they will steal your child and robberate your house

So I've been spending the last few days of my life in Budapest, Hungary with Andy, and needless to say, it's been rather awesome.

for those who don't know, Hungary looks like this:

Budapest is that larger dot in the middle. I'd show you what the city looks like, but I haven't uploaded any pictures yet.


Even though I've only been here two days, I've seen/done quite a few things that I would never have expected. The first day, we got lost and saw some medieval sword fighting school, where I took a picture of a dude in armor through a window. Yesterday was especially exceptional, after climbing the hill on the Buda (west of the Danube) side of Budapest (yes, there's a Pest too, it's on the east side of the Danube. So Buda+Pest=Budapest, clever, huh?) and taking some pictures of the wonderful view from above, Andy and I decided to walk about town and to take a tram. Once on the tram, we encountered a quite...well, crazy woman who decided to take this time on the tram to complain about the evils of the Hungarian police.......in very Hungarian sounding English. Quotes include: "I never elect, because they need to be changed," "If there is a crime....Hungarian Police," "You'll get a stroke from Hungarian Police," and the title of this post is also one of her claims. As people got on at each stop, more and more people were weirded out my this lady's antics. Did I mention she was old?

Then, last night Andy and I decided to travel to Margaret Island, a small island in the middle of the river towards the north of the city. I thought that Andy getting hit on by hookers in Prague was just a coincidence, but now I am fully convinced that he is what I refer to as a "hooker magnet". We were asked no fewer than 8 times whether we wanted to participate in some gross looking woman's "Sexy Program." We were also approached by a man asking if we wanted to meet "The Fuck Master," referring to the Master's talents as "precision FUCKing technology" (emphasis on the "fuck" syllable). That had me laughing for about ten minutes.

Eventually we got to the island, and decided to participate in the festivities, which were essentially open air bars/dance clubs, and it was truly a neat experience. We apparently happened to come on "Remember those 90s songs?" night because in a row, they played "Ice Ice Baby", "U Can't Touch This", "Pump Up The Jam", and "Everybody Dance Now". So we drank some beer, ate some sausage with bread and mustard, which was quite delicious, and drank some semi-sweet white wine because Andy is a girl. We danced like idiots for a while, and then decided to head down to the river's edge to slowly make our way back to the hostel. We sat for a little while, and then we were suddenly joined by a group of boys who were toying with the idea of going swimming. Eventually about four of them stripped down to their underwear, jumped in the water, and immediately bitched about how cold it was. We laughed at them for a while, but then decided we should move on, but we wanted to walk around the southern tip of the island. There, we saw a cat, and decided we wanted to follow it a little bit, essentially because we're a little gay and like to pet animals. We couldn't catch the cat, but we did see it leap over a fence to a very quiet looking area, so we decided that we should do as Hungarian cats do, and also climb the fence, Andy got his belt loop caught on a spike, and I poked my but with one, and it was funny.

Once inside, we looked around and to our surprise, right there was a small pool. We looked at each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Then I stuck my hand in the water, came to a wonderful realization, looked at Andy and said, "Dude, it's warm." Yes, we had successfully broken into a small bar with a hot tub completely concealed from any people who may have been looking to keep such people like us out. So we stripped down, and had a wonderful time in our own personal Hungarian hot tub. The only downside was that they had turned off the beer taps for the night.

After our swim, we decided it was time for us to return home at the lovely hour of 5AM to sleep until noon, and prepare for the following day.

No, I'm not going to kill myself. sorry if it's bad.

In this room I've made my home
all white and lifeless, chills and spite
It's all I have, a roof above my head.
Here I'll stay writing from my hospital bed

And as I sleep, I'll curl the sheets
around my neck and make it like an accident
They'll say "sorry he had to go"
That it was suicide they will never know

When I reach my destination
Shaking hands just like the prom
Hopefully they'll have a place
Where I can be alone

And in this room I've made my home
So white with brightness, thrills, delight
It's all I have, a place to be myself
And I'll never know whether it's heaven or hell.

To Prague and back.

Sunday morning looking through the half opened blinds of my window that looks out to the many other faceless buildings that populate the student community here. So this isn't what it's supposed to be like, Europe's supposed to be filled with endless wonder, and instead I find myself living in what resembles a housing project from the eastern block; boring, drab, and depressing, but painted with bright colors to hopefully disguise it's utter lack of personality. My room is white, like the inside of an institution: sterile.

Tuebingen itself is a beauty of a town, wonderful weather, friendly people, a charming town center filled with winding ancient alleys, smiling shopkeepers, and cafes. Wednesday morning farmer's market outside the town hall, bustling and picturesque. People ride boats up and down the river every Sunday. Why Sundays? because everything except the restaurants and cafes is closed, you can't even buy groceries....just church and relaxation. And the ice cream, people are always eating ice cream on Sundays, and walking up and down the Neckerinsel, walking their dogs, or spending time with their kids or just enjoying the day because it's there.

I could spend a decent amount of time here, but I doubt I could ever spend my entire life here, there's something about this town that is too perfect, no arguments, little crime, no fear. Everyone seems to be happy in Tuebingen. Maybe it's the water.

So after three weeks of Language class, Doeners, and city tours, I decided it was about time I went somewhere else. Prague.

For the longest time, I have never found a place on this earth where I felt I could spend the rest of my life. Growing up in the suburbs and seeing how people there treated life bothered me, and I needed to find a place where a neat little domestic life wasn't the preferred method of existence.

Upon entering Prague for the first time, after having spent the entire night in a bus trying to catch some sleep, I was instantly entranced. There is something about that city that glows perpetually, a unique beauty intertwined with a heaping spoonful of darkness, something mildly evil. This city felt real, people lived here and died here and suffered here and defined themselves here. There was enough character in this city for everyone.

Hostel Elf was also a joy, bright and vibrant graffiti decorated the entire exterior, the staff was friendly and rather open minded, and the beds were more comfortable than the bed I have in Germany. It was nestled beside train tracks, and a train would pass us by every five minutes. Those who were sitting outside stopped their conversations while the train passed, everyone looked at each other, unwilling to strain his voice above the noise of the passing train. It was as if the train sought to regulate our thoughts. Most of the people there were open, and we'd share our experiences and stereotypes over real Budweiser beer (American Budweiser is called B here). Canadians, Finnish, Norwegian, Belgian, American, French, Brazilian, Bolivian, and countless other nationalities would sit out on the front porch and talk late into the night, stopping only when the trains would pass.

I would spend my days walking all over the city, trying to exercise my little bit of Czech on the most unsuspecting people. I went to the castle twice, perhaps the most beautiful in the world, because I felt like it, toured the torture museum, and went to a black light theater production of Faust. What surprised me is that the entire cast talked to each other during the entire production, barely audible over the music that blared, caught only by those like me who insisted on sitting in the first row. I wondered what it's like to be an actor in Prague, and how far up the achievement ladder the black light theater actually is. One thing is for sure, the female lead was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

The turkey flavored chips were also pretty awesome.

Kutna Hora was also a treat. Small shops, beautiful churches, including one decorated entirely with human bones. No pictures allowed, but just google it.

Having Andy there was also a plus, there's nothing like being able to share a beautiful city with a close friend.

I also find it oddly fitting that Kurt Vonnegut Jr., my most favorite author, died while I was in Prague.

Being back here in Tuebingen only increases my Wanderlust. I want to get away from here again, because I don't want the lightness.

So, it's been a while

Yeah, so I know it's been a ridiculously long time since I actually decided to post something on this blog, but I figured it'd be both a good way for me to collect my thoughts whenever I felt it necessary, as well as be able to share my adventures and experiences with my friends, and whomever happens to stumble across this...blog.. I seriously find that word so annoying.

So I officially embarked on my five month journey yesterday, finishing packing and driving up to JFK airport in order to catch my flight to Germany, where I'll be living and studying for the next while. I currently find myself at the London Heathrow Airport, where I sit waiting for my connection flight to depart. The flight here was....rather uncomfortable, and I didn't sleep at all, so as a result, I am running on the same batteries as I was yesterday.

From the next flight, I'll take a train to Tuebingen, my new home, and seek out the Youth Hostel, where I'll be spending my first night. Come Wednesday, I move into my apartment on the opposite side of town. I currently have no map or train reservation, opting instead to work things out as they come because in today's day and age it's far too easy to destroy a true adventure with technology. So I might get lost for a few hours, I can deal with that.

I also have no idea what my apartment looks like. I just hope it has a kitchen.

I've actually composed a short to do list once I get my apartment:

1. unpack some stuff
2. buy some beer
3. drink aforementioned beer
4. buy a bicycle

I have about a week until I actually have to start doing things for school. I figured this was adequate time for me to unwind, get settled, and perhaps meet a person or two.

As many of you know, music is very important to me, so I'm also going to post short playlists that are downloadable for anyone who's interested in listening to what I'm listening to. Here's the first one:

1. (+/-) - The Important Thing Is to Love
I'm not even entirely sure why I'm all about this song. It was stuck in my head at the airport for some reason, and then when I put the iPod on shuffle, it came up immediately. Crazy.

2. Mogwai - Travel is Dangerous
Off the infamous Mr. Beast that people rip to shreds. Okay, it's no Rock Action, but this song is good, and slightly ominous considering my situation. Also a Celestine Prophecy type shuffle. eerie.

3. Chin Up Chin Up - We Should Have Never Lived Like We Were Skyscrapers
First, I love this song title. The song's pretty good too. This band is from Chicago and their old bassist was killed when hit by a car on tour.. eeeeeee.

4. Blitzen Trapper - Summertwin
One of my favorite songs in the recent past. Listening should explain everything

5. The Arcade Fire - Intervention
Off the new album (that just came out) called Neon Bible. I really like the way the organ sounds in this. It's also #1 here in the UK. I didn't expect that.

6. The Microphones - You'll Be In The Air
My favorite song about flying. period.


I know this all seems very random and not well thought out, mainly because it isn't. I'll figure it all out eventually.

-brendan