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.

Holiday

500 hundred miles or so into tomorrow, I will turn and stretch in my car seat and look out into the darkness, scanning the horizon for that hint of light, that faded lovely glow in the distance. Birmingham. The Magic City. I will look to James and smile sleepy tears of excitement. Soon I will see our families. Soon I will hold my grandmother's hand.




Christina Courtin - Rainy -
one of my favorite tracks recently posted on Said The Gramaphone.

Winter 1993

Sometimes, dearest, I just stop. Because I don't understand.

Sometimes I look at my life and say...yes. All of these things.

Sometimes I turn and look at you.

Sometimes I remember that trailer on the edge of town. Sometimes I remember a white bench seat in an old two door, the engine humming in the chilly Winter wind. The awkward windows. The scene on the screened-in porch. Weren't they all scenes. Weren't they all waiting. Why didn't they say one thing. I was in the midst of a Midwestern Austen adaptation. Longing. Silence. Longing. Silence. Whispers. Anticipation. Silence. All in the middle of a god-damned cornfield.

You were there, corn silk hair and gray eyes. You were there, all form and no function. You were there, hands in pockets and digging at the gravel road with the toes and heels of your shoes. I was there and I walked away, cold air burning red into my tear-stained cheeks.



Sharon Van Etten - For You from the album Because I Was In Love

Pied Piper Triumphant

I reached down to nervously clutch my purse. My hand furrowed down between chair and desk to find a lonely lunch bag. I caught myself and stared up at my Advisor. I had almost captured her lunch. "So..." she smiled and dragged one hand across her hair as she tapped and tapped the mouse. She turned her head to me. Her bangs stood out sideways from her head, a dangerous angle, sharp and satirical.

"Um...I don't know. Um..." We stopped for a moment as I fumbled through the papers upon my lap. I was so ashamed of the amounts of Ds and Fs and what-have-you's on my transcripts, but so proud of the memories that they produced. Every year of incompletes, save one, stood for this lovely, terrific life I led. Every F for a series of mornings, overslept or just delinquent...from what adventures? From stuffing students into my little blue car for seemingly pointless but truly amazing day excursions to St. Louis. To the family farm. To Denver, Colorado. To defunct Utopian communities dotting the Midwest. To shows in Chicago, Atlanta, Nashville, and New Orleans. To late night rock shows at the Nick. To laying about on rainy days discussing nothing but the weather while Red House Painters beat the din that marched my heart to it's adolescent sadness My only regret is time. That I am 31 and have so much math yet to learn.

"So? What do you think?" She had brushed her unwieldy bangs down. Her eyes peered through her slim glasses. Click. Click-click.

"Yes. I think that's great. Those classes sound perfect."

And with that...I became a student again. At last.

Múm "Sing Along" from Team G on Vimeo.

Trip the Friday Fantastic!

-friday FANTASTIC shortmix-

Melbourne - R. Stevie Moore
No More Heroes - The Stranglers
Andy Warhol - David Bowie
Kay-ray-ku-ku-ko-kex - Mum
Wake - The Antlers
RR vs D - AU

Layers

While making bread this afternoon, I swayed a bit, leaning back and forth from foot to foot. Karen Berquist from Over the Rhine belted from my living room "My Funny Valentine." I realized that I could no longer feel my toes. In their place, I felt nothing but cold. Fingers stiff and covered with flour, I forgot, I forgot the flour. I reached down to touch my shoe, just to make sure my foot was still there. Yes. And now my Doc Marten Mary Jane was also covered with flour. The cold is unusual to me. I guess I've been spoiled by 8 years of Alabama weather. Our cavernous apartment has tall windows which still seem to let in little light. I've invested in leggings and long-sleeved knit shirts to put under every piece of clothing that I own. How could I forget? How could I forget the quiet bitter cold of the North? It stole so quickly into my days. The summer hung around so long, lazily reclined upon our living room couch, throwing his drunken stare in every direction. Fans and air conditioning units were installed and shifted from room to room. And instead of the bumbling, snail-like exit I had expected, Summer stole away in the middle of the night, leaving in his place this hollow dreadful chill.

fall falling footsteps

Fifteen lines on country roads. Fifteen hearts entangled. Turn a corner, down the lane, a darkness overtakes us. Through the brush and tottered trees, through the frozen Autumn eve, breath like cotton, hands curled close, gingerly, we follow.

Fifteen paces over hill. Fifteen miles upon us. Fifteen years we've lived until another night of burning light, of scorching heat, of feigned delight. Another moon leads us to stand around the burning embers. Your face distorted, features sharp, then fading with the flick of dawn.

*************************

J. Tillman - "First Born" from Vacilando Territory Blues from Western Vinyl on Vimeo.

Thank you.

Two days, 300 miles or so, not enough coffee, a paper bag full of Indian take-out, one hyper-active English sheepdog, one pint of whiskey, fake blood on hospital scrubs, a gypsy, a pirate, a tiger, a frozen lady, a wrecked kiddie car, a bamboo cane, a tiny mustache, a bowler hat, a bunny suit, and a pair of cheap glasses...all make for the beginning of a beautiful birthday.

nein on nine

We stopped in at the ever amazing Grammers on Saturday night for the Nein on Nine! shindig. Lovely and awesome.
I ran into the 5ch4r7z and his lovely other half in the lobby. The consumption of good beer and an insane array of pretzels and cake (one of which D later pulverized in the parking lot after someone dropped it on his car) and a great amount of inspiring discussion took place. Thanks for inviting us all out. Great evening. Love this video:

NEIN ON NINE! from PROJECTMILL on Vimeo.

Vote NO on Issue 9!!!

Starring Charlie Gibson
Manifesto Written by Mandy Levy
Shot and Edited by Pete Ohs
Music by Bad Veins

theprojectmill.com
peteohs.com
badveins.com
mandylevy.com