Jessica is wise even if she doesnt always seem to know it or even if she doesnt follow her own advice all the time. Ive never been able to talk to her outside of a social setting or even while sober but Im familiar with her. I think she is wise because she writes. She makes herself write. She does so often, and she does well.
She works in a day-care center. This doesnt amaze me. The gentleman who empties my trash after I go home, hes a world-beating slide guitarist. The old woman who ladles up another serving of red beans for me has the Bible memorized and she wields her knowledge with the weary, sensible vigor of a Talmudic scholar. So the fact that best writer Ive ever met works 9-hour days as a nanny, no, thats not strange, thats life, man. This is the way it works.
She could snap chicken necks for a living and sleep underneath leaking dumpsters and still these words would gush out. She has a paupers laugh, the sort that sounds richer than it has any right to. That gives me hope.
There's a certain harmonic hum in 'Lovedust', the lead track from Luna's recent album Romantica, it's in the chorus, it is a multitracked shoegazer guitar reverberation and the vocal tremors of Dean Wareham and company and god knows what else, it's a sound that
that, back growing up in Tulsa, I was eight and our congregation was visiting one of those newfangled megachurches that came up in the televangelist 80's, one woman, large, too much blush like Tammy Faye, she said to me : now, Ken? (yes.) do you know that funny feeling in the pit of your stomach that you get when you pray? (yes.) that's God. And I knew what she meant, I know exactly what she meant, it hummed and it sounded like that
that, driving down the Broken Arrow expressway, there was a section at the time, plenty of construction as always, where two lanes narrowed to almost half a lane and this snakes and chicaned all over the pavement for a good quarter mile, the only thing keeping you off of jackhammered concrete were these orange barrels with lights on top, I would go out at 2 AM and shoot through these barrels with my headlights off, you couldn't see anything but yellow lights snicking past you counting off the seconds until your untimely demise, and left turn right turn BRAKE left again and go go go and I was singing all the way through and it sounded like that
that, standing next to some girl who came, just to visit you, she's ignoring you she's not ignoring you she's all come here go away, and you can't say a word all you can do is wait for her and she finally speaks and it makes the birds scatter from the trees, you accidentally brush her hand and the shock from the contact hypersensitizes your entire body and you can suddenly feel everything around you shake like the bolts are coming loose in the world and it sounded like that
and it sounds like that.
She works in a day-care center. This doesnt amaze me. The gentleman who empties my trash after I go home, hes a world-beating slide guitarist. The old woman who ladles up another serving of red beans for me has the Bible memorized and she wields her knowledge with the weary, sensible vigor of a Talmudic scholar. So the fact that best writer Ive ever met works 9-hour days as a nanny, no, thats not strange, thats life, man. This is the way it works.
She could snap chicken necks for a living and sleep underneath leaking dumpsters and still these words would gush out. She has a paupers laugh, the sort that sounds richer than it has any right to. That gives me hope.
There's a certain harmonic hum in 'Lovedust', the lead track from Luna's recent album Romantica, it's in the chorus, it is a multitracked shoegazer guitar reverberation and the vocal tremors of Dean Wareham and company and god knows what else, it's a sound that
that, back growing up in Tulsa, I was eight and our congregation was visiting one of those newfangled megachurches that came up in the televangelist 80's, one woman, large, too much blush like Tammy Faye, she said to me : now, Ken? (yes.) do you know that funny feeling in the pit of your stomach that you get when you pray? (yes.) that's God. And I knew what she meant, I know exactly what she meant, it hummed and it sounded like that
that, driving down the Broken Arrow expressway, there was a section at the time, plenty of construction as always, where two lanes narrowed to almost half a lane and this snakes and chicaned all over the pavement for a good quarter mile, the only thing keeping you off of jackhammered concrete were these orange barrels with lights on top, I would go out at 2 AM and shoot through these barrels with my headlights off, you couldn't see anything but yellow lights snicking past you counting off the seconds until your untimely demise, and left turn right turn BRAKE left again and go go go and I was singing all the way through and it sounded like that
that, standing next to some girl who came, just to visit you, she's ignoring you she's not ignoring you she's all come here go away, and you can't say a word all you can do is wait for her and she finally speaks and it makes the birds scatter from the trees, you accidentally brush her hand and the shock from the contact hypersensitizes your entire body and you can suddenly feel everything around you shake like the bolts are coming loose in the world and it sounded like that
and it sounds like that.
sparkle:
i went there yesterday and it was fun, i would have said lets meet somewhere, but it was really more for my friend jay to visit new orleans (hes never been) so i really didnt want to make the trip about me.
godzuki:
it may have seemed like i was disparaging the golden loveliness that is deep-frying, but i would never desecrate the culinary traditions of the South 
Especially when it gives us such things as krispy kremes and kfc
Especially when it gives us such things as krispy kremes and kfc