Would you?

Swing, swing, skip, step into the dusk.

no new enhancements

but so much more. I've not posted much over the past two years. Sporadic strange descriptions of cloudy, drowsy days, a few favorite videos, mentions of local activities, small bits of news. I plan to write more, Dear Hearts, for this small gathering of friends. No expectations. Just truth through the dusty frames. Just moments of here and there. Some music. Some memories. A few small hopes. And many plans.

10

I find myself surrounded by wrinkled, sad laundry and warm air and evening light. I am serenaded by Mark Kozelek's ACDC covers and the whirring hum of our new bronze toned vintage-looking oscillating fan. What is this time? What is the time? And where are you? Days and hours and minutes away, in a solemn room, in a neighboring country.

watch signs. keep right.

a lovely and odd bicycle safety video featuring the music of Jon Brion.

Impressions of the Past

Absolutely gorgeous video directed by photographer Tim Lytvinenko

Megafaun "Impressions of the Past"
Directed by: Tim Lytvinenko - http://luceoimages.com

Megafaun - Impressions of the Past from Hometapes on Vimeo.

Learn more about Megafaun

Buy "Gather, Form & Fly" on 2xLP or CD



My friend Leah and her Lil Leah puppet on her birthday with the boys from Megafaun at the Bottletree in Birmingham, Alabama. I love this picture. It's magic.

brookwood

2004 - Charla and Tom stood at the end of my hospital bed. I felt rather tired and under accessorized. A day of steroids can do this to a girl. The white patterned cotton gown and drab bedclothes. The plain striped walls and pale pictures. The exhausted looking television in the corner of my vision. Tom and Charla appraised the damaged/damage and smiled. They knew that I would eventually be okay, no matter what. It had been quite a scare, indeed. I would make it. I would find my way. Tom handed me a copy of Modest Mouse's newest record. And as he and Charla said their good byes and departed, I slipped the cd into my discman and reclined.



...everyone's a building burning
with no one to put the fire out
standing at the window looking out
waiting for time to burn us down
everyone's an ocean drowning
with no one really to show how
they might get a little better air
tf they turned themselves into a cloud

from blame it on the tetons by modest mouse

golden mouthed moments

I didn't expect it to be like this. Not now. Not during my first quarter back at school. Not in the midst of huge promising projects at work. Not now. But with the stress of it all came this, burning and bending, bashing in all plans.

FOALS // SPANISH SAHARA from dave ma on Vimeo.

I am on the tenth day of my MS relaps-a-cation. I've started a second round of steroids. With my trusty aluminum cane and a pair of padded slippers, I've overcome biting foot pain and an unbalanced gait to get from room to room. And the rest of the time...I lie here on the futon and wait. I rest. And hour after hour passes by. The light creeps up and down the windowsill. The snow keeps melting on the lawn, all traces of winter storms disappearing. And slowly, in their own achingly quiet way, my symptoms have started to melt away as well. Yes. I know it's going to take some time. Even so, I can feel strength returning and the smile returning to my face.

respite

I, in my whale pajamas and bedhead braids, am suddenly aware.
It's the kidney-bean-shaped, hand-with-splayed-fingers sized numbness just to the looking-down left of my belly button and the coldness of the hardwood floors. The floor is damp with melted snow. I hold my cup and saucer high, sauntering from kitchen through the dark bedroom and into my Saturday. I set down my coffee and crawl back into bed, tucking my arms and shoulders under the edge of the comforter. My bare feet wallow in the tuck of sheets at the foot of the bed.

Where are you going, my Love? What are you doing? Folding back pages and trying not to bend the spines.

I am warm.

Where are you again? Bent over desk, pulling on your beard thoughtfully. You close your brown eyes and open them again to scan and comprehend the words on the printed page before you. You inhale, catching the heated air into your brown, battered lungs.

My mind is swarming and spilling into sleep.

swim

You turned your fork over with quiet grace. Crumbs traced, fell into tiny raked lines, golden. I took another sip of coffee. I turned to the window. These late nights, the pressure in my head, my left hand stained with ink, my eyes tired and stale, these late nights had to end. You smiled and tilted your head to watch our waitress ramble down the aisle. Her shoes gleamed in their own rigid, florescent loveliness.