I hope it's a good night

“Ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“No. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. I’m following him.”

Ew, cortisol.

Hello, insomnia. Hello, panique attáques. I fucking hate this

(1) We have lots of it

(2) This is something that we know

(3) This is something we can use

(4) This is something we know that we can use. Even if we aren’t sure how

(5) We can and will use power in ways that other people will not like. Crucially, this is not a bad thing.

(6) We can use power in ways that protect ourselves and our loved ones. It is often the case that we should.

(7) We are powerful enough to hurt other people, whether or not they have done anything to “deserve” being hurt. We can hurt others, even if we didn’t mean for that to happen, even if we did mean for that to happen.

(8) The way we use our power is something that matters

(9) There are people who will try to treat us as if we are powerless

(10) Those people are wrong.

Today I asked Steve Rogers if he would still love me if I was a worm and he immediately said “no.” He realized he might have made a mistake when he saw the slightly crestfallen expression on my face so he started backpedaling, asking clarifying questions like “in this scenario were you always a worm or did you transform into a worm? Were you there all along but then you disappeared and in that instant a worm popped into existance to take your place? What are the metaphysical implications for personal identity in this instance -” and I had to kiss him on the mouth to get him to shut up

“For a while there, it was rough
But lately, I’ve been doin’ better
Than the last four cold Decembers
I recall

And I see my family every month
I found a girl my parents love
She’ll come and stay the night
And I think I might have it all

And I thank god every day
For the girl she sent my way
But I know the things she gives me
She can take away

And I hold you every night
And that’s a feeling I wanna get used to
But there’s no man as terrified
As the man who stands to lose you

Oh, I hope I don’t lose you
Mm

Please stay
I want you, I need you, oh God
Don’t take
These beautiful things that I’ve got

Please stay
I want you, I need you, oh God
Don’t take
These beautiful things that I’ve got

Oh-oh-oh-oh
Ooh
Please don’t take

I found my mind, I’m feelin’ sane
It’s been a while, but I’m finding my faith
If everything’s good and it’s great
Why do I sit and wait ’til it’s gone?

Oh, I’ll tell ya, I know I’ve got enough
I’ve got peace and I’ve got love
But I’m up at night thinkin’
I just might lose it all

Please stay
I want you, I need you, oh God
Don’t take
These beautiful things that I’ve got

Oh-oh-oh-oh
Ooh
Please stay
I want you, I need you, oh God
I need
These beautiful things that I’ve got…”

Benson Boone. Lyrics of the song “Beautiful Things.” Released as a single by Night Street Records/Warner Records on January 18th, 2024.

“I was stopped in London when I felt it coming down
Crashing all around me with a great triumphant sound
Like the dam was breaking and my mind came rushing in
I was stopped in London, oh, I was awakening
I was

I was o’er in Paris when I almost ran away
Two times round the block before I decided to stay
Puffed along a cigarette that went and made me sick
Spent another day pretending I was over it

This time, I know I’m fighting
This time, I know I’m back in my body
This time, I know I’m fighting
This time, I know I’m back in my body
I’m back in my body

And all along the highway there’s a tiny whispering sound
Saying I could find you in the dark of any town
But all that I am hearing in the poem of my mind
Are sullen, twisted words finding their way in every line

Oh, this time, oh, this time

This time, I know I’m fighting
This time, I know I’m back in my body
This time, I know I’m fighting
This time, I know I’m back in my body

Lost you in the border town of anywhere
I found myself when I was going everywhere
This time, I know I’m fighting
This time, I know I’m

Back in my body…”

Maggie Rogers. Lyrics of the song “Back In My Body” which was track 12 on the album Heard It In A Past Life. Capitol Records, 2019.

in my defense if I had known how to spell the word “carabiner” on the first try then how would you have been able to tell it was me

it’s like the opposite of the way people mispronounce certain words when they have only ever really read them in a book and never heard them spoken out loud

but worse. I have no similar excuse.

and here’s me just taking a wild swing in the general direction of pirates and swashbucklers and hoping for the best

This is the first time I’ve been somewhat openly queer at work in a restaurant. The experience has been wildly different from my experience in an academic setting.

At school, it was sometimes like – “ah! did I mess up horribly and use the wrong pronouns? God I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so -“

At the café, it’s like – today this adorable girl who is dressed like she’s just time traveled directly from the ’80s walks in after we’ve closed and we have to tell her and she’s super polite about it and she walks out smiling and my coworker and I look at each other from across the room and he’s like “man she was so cute,” and I start giggling and agree like “I WASN’T GONNA SAY IT SO I’M GLAD YOU DID” and he’s like “hated to kick her out, like – she can stay as long as she wants, dang,” and we’re just politely objectifying this girl for like five minutes. Priceless. Meanwhile the same coworker is pulling his hair out over this girl he’s just started talking to, running to the back room to text her every five minutes during this shift, and he just bought a Prius and he hasn’t had a car in years and he thinks this is going to increase his chances with the ladies and he’s like stressing out about it and he sighs and he says “women,” and I solemnly nod in agreement. “Women.”

We’re blasting The Rise And Fall of a Midwest Princess album from Chappell Roan (picture a lesbian equivalent of Elton John) over the speakers at closing and before we open the next day because the barista who works at the counter saw them in concert weeks ago and still has not recovered from that experience and it’s so cute.

Everyone is chill, even the grumpy coworker who frequently talks shit about his girlfriend – even him. When it finally dawned on him (you could see him looking from the flannel to the carabiner to the engagement ring and back again like, hmm????) he said something along the lines of “hey man, I’m rooting for you.”

I like it here.

people/characters who are madly in love with their wives >>>

“I was walking through icy streams
That took my breath away
Moving slowly through westward water
Over glacial plains

And I walked off you
And I walked off an old me
Oh me oh my I thought it was a dream
So it seemed

And now, breathe deep
I’m inhaling
You and I, there’s air in between
Leave me be
I’m exhaling
You and I, there’s air in between
You and I, there’s air in between

Cut my hair so I could rock back and forth
Without thinking of you
Learned to talk and say
Whatever I wanted to

And I walked off you
And I walked off an old me
Oh me oh my
I thought it was a dream
So it seemed

And now, breathe deep
I’m inhaling
You and I, there’s air in between
Leave me be
I’m exhaling
You and I, there’s air in between

You and I, there’s air in between
You and I, there’s air in between.”

Maggie Rogers. Lyrics of the song “Alaska” which was track 4 on the album Heard It In A Past Life. Capitol Records, 2019.

Steve’s dad wears a baseball cap featuring the logo of the Harley-Davidson motorcycle company. The wind in the airport parking lot on the vast flat plane of Oklahoma was so strong that his hat blew away away across the pavement.

We carried our luggage through the doors into the air conditioned hallway with elevators and gift shops and escalators between us and the terminal. Like all airports, it’s a liminal space. Time and space work differently at airports, bus stops, and train stations.

At the threshold of the TSA checkpoint, Steve’s mother hugged me and said “Take care of B—-.”

I said I would.

As is customary, his family stood and watched us walk away until we were out of sight.

We live so far away.

On the airplane at night you can look down and see a web of electric lights – patches of light near towns and cities, darkness where nobody lives.

We are back safe.

Only once during this adventure did I burst into tears and sob and cry and say “I hate it here. I want to go home,” and contemplate leaving dramatically in order to run away to the woods in an angry panic. But I also sometimes do that in the car during trips to the grocery store, and I was secretly just upset because I tried shooting pool for the first time in my life in the back room of a vegetarian barbeque joint in a sketchy part of Memphis and I was not immediately good at shooting pool. I was bad at something I’d never done before, in front of his mum, and the embarrassment stung – hot and sharp and angry. It had been a long day. I felt I needed to hide what I was feeling from everyone, as aggressively as possible. It was getting difficult.

“It takes practice,” his father said, practically. (Which made it worse. So much worse. Devastating. Yuck.)

I want to learn how to shoot pool and I don’t want to be witnessed learning until I already know how.

My mental image of being of a hot butch in a flannel drinking whiskey shooting pool in a bar in the evening to impress the girls in spite of my fun sized trophy husband has been shattered and I don’t know if my ego can take any more of this.

Anyway.

We did not get to visit Graceland while we were in Memphis. This was fine.

We did drive past it and we got a chance to look, if only for a moment.

The weather was hot, and it was raining. Steve and I were both in the back seat of the car, and the rain was drumming on the roof. The guy with the catwoman tattoo had pulled the car over to the side of the road by the wall that stood between the grounds of Elvis’ mansion and everything else.

It was pouring buckets of rain, and the wind was blowing sideways.

And Steve and I wanted a look beyond the wall. We wanted to see Graceland.

So we got out of the car in the wind and the rain and within about ten seconds our clothes and hair were soaked through, and the umbrella wasn’t helping at all, and we were laughing, we were giggling. It was silly.

We walked down the length of the cobblestone wall that was heavily vandalized, covered in signatures of people who had visited, graffitied with hundreds of thousands of names of people saying I was here. We saw Graceland.

We approached the gates of Graceland, but we did not walk right through.

We got barely a peak and this big sprawling house beyond the trees over the wall, and it was raining, it was raining, and we looked at each other and laughed and said “okay! We have seen Graceland.” And we ran, stumbling in wet shoes over the pavement. We ran back to the car. Drenched. Soaking wet in the wind and the hot rain. It was terrible. We were having such a good time.

I have a perfect memory of Graceland.

“C’mon, wifey.”

Steve’s mother does not want to get out of the car. His father is trying to sweet talk her into going to see Graceland with him, in the rain, like we did. She hesitates. He is persistent, and she finally agrees.

They are very nearly frail, and they hobble slightly as they walk. But they are determined, and the rain lets up a little for them. And they stand together at the gates for a minute, just looking.

“Thought it’d be nicer,” she says.

“Put on my blue suede shoes
And I boarded the plane
Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues
In the middle of the pouring rain
W.C. Handy, won’t you look down over me?
Yeah, I got a first class ticket
But I’m as blue as a boy can be

Then I’m walking in Memphis
Was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?

Saw the ghost of Elvis
On Union Avenue
Followed him up to the gates of Graceland
Then I watched him walk right through
Now security they did not see him
They just hovered ’round his tomb
But there’s a pretty little thing
Waiting for the King
Down in the Jungle Room

When I was walking in Memphis
I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?

They’ve got catfish on the table
They’ve got gospel in the air
And Reverend Green be glad to see you
When you haven’t got a prayer
But, boy, you’ve got a prayer in Memphis

Now Muriel plays piano
Every Friday at the Hollywood
And they brought me down to see her
And they asked me if I would
Do a little number
And I sang with all my might
She said
“Tell me are you a Christian child?”
And I said “Ma’am, I am tonight”

Walking in Memphis
(Walking in Memphis)
Was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
(Walking in Memphis)
But do I really feel the way I feel?

Walking in Memphis
(Walking in Memphis)
I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
(Walking in Memphis)
But do I really feel the way I feel?

Put on my blue suede shoes
And I boarded the plane
Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues
In the middle of the pouring rain
Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues
In the middle of the pouring rain.”

Marc Cohn, Marc Cohn. “Walking in Memphis.” Copywrite 1991 Atlanta Record Co.

The thing about Memphis is that it’s at least four hours away from grandma’s house. There are five of us, crammed into this tiny little car. The cousin with the catwoman tattoo is driving.

Steve’s mom stopped to get a large vanilla ice cream in a waffle cone – she does this every day, and we all think she has discovered the secret to the good life. Steve’s dad stopped at a farmstand to get a watermelon. We all stopped to get breakfast at McDonald’s.

Now we are listening to Elvis – king of rock & roll. We’re on our way to the bass pro shop pyramid, driving across the bridge over the Tennessee River. Might fuck around and drive by Graceland.

Later on we’re getting barbecue.

To sit and scroll on the phone on grandma’s porch seems sacrilegious; to sit and write out here seems less so.

Yesterday was a big family gathering at the farm. Sheep, goats, pigs, donkeys, ponies, rabbits, chickens, dogs, cats, a black and white kitten named Oreo who should have grown a little more by now.

All I have done since we got here is visit people! All of them want hugs upon arrival and departure. My introverted social battery is running low.

Today we’re driving to Memphis.

There is a specific kind of masculinity here, in the south.

“If you threaten my family that will be the last thing you ever do.”

And, “my wife just died. I am getting the electrocardiogram of her last heartbeat tattooed over my own heart. I am staying with my sister at our parents house. I may have my own house again someday, but without her I will never have a home.”

And, “I got kicked out of that club, once” and “if you put skittles in vodka it turns pretty colors.”

Men who have worked as bouncers and prison guards and served in the military. A man who will describe in detail how he shoved a catttleprod up the other guy’s nose and then went for the knees because the other guy kept bothering one of his friends.

Such a profound and deeply ingrained fear of the other which makes a man say to his wife, passing a stranger in the dairy aisle in the grocery store, “get behind me.”

It is breathtakingly sad.

This morning I woke up in the Oklahoma farmhouse where my fiancé was practically raised by his grandparents.

There’s a ceiling fan over the bed in the room with blue walls that used to be his. Hot black coffee on the counter. Wind chimes, bible verses, knickknacks everywhere. A sign that says “God & Country,” another that says “God Bless America,” and a sticker on the front door that says National Rifle Association. There was an uncle telling military stories about the time he woke up on a beach in the Mediterranean with no clothes on – “thank you for your service,” I told him. A cousin with a sleave tattoo featuring an anatomically exaggerated, leather clad catwoman a whip in one hand. Harley-Davidson branding everywhere. There was a motorcycle on the gravel road on the way up to the house. An old black and white television program was playing in the living room. We stood for a while on the porch, talking, greeting family. They comment on the fact that Steve Rogers has grown a beard. “Are you into Marvel? I’m more of a DC fan,” says one of the cousins, the one with the tattoo. I tell him that my nickname for my partner is Steve Rogers. He gets a kick out of that and immediately understands why I chose that nickname.

Upon our arrival yesterday evening, an aunt offered us watermelon with salt.

This afternoon we visited his cousin and her partner, watched the Barbie movie, played Cards Against Humanity, and baked a quiche and some molasses cookies.

Over the next couple of days we will visit the cemeteries where his grandparents are buried. I study their images in an old photograph on the wall. In the photo, they are two best friends in love.

They look a lot like him.

“We were family pulled from the flood

You tore the floorboards up

And let the river rush in…”

“I am not the only traveler
Who has not repaid his debt
I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again
Take me back to the night we met

And then I can tell myself
What the hell I’m supposed to do
And then I can tell myself
Not to ride along with you

I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you
Take me back to the night we met
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do
Haunted by the ghost of you
Oh, take me back to the night we met

When the night was full of terrors
And your eyes were filled with tears
When you had not touched me yet
Oh, take me back to the night we met

I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you
Take me back to the night we met
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do
Haunted by the ghost of you
Take me back to the night we met.”

Lyrics to a Lord Huron song called “The Night We Met.” From the Strange Trails: 14 Songs from the Unknown album. Released April 7th, 2015. Songwriting by Ben Schneider.

“I took a little journey to the unknown
And I’ve come back changed, I can feel it in my bones
I fucked with forces that our eyes can’t see
Now the darkness got a hold on me
Oh, the darkness got a hold on me

How long baby have I been away?
Oh, it feels like ages, though you say it’s only days
There ain’t language for the things I’ve seen
And the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams
The truth is stranger than all my dreams
Oh, the darkness got a hold on me

I have seen what the darkness does
Say goodbye to who I was
I ain’t never been away so long
Don’t look back, them days are gone
Follow me into the endless night
I can bring your fears to life
Show me yours and I’ll show you mine
Meet me in the woods tonight

The truth is stranger than my own worst dreams
Oh, the darkness got a hold on me

I have seen what the darkness does
Say goodbye to who I was
I ain’t never been away so long
Don’t look back, them days are gone
Follow me into the endless night
I can bring your fears to life
Show me yours and I’ll show you mine
Meet me in the woods tonight.”

Lyrics to a Lord Huron song called “Meet Me In The Woods.” From the Strange Trails album released April 7th, 2015. Songwriting by Ben Schneider.

What did we say about writing things down when we are premenstrual, sad and sleep deprived and we are leaving the writing in places where other people might find it

“but this is when we make our most interesting stuff” my love this is when we take existing problems and make them worse

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever.

Amen.”

Matthew 6:9-13

King James Bible.

This is the only biblical prayer I have ever memorized.

These days, a literal interpretation of the line about trespassing tends to bring to mind the image of the “posted” signs at the edge of the woods where I frequently wandered alone at the beginning of the pandemic. I think of the woods often. It also reminds me of a quote from Aldo Leopold that C_____ told me about, once – something about a county clerks office, I can’t remember it verbatim but I’ve still got the gist of it somewhere.

I returned to the woods, recently, with a backpack and a map and compass, a flip phone and a bear canister, a tent and a bedroll, layers for hiking and sleeping and staying warm, a cheap water filtration system, and copious amounts of bug spray. This was the last hurrah for the boots I bought in the summer of 2019. They have served me well.

Time in the woods made me think of the man with blue eyes. Like being haunted by a ghost I’m a little afraid of, a ghost I haven’t let myself think about in years.

I remember – I was 19, and there was a man that summer with strikingly blue eyes who wanted to take me backpacking and also refused to take me backpacking unless I bought a good pair of boots. If I only focus on that memory, and ignore nearly all of the other memories of the way he made me feel, then I can look back on the boy who talked me into buying the boots with a numb kind of fondness.

I’m pretty sure my mother was trying to marry me off, at the time, which would have been one way to get me out of the house. I’m not sure what possessed her, of all people, my overprotective mother with her morbid imagination, to sit back and smile and allow me to ride off into the sunrise and hike for miles alone in the woods with a man that I did not know. With no complaints at all, from her.

Still, I followed him – with a blind and unassuming sort of trust. I watched him filter water from the pond, cook over a camp stove, navigate trails, I watched him make jokes about seeing bears in the woods that I didn’t understand because nobody had ever in their entire lives bothered to explain anything whatsoever to me at all and I was the worst possible combination of sheltered and not very bright.

We spent a lot of time in the woods.

I think I did something quite melodramatic, when he left – or was it me who left first, I don’t remember – like I think I swore to myself that I would never love again. Because getting attached to him, letting him get close to me, and only knowing one way of staying close to him, even when at times I didn’t want to, which was to fight like hell to keep the dying embers alive in the middle of the rain – that hurt me. I was keenly aware that it was hurting him, too.

But the fire metaphor is a good one. Whatever it was we had burned bright and fast and used up all of its fuel in the process.

Fire can also be a transformative thing, part of the life cycle of a landscape. I have never been the same after him.

I have wanted to love.

I have, until recently, kept my promise to myself – the never loving again thing.

I have let myself entertain all kinds of half-loves. Pathetically yearning at perfectly wonderful people in secret from a distance for too many years without saying a god damned thing has perhaps been the safest, the kindest, and the most psychologically devestating compromise. Kissing attractive and very obviously emotionally unavailable people has been a close second. The worst was letting people who liked me very much have my time and my affection, but not letting myself be in love because I expected to get burned.

–

then there was my fiancé, who approached me with a shy and yet charming straightforward directness at exactly the right moment and told me he found me attractive, he couldn’t stop thinking about me, and he would never speak of this again if I thought he was crazy for misreading the signs – and who shortly thereafter received a surprised but encouraging answer that I did not think he was crazy. As if he had not been one of the people I had felt safe yearning for because I thought I couldn’t have him.

–

I think what I did in response to getting burned was this: I locked my ability to fall in love away inside of something like a tomb, threw away the key, and let myself forget that anything had ever been locked away, and then wondered why everything hurt so much all the time.

Nobody else could ever really have a key to that lock, not really. It would be enchanting to think that key could ever belong to someone else, some fatefully trusted person. But it can’t belong to anyone else. It’s only ever been mine.

Sovereinty.

I swore to myself that I would never fall in love again until I was ready, knowing that I probably never would be.

It was a cruel and nonsensical thing to do, a kindness, an act of self preservation, a specific kind of violence towards the self – all at the same time. It was also fundamentally confused, because fighting like hell to keep dying embers from going out in the wind and the rain is not the same thing as being in love. For fuck’s sake. I wish I could tell them that.

There was never a lock.

There was never a key.

There was barely even a love story with a bitter ending.

There was only a sad teenager who had hurt someone she liked and been hurt quite badly in return, and did not know what to do with the grief except to try very hard never go near the source, not ever again, not ever.

And there was only ever going to be a slow and painful and confusing recovery, mostly without telling a damned soul.

“When you were mine
I gave you all of my money
Time after time
You done me wrong
It was just like a dream
You let all my friends come over and meet
And you were so strange
You didn’t have the decency to change the sheets

Oh, when you were mine
I used to let you wear all my clothes
You were so fine
Maybe that’s the reason that it hurt me so

I know
I know you’re going with another guy
I don’t care
Cuz I love u, baby, that’s no lie
I love you more than I did
When you were mine

When you were mine
You were kinda sorta my best friend
So I was blind
I let you fool around
I never cared
I never was the kind to make a fuss
When he was there
Sleeping inbetween the two of us

I know
I know you’re going with another guy
I don’t care
Cuz I love you, baby, that’s no lie
I love you more than I did
When you were mine

When you were mine
U were all I ever wanted to do
Now I spend my time
Following him whenever he’s with you

I know
I know you’re going with another guy
I don’t care
Cuz I love you, baby, that’s no lie
I love you more that I did
When you were mine

When you were mine, yeah, oh no
Love you, baby
Love you, baby
When you were mine…”

Artist formerly known as Prince. “When You Were Mine,” the second track on the Dirty Mind album. October 8th,  1980.

Three days and nights of backpacking and climbing mountains. Many bug bites from blackflies and mosquitos; at least one tick bite (caught it in time). Sweat and exhaustion and pain from steep trails with much elevation change, a few stumbles on uneven ground – rocks, mud, tree roots. Stabbing, aching pain in the knees, hips, ankles, back and shoulders. A little dizzy from the heat. Blistered feet. Discouragement when we got lost and had to backtrack, worry about getting lost when we just weren’t sure of the way. Got caught in the rain during a thunderstorm by the lake at the base of a mountain – clothes and hair soaking wet, packs stayed dry. Slept poorly in the tent and worse in the car. Burned our food trying to cook over a camp stove in the dark after a long day. We smelled terrible and felt worse.

And yet – we were lucky enough to see a beaver swimming towards its dam across a creek. Canadian geese and baby mallards with their mum on the pond. We think we heard an owl one night, at camp. Tadpoles in a puddle at the top of a mountain. Saw what we think were salamander eggs. Lost count of the salamanders and the frogs and the toads. Watched a crow fly from the top of black mountain down across the lake. Found feathers from blue jays. Saw countless flowers and moths. Watched the sunrise across the pond. Moss and lichen on boulders and fallen trees. No cell service to speak of for days. Stretches of flat trail where the ground was covered in fallen pine needles. Did a sun salutation at the summit of a mountain. Had to learn to slow down to avoid injury. Talked about philosophy and heartbreak. Used walking meditation as a way to measure distance, as well as a way to manage pain. Observed that food tastes better when you’re very tired and very hungry. Fell asleep one night to the sound of thunder as we stayed dry in a lean to and watched the lighting light up the sky. Concluded the trip with a creek walk to the base of a waterfall.

And the views from the mountains were pretty.

“One morning, one morning, one morning in May
I overheard a married man to a young girl say
“Go dress you up, Pretty Katie, and come along with me
Across the Blue Mountains to the Allegheny.

“I’ll buy you a horse, love, and a saddle to ride
I’ll buy myself another to ride by your side
We’ll stop at every tavern

We’ll drink when we’re dry
Across the Blue Mountains goes my Katie and I”

Then up spoke her mother, and angry was she then
“Bright daughter, oh dear daughter, he is a married man
Besides, there’s young men plenty more handsome than he
Let him take his own wife to the Allegheny”

“But mother, oh dear mother, he’s the man of my own heart
And wouldn’t it be a dreadful thing for me and my love to part
I’d envy every woman who ever I did see
Who Crossed the Blue Mountains to the Allegheny”

Well the last time I saw him, he was saddled to ride
With Katie, his darling, right there by his side
A laughing and a singing and thankful to be free
To cross the Blue Mountain to the Allegheny

They left before daybreak on a buckskin and a roan
Past tall shivering pine trees where mockingbirds moan
Past dark cloudy windows where eyes may never see
Across the Blue Mountains to the Allegheny

One morning, one morning, one morning in May
I overheard a married man to a young girl say
“Go dress you up, Pretty Katie, and come along with me
Across the Blue Mountains to the Allegheny.”

Traditional folk song. As recorded by an americana folk band called Rising Appalachia on their record “The Sails of Self,” April 22 2010.

“Boys workin’ on empty
Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?
I just think about my baby
I’m so full of love I could barely eat
There’s nothing sweeter than my baby
I’d never want once from the cherry tree
Cause my baby’s sweet as can be
She’d give me toothaches just from kissin’ me

When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I’ll crawl home to her

Boys, when my baby found me
I was three days on a drunken sin
I woke with her walls around me
Nothin’ in her room but an empty crib
And I was burnin’ up a fever
I didn’t care much how long I lived
But I swear I thought I dreamed her
She never asked me once about the wrong I did

When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I’ll crawl home to her

When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I’ll crawl home to her

My babe would never fret none
About what my hands and my body done
If the Lord don’t forgive me
I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me
When I was kissin’ on my baby
And she put her love down soft and sweet
In the low lamp light I was free
Heaven and hell were words to me

When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I’ll crawl home to her

When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I’ll crawl home to her.”

“Happy birthday, happy birthday

We love you

Happy birthday and may all your dreams come true

When you blow out the candles, one light stays aglow

It’s the love light in your eyes wheree’re you go…”

Look, I know you don’t NEED anyone to peel your oranges for you. You and I both know you can do that on your own. I am still going to peel you an orange, once in a while. With or without being asked. Not because you need the help, but because I want to do something for you. It’s just an act of service, and for that you owe me nothing at all in return.

Orange peel theory is often presented as a test – if they won’t read your mind and peel you an orange without being asked, then that means they don’t really love you. This is stupid. They might actually be loving you in other ways.

Orange peel theory is also meant as a commentary on loving independent people. Why would acts of service make sense as a love language for people who take pride in being able to manage just everything on their own?

Just because a person who takes pride in being independent would never dream of asking anyone else to peel them an orange, that doesnt mean they don’t appreciate this specific way of being loved.

I don’t need people to open doors for me – I am a strong independent woman. You however

“You can’t take loved away.”

“He (or she) who hesitates is lost.”

“It’s nothing important, just the sound of a young girl’s voice harmonizing with the hum of an electric fan.”

No, you don’t understand.

That’s all of my best memories of childhood.

That would be like saying,

“It’s nothing important, it’s just the pattern of the ceiling tiles in the only room where my grandmother ever watched over me as I fell asleep, when I was small.”

or, “it’s nothing important, just the way the breeze feels on my face and in my hair when we sat on the porch. It’s nothing important, just sound of the waves crashing on the shore. It’s nothing important, just the smell of the lake after rain.”

Puns & synonyms. That’s all I ever think about.

“‘Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore –

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonium shore!’

Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’”

    

Edgar Allan Poe. The Raven and Other Poems, page 5. Fall River Press, an Imprint of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc. NY, New York. 2021.

Originally published and attributed to Poe in the New York Evening Mirror on January 29th, 1845.

“I WANT TO RIDE MY BICYCLE, I WANT TO RIDE MY BIKE…”

I was always fond of trees.

“Baby’s gone and I don’t know why
She let out this mornin’
Like a rusty shot in a hollow sky
She left me without warnin’

Sooner than the dogs could bark
Faster than a sun rose
Down to the banks on an old mule car
She took a flatboat ‘cross the shallow

Left me in my tears to drown
She left a baby daughter
Now the river’s wide and deep and brown
She’s crossin’ muddy waters

Tobacco standin’ in the fields
Be rotten come November
And a bitter heart will not reveal
A spring that love remembers

When that sweet brown girl of mine
Hair black as a raven
We broke the bread and drank the wine
From a jug that she’d been savin’

Left me in my tears to drown
She left a baby daughter
Now the river’s wide and deep and brown
She’s crossin’ muddy waters

Baby’s cryin’ and the daylight’s gone
That big oak tree is groaning
In a rush of wind and a river of song
I can hear my true love moanin’

Cryin’ for her baby child
Or cryin’ for her husband
Cryin’ for that river’s wild
To take her from her loved ones

Left me in my tears to drown
She left a baby daughter
Now the river’s wide and deep and brown
She’s crossin’ muddy waters

Now the river’s wide and deep and brown
She’s crossin’ muddy waters.”

John Hiatt, “Crossing Muddy Waters.” The second track on the record with the same name. Released on September 26th, 2000.

A cover of this track was recorded by the band I’m With Her and released on the “Crossing Muddy Waters/Be My Husband” EP on May 19th, 2015.

if you were very tired and very afraid and very, very sad – who would you think of to give you the strength to try and find your way back?

“Take the high road
Over the mountain pass
Take the high road
Going slow while everybody’s going fast
It won’t be the easy way
Saying what you want to say
Take the high road, baby…”

  

Lyrics of a song called “Take The High Road,” the 7th track from Sarah Jaroz’s album Polaroid Lovers. Released everywhere on January 26th, 2024.

“You take the high road

I’ll take the low road

I’ll get there before you

We’ll make it to Scotland

Or have we forgotten

What we’re going there for?”

  

From the lyrics to the chorus of a song called “Transatlantic,” by Aoife O’Donovan with Kris Drever. This track was released as a single on March 17th, 2021.

   

Together with Sara Watkins of Nickle Creek, Aoife O’Donovan and Sarah Jaroz record music and tour together as part of the band I’m With Her.

Easter egg hunt?

“By my fourth cup of black coffee, I used to be able to see God.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.

“You know, this is – excuse me – a damn fine cup of coffee. I can’t tell you how many cups of coffee I’ve had in my life, and this – this is one of the best.”

~ Special Agent Dale Cooper, Federal Buraeu of Investigation (Kyle MacLachlan), in Episode 1 of the television series Twin Peaks. Written by Mark Frost and David Lynch. Original air date April 12th, 1990.

“Annabel, Annabel

Where did you go?
I’ve looked high and I’ve looked low
I’ve looked low and I’ve looked high
Tell me where does the spirit go when you die?
Oh where does the spirit go when you die?

I have packed your satin gloves and lace
All the pictures of your pretty face
And I kept the ones of you on skates
And a picture from your wedding day

Annabel, Annabel way up high
Are you kissing the starry birds in the sky?
Will you come and visit us down below
Oh Annabel Annabel where did you go
Annabel where did you go?

You will miss the humming of the spring
And the winter won’t mean anything
And the summer is a lonesome dale
I am lost without you Annabel
I have lost my faith in everything
Annabel, Annabel are you free?
Will you wrap me in your legacy?
In a blanket with your sweet perfume
I am always thinking thoughts of you.

Annabel, Annabel where did you go?
I’ve looked high and I’ve looked low
Oh I’ve looked low and I’ve looked high
Tell me where does the spirit go when you die?
Oh where does the spirit go when you die?”

.

Lyrics to a song called “Annabell,” written by Kat Goldman for the 4th track on the debut album of a band called The Duhks, Your Daughters & Your Sons. Released by Sugar Hill Records, a Welk Music Company, in 2006.

“Everywhere, everything

Wanna love you till we’re food for the worms to eat

Till our fingers decompose

Keep my hand in yours.”

–

Noah Kahan. Lyrics to the chorus of the song “Everywhere, Everything” originally released on the Stick Season record on October 14th, 2022.

so far my favorite answer to “a billionaire can’t be a tortured poet, those are the rules” is “it doesn’t matter if you love or hate Taylor Swift’s music… is your sense of class solidarity alive and singing?”

(credit for this take goes to Aleah Black @gendersauce on IG. They create quality memes)

“You look like Clara Bow
In this light, remarkable
All your life, did you know
You’d be picked like a rose?”

“I’m not trying to exaggerate
But I think I might die if it happened
Die if it happened to me
No one in my small town
Thought I’d see the lights of Manhattan”

“This town is fake, but you’re the real thing
Breath of fresh air through smoke rings
Take the glory, give everything
Promise to be dazzling”

“You look like Stevie Nicks
In ’75, the hair and lips
Crowd goes wild at her fingertips
Half moonshine, a full eclipse”

“I’m not trying to exaggerate
But I think I might die if I made it
Die if I made it
No one in my small town
Thought I’d meet these suits in L.A.
They all wanna say”

“This town is fake, but you’re the real thing
Breath of fresh air through smoke rings
Take the glory, give everything
Promise to be dazzling”

“The crown is stained, but you’re the real queen
Flesh and blood amongst war machines
You’re the new God we’re worshipping
Promise to be dazzling”

Beauty is a beast that roars
Down on all fours
Demanding, “More”
Only when your girlish glow
Flickers just so
Do they let you know?
It’s hell on earth to be heavenly
Them’s the breaks, they don’t come gently

“You look like Taylor Swift
In this light, we’re loving it
You’ve got edge she never did

The future’s bright, dazzling…”

.

Lyrics to “Clara Bow,” the final track from Taylor Swift’s latest album, The Tortured Poet’s Department. Released on April 19th, 2024.

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

~ Dylan Thomas, “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night,” from The Poems of Dylan Tomas, 1952. Published by New Directions.

Dylan Thomas died in 1953.

I remember being terrified of telling Steve Rogers that I’d decided not to study abroad. He’d taken the time to write letters of recommendation for my application for the program, which was especially kind of him to do because he’s always very busy. I had a strong application. I was accepted. I’d gotten in. I could have spent my last semester of college on the other side of the world, and it would have been such a lovely and important experience. Steve was proud of me when I told him the application had been accepted.

So when I decided not to leave because I wasn’t ready to do that, I felt like I might have been letting down the people who had helped me apply. I had a chance, and I wasn’t going to take it, and that was embarrassing, but it was what I needed at the time.

“I’m not leaving for South Korea,” I told him. “I’ll still be here next year.” It was late may, and there were flowers growing along the sidewalk.

And his eyes lit up, and he got so quiet and shy, and he said “selfishly, that makes me happy.”

And then there was this moment when he sort of realized what he’d just said, and he turned around and walked away.

I just stood there, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.

I spend a lot of time thinking, hey, if you care about people, you ought to let them leave. Let them fly away and have adventures, even if you’re going to miss them when they’re not here. It seems selfish to tell them that you wish they would stay home. They have an entire life to live, and a lot of that life won’t have you in it, and sometimes that has to be okay. It’s the selfless way.

So I wasn’t at all prepared to hear someone I liked and admired so much back then turn around and say “I know this is selfish but I’m happy that you aren’t leaving.”

That was two years ago, back when he was still off limits.

I still think about that memory all the time.

“All our times have come
Here but now they’re gone
Seasons don’t fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are

Come on, baby (don’t fear the reaper)
Baby, take my hand (don’t fear the reaper)
We’ll be able to fly (don’t fear the reaper)
Baby, I’m your man

La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

Valentine is done
Here but now they’re gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity (Romeo and Juliet)
40,000 men and women everyday (like Romeo and Juliet)
40,000 men and women everyday (redefine happiness)
Another 40, 000 coming everyday (we can be like they are)

Come on, baby (don’t fear the reaper)
Baby, take my hand (don’t fear the reaper)
We’ll be able to fly (don’t fear the reaper)
Baby, I’m your man

La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

Love of two is one
Here but now they’re gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn’t go on

Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
Saying don’t be afraid

Come on, baby (and she had no fear)
And she ran to him (then they started to fly)
They looked backward and said goodbye (she had become like they are)
She had taken his hand (she had become like they are)
Come on, baby (don’t fear the reaper)”

–

Lyrics to a song called “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” by Blue Öyster Cult. Released as Track 3 on the Agents of Fortune album in 1976.

Also, stop being mean to yourself.

I want to fight everyone who’s mean to you but I can’t do that if you’re the one who’s being mean to yourself, because I won’t fight you.

Hey, kid – you have had like five peanut butter crackers, half a granola bar, half a banana, some coffee, and like three sips of water today. It’s 4:30PM. You walked at least seven miles in blue jeans and you listened to sad music the entire time. You did not sleep much yesterday evening because you were too busy having Symptoms and going red string conspiracy theory mode re: your own life.

If this was a video game, your health/mana stats would be in the red. Your ability to function has slowed down for reasons that make a lot of sense. You’re only writing right now because it’s a compulsion, not because it’s a good idea.

You do not need to create an elaborate narrative using the people in your life as characters in order to explain the way you feel right now. You need to drink a glass of cold water, rinse off the grime from walking in the sun, make a meal, and curl up under some heavy blankets with a good book. If you want to entertain narratives after that point, then you may.

Jfc

“The only time I got to praying for a red light
Was when I saw your destination as a deadline
‘This is normal conversation, babe, it’s all fine’
Making quiet calculations where the fault lies
This is good land, or at least it was
It takes a strong hand and a sound mind

The college kids are getting so young, ain’t they?
They’re correcting all the grammar on the spray paint
And I even gave up driving after nightfall
I got tired of the frat boys with their brights on
This is good land, or at least it was
It takes a strong hand and a sound mind

It makes me smile to know when things get hard
You’ll be far
You’ll be far from here
And while I clean shit up in the yard
You’ll be far
You’ll be far, far from here

So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart
Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are
We ain’t angry at you, love
You’re the greatest thing we’ve lost

The birds will still sing, your folks will still fight
The boards will still creak, the leaves will still die
We ain’t angry at you, love
We’ll be waiting for you, love

And we’ll all be here forever
And we’ll all be here forever
Sure will

We’re overdue for a revival
We spent so long just getting by
But that’s the thing about survival
Who the hell-, who the hell likes livin’ just to die?

You told me you would make a difference
I got drunk and shut you down
And it won’t be of your own volition
If you step foot out of this town

But it’s all we’ve had
For always

So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart
Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are
We ain’t angry at you, love
You’re the greatest thing we’ve lost

The birds will still sing, your folks will still fight
The boards will still creak, the leaves will still die
We ain’t angry at you, love
We’ll be waiting for you, love

And we’ll all be here forever
And we’ll all be here forever

You’re gonna go far

If you wanna go (if you wanna go) far
Then you gotta go (then you gotta go) far
You gotta go far…”

~ lyrics written by Noah Kahan, for a song called “You’re Gonna Go Far” originally released on We’ll All Be Here Forever album on June 9th, 2023. A duet with Brandi Carlile with the same lyrics was released as a single on February 7th, 2024.

.

POV: you are playing a drinking game in which you’re reading a dark sexy high fantasy romance novel and you have to take a shot of whiskey every time the author specifically mentions that ***His Eyes Are Green***

You are on chapter 10; you barely even know what this book is about yet. You are already drunk off your ass.

“…this is clearly a writer who has never even bothered to read The Book, and yet The Book has had such a pervasive influence on the collective unconsciousness of everyone else around her that she couldn’t entirely escape The Book’s effect, in her development.

The Book’s unmistakable influence appears in this author’s original storytelling. Everyone thinks she’s read The Book, perhaps they even think that she has made a thinly veiled attempt to plagiarize some of it, because the parallels between The Book and her own writing seem so obvious.

And yet she hasn’t read The Book.

The alternative explanation is that her source of inspiration is somehow older than The Book itself – that they share a common ancestor – or the ecological niche she is trying to fill with her writing is similar to the one that lead to the creation of The Book.

In any case, as she writes, she is like an oblivious youngster who doesn’t know anything, imitating what she sees in the people around her in order to blend in, inadvertently sending signals that she does not understand.

Protect her at all costs, as she may yet turn out to be good at this.”

“ooohhh I feel so terrible and gross and I don’t know why”

first of all:

you’ve been staring at a rectangle of blue light, inches from your face, with all the interesting or sexy or frankly even just upsetting information in the universe available, at your fingertips, all the time, any time you please. for literally hours.

you haven’t had any water to drink this week

the last thing you had to eat was a cookie, this was several hours ago

and all the songs you listen to are devestatingly sad! heartbreaking, bittersweet, yearning, miserable.

Anyway.

Hey, punk, don’t tell me what to do –

–

“You graffitied the oldest cliff face in the universe?!“

“You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

–

An exchange between the Doctor and River Song. From “The Pandorica Opens,” penultimate episode of the fifth series of BBC television show Doctor Who. Aired for the first time, like – sometime in 2010. Episode script by Stephen Moffett.

Top 40 pop songs from the year after I got my driver’s license left a very specific impression on my psyche, because of the local radio stations I could access on the car radio.

For those whose minds search contantly for meaning, even in those moments when an intended meaning is unclear, try this.

Instead of, “that must mean _____,“

try, “that makes me think of ____.”

.

This leaves room for the possibility of a difference between what somebody is trying to say and the way that a recipient interprets a message, through their own unique lens of subjective experience.

.

“Tell me that story again darlin’
The one where we all end up alright
Tell me that story again darlin’
Wasn’t it true once upon a time?
Wasn’t it true once upon a time?

I’ll keep keeping up with the laundry
You’ll keep keeping up with the car
I guess things aren’t really changing here
It sure feels like they are
It sure feels like they are

We’ve got good dogs we’ve got a good porch
We’ve got eyes to see we’ve got a good view
We’ve got ears to hear and we are listening
Truth is not something we can choose
Truth is not something we can choose

Tell me that story again darlin’
The one where we all end up alright
Tell me that story again darlin’
Wasn’t it true once upon a time?
Wasn’t it true once upon a time?”

.

Song lyrics. “Once Upon a Time.” Written by Crystal Hariu-Damore of a bluegrass duo called Ordinary Elephant, of Southern Louisiana. Released as a single on March 14th, 2024.

“Your face,” says Steve, “tastes like barbecue.” He kisses my eyelashes, considering. “Well seasoned.”

I assume he means the campfire smoke and the tears, but now I’m laughing, in spite of everything. I had locked myself in the bathroom to lean against the door and write and ugly cry until I could find the right words. At this point I had only just resurfaced.

He straightens up, away from a hug. I feel better.

Steve cooked a frozen pizza and got us a copy of The Neverending Story to watch, as a comfort movie. Now there is a shot of peanut butter whiskey and a frozen chocolate for dessert.

I think that I am in good hands.

We lit a fire to ward off the darkness during totality, to warm our hands against the chill as the temperature dropped and the sky went dark. Keeping the fire going gave me something to do, gave me a reason to stay busy.

When the light returned, four geese flew overhead on their way to the east. The birds began to sing like they do in the morning.

Steve and I stayed over at my parents’ house yesterday evening, so we didn’t have to drive out there today. Slept with the window open and looked out the window at the stars. The sky was clear yesterday. My first extended visit home since leaving.

All the pain of growing up is still held within the walls of my childhood home. Every time I visit, it’s still there.

I still experience pangs of grief, all the time, from the loss of – what, exactly? Home? Connection?

My experience of family isn’t the same as it used to be, because of the way people and connections change over time. I feel a sense of loss about this. I have not processed the changes. I have not mourned properly. A story I tell myself is that nothing will ever be the same again.

A story I think I have been telling myself, a story that I don’t often have the courage to face directly, is that all the good safe love is gone, used up, probably because I broke it when I was having a bad day, because that’s something I am capable of doing.

And then, soon after that, it was time to move away from home.

It took so much to uproot me from that place.

That’s a story I have not been able to translate into words until just now.

It doesn’t have to be a true story to be an exceptionally powerful one.

I have been carrying such a sense of finality. Like a nail in a coffin.

Steve says I can still make good memories in that house, and that all of the loving memories are still there – even when negative memories command attention in a way that so often blocks out the joy.

And, like – do you remember that one scene from A Wrinkle in Time where Meg goes back to save Charles Wallace

“You have your mother’s eyes.”

Should I watch the sun go out standing beside a campfire in the backyard of my childhood home, or should I drive to the shore of one of the finger lakes and watch the sun go out with my feet in the water? Should I climb to the top of a waterfall? What about the creek at the bottom of a ravine? Should I lay on my back in the middle of a street, like in The Notebook? Should I try to write about it, or just stay present in that moment? Should I take a photograph? Should I stand in a parking lot and look up? Should I go to the courthouse, pick up a marriage certificate, find a priest and ask my family to sign as a witness? No, I don’t think so – I was the one who wanted a longer engagement, anyhow. I think of the new mother going into labor during the eclipse. Will I be able to see the stars? Will it be cloudy? This won’t happen again in this town for 175 years. Should I smoke? No, fuck that – imagine being high when the sky goes dark in the middle of the day.  Should I listen to music? Cat Stevens, maybe. “Moon Shadow.”

I think, knowing me, that I will bundle up in a puffy jacket and a brand new rain coat, make a mug of tea to keep my hands from getting cold, sit on a porch, and complain quietly about my arthritis until the light comes back.

On a wine dark sea, as the west wind blows
To be wild, to be young, to be free
To be god who knows

As we find ourselves, in our wanderings
Are we all just the tales that we tell
And the songs we sing

Soul’s invisible, a bit unknown, a little tragic
On a lonely boat, where the longing never ends
Here, then we’re gone, we can’t do this alone
Carrying on, we’re still looking for that feeling of home

We get tied in knots, and we try so hard
And it takes everything that we got
And it can break our hearts

Soul’s invisible, a bit unknown, a little tragic
On a lonely boat, where the longing never ends
Here, then we’re gone, we can’t do this alone
Carrying on, we’re still looking for that feeling of home

We braved the storm, til the land light beams
Coming in, through the mist to the shore
To the house of dreams.

Soul’s invisible, a bit unknown, a little tragic
On a lonely boat, where the longing never ends
Here, then we’re gone, we can’t do this alone
Carrying on, we’re still looking for that feeling of home

Soul’s invisible, a bit unknown, a little tragic
On a lonely boat, where the longing never ends
Here, then we’re gone, we can’t do this alone
Carrying on, we’re still looking for that feeling of home…”

“feeling of home,” by a celtic rock band called The East Pointers. Released on October 13th, 2023.

Did you know,

If you close your eyes

You can’t see any of the screens?

Insomnia is nauseating.

“It can’t be said I’m an infidel

You know my kind of lover way too well

But baby I’m one of a kind

I’m here to change your mind

You keep telling me to live wild

As if you’re Eve and Adam’s love child

Born out of something pure that’s been defiled

You know you don’t gotta pretend

Baby, now and then

Don’t you just wanna wake up

Light as a leaf

Smellin’ like a lilac, feeling complete

Babe if you’re undefined, then I think it’s neat

But while I’m in this world

I’ll take my liquor sweet

A maraschino in my aperitif

You’re too strong for me

You’re too strong for me…”

–

This is Katie Lynne Sharbaugh’s answer to Hozier’s “Too Sweet,” sung to the same melody as his original song. I’m gonna need a recording of this duet and I’m gonna need it right away, thank you.

His original lyrics are as follows:

“It can’t be said I’m an early bird
It’s 10:00 before I say a word
Baby, I can never tell
How do you sleep so well?
You keep telling me to live right
To go to bed before the daylight
But then you wake up for the sunrise
You know you don’t gotta pretend
Baby, now and then
Don’t you just wanna wake up
Dark as a lake
Smelling like a bonfire
Lost in a haze?
If you’re drunk on life, babe
I think it’s great
But while in this world

I think I’ll take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You’re too sweet for me
You’re too sweet for me
I take my whiskеy neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You’re too sweet for mе
You’re too sweet for me

I aim low
I aim true, and the ground’s where I go
I work late where I’m free from the phone
And the job gets done
But you worry some, I know
But who wants to live forever, babe?
You treat your mouth as if it’s Heaven’s gate
The rest of you like you’re the TSA
I wish that I could go along
Babe, don’t get me wrong

You know you’re bright as the morning
As soft as the rain
Pretty as a vine
As sweet as a grape
If you can sit in a barrel
Maybe I’ll wait
Until that day
I’d rather take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You’re too sweet for me
You’re too sweet for me
I take my whiskey neat
My coffee black and my bed at three
You’re too sweet for me
You’re too sweet for me…”

“I could never stop you from loving anything. I don’t have the right. Nobody has the right to tell you who to love or who not to love, and equally nobody’s obligated to love you. If you were forced into loving them, it wouldn’t be love… being unexpectedly loved is so wonderful and terrible, isn’t it?”

Muir, Tamsyn. Nona the Ninth, page 63. Published by Tom Doherty Associates / Tor Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York NY 10271. 2022.

“When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I’ll crawl home to her.”

~ lyrics to the chorus of “Work Song,” written by Irish singer-songwriter Andrew Hozier Byrne, originally published through Rubyworks under license from Columbia records. Featured on the “From Eden” EP (March 9th, 2014). Also available on Hozier’s first self-titled album from October 7th of the same year.

–

“No grave can hold my body down” is a familiar refrain from a a classic American spiritual, with a gospel influence from biblical stories (of the resurrection, I think? Or redemption day, I think).

The song “Ain’t No Grave Can Hold My Body Down” was originally written in 1934 – just before WWII era – by Claude Ely, a twelve year old child from Virginia who was sick with tuberculosis at the time. The first recorded performance of this song featured Bozie Sturdivant, and was included among a compilation of “[African American] Religious Field Recordings” from that era in the southeastern United States. In this recording, you can hear the crackle of the (record player? tape recorder?) in the digitized track circa 1994.

Many musical artists with americana heritage have recorded and performed their own unique covers of this song, including groups who perform contemporary bluegrass, gospel, country western, church choirs, rhythm and blues. Among my favorites is a cover from Crooked Still, fronted by Chris Thile and Aoife O’Donovan.

Johnny Cash made a cover of this song for the posthumously released American VI: Ain’t No Grave album (2010). The song was recorded in 2003, shortly before he died. In this recording, you can hear the frailty in the voice of an old man, and the sound of chains being dragged along the ground serves as percussion.

I’m pretty sure Hozier was among the first to take the worshipful devotion in these lyrics – “no grave can hold my body down” – and apply that to a woman instead of, like – God.

–

I just want an alto harmony cover of Hozier’s “work song,” for the sapphic euphoria moment. Or at the very least a love story featuring Edgar Alan Poe’s Annabell Lee.

Heck, I would even settle for a third season Good Omens.

–

The lyrics to the Johnny Cash track of Ain’t No Grave go something like this:

“There ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down
There ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down

When I hear that trumpet sound
I’m gonna rise right out of the ground
Ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down

Well, I look way down the river
What do you think I see?
I see a band of angels
And they’re coming after me

Ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down
There ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down

Well, look down yonder, Gabriel
Put your feet on the land and sea
But Gabriel, don’t you blow your trumpet
Till you hear from me

There ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down
Ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down

Well, meet me, Jesus, meet me
Meet me in the middle of the air
And if these wings don’t fail me
I will meet you anywhere

Ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down
There ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down

Well, meet me, mother and father
Meet me down the river road
And mama, you know that I’ll be there
When I check in my load

There ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down
There ain’t no grave
Can hold my body down.”

Must remember to charge phone overnight. Must remember to drink water. Very important not to panic and sabotage relationships – will regret later. Must maintain at least a quarter of a tank of gasoline in car at all times. Must occasionally check bank account balance – must not overdraft. Must not cut bangs or shave head. Must remember to feed the cat. Must remember to eat – keep emergency cash for food when hungry in public. Must keep phone charger and snacks on person at all times. Must not entertain imaginary narratives about loved ones conspiring to hurt you on purpose. Must not drink too much alcohol. Must not smoke cigarettes. Must wash face at least twice daily. Must brush teeth. Must improv sponge bath if no shower available. Must apply deodorant. Must take BC. Must show up where and when you said you would, or else must communicate when you can’t. Must not let own masculinity become toxic.

Don’t lie unless safety or privacy is more important, don’t steal unless you are truly desperate, don’t cheat unless the stakes are high enough that winning is imperative.

Must not die, yet. Mom would be sad.

“Chickenshits don’t get beer.”

~ Marta Dyas, cavalier of the second house, page 457 of Harrow the Ninth, by Tamsyn Muir – first edition. A Tordotcom book published by Tom Doherty Associates, 120 Broadway, New York, NY. 10271. ISBN 978-1-250-31321-8 (trade paperback). August 2020.

Today is April 1st. No pranks, please. Thank you.

I stayed up rather late yesterday, alone in a strange house, reading one of my Tamsyn Muir paperbacks. They are a pleasant distraction, for some definitions of pleasant – I brought three of them. Just me, sitting up in bed, highlighter in hand, furiously annotating into the dark hours in the middle of the night. I did not cry, no sir, at any of the scenes which persist in being heartwrenchingly sad every time I read them, but I absolutely laughed, often, at the more amusing lines. The absurdity of laughing out loud, alone, at my own vivid hallucinations conjured from a stranger’s precise little marks on thin scraps of dead tree, when nobody is actually physically there to make me laugh, is always a little disorienting.

I’m afraid that my head aches quite badly this morning, which is my own damn fault. A meal of leftover pizza and a glass of root beer (a rare indulgence) is helping a little bit.

Still, I think I am feeling okay, overall. Might put in my earbuds and binge listen to an entire season of a podcast, later on. Will have to see.

“If I could give you everything that you wanted

I would never ask for any of it back

And if I could take only as much as I needed

I’d take everything you have.”

~ Kacey Musgraves, “Give / Take.” From the Deeper Well album. Released everywhere on March 15th, 2024.

“I pray the tomb is shut forever, I pray the rock is never rolled away…”

oh shoot wrong fandom nevermind

I miss my cat.

My partner is here with me for a couple of days; then he’ll return home, and I’ll stay here for a while yet. The prospect of seperation is uncomfortable, but it would not make sense to compromise and try and stay in the same space at the expense of his comfort or my obligation to help a friend. Also, someone needs to be there for the cat.

I usually send him a note with his bento box for lunchtime, and so there are five hand written notes in individually labeled envelopes on the kitchen counter. Not to be opened until the specified date.

For when he gets home.

“Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact
But maybe everything that dies some day comes back
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City…”

~ Bruce Springsteen

“I keep it pretty close to the chest
Like you never left
I do my best

Til someone makes a joke in a cab
That I know you’d laugh at
It takes me back

There you go in my mind
Another place, another time
Showing up as you please
Come as quick as you leave

And now you feel like a melody I kinda wish I wrote
I swear that I’m almost hearing you, yeah even when I don’t
You find a way to stay next to me, in my car and in my clothes
In my blood and in my bones, yeah you’re everywhere I go

Remembering you were moving me in
It was in the spring, now I’m moving out
Looking back I feel like a kid
Yeah, I kind of wish you could see me now

There you go in my mind
Another place, another time
Trying not to play that song
Hard enough moving on

And now you feel like a melody I kinda wish I wrote
I swear that I’m almost hearing you, yeah even when I don’t
You find a way to stay next to me, in my car and in my clothes
In my blood and in my bones, yeah you’re everywhere I go

I think it’s only a memory if you never let it go
I’d never make you an enemy, not even with your ghost
I never said what you meant to me, I’m hoping that you know
You’re in my blood and in my bones, yeah you’re everywhere I go

I think it’s only a memory if you never let it go
I’d never make you an enemy, not even with your ghost
I never said what you meant to me, I’m hoping that you know
You’re in my blood and in my bones, yeah you’re everywhere I go…”

Song lyrics. Wild Rivers music, “Everywhere I Go.” Released everywhere on February 9th, 2024.

naP.

Me: I would like to listen to a bedtime story with motorcycles, angels, skateboards, tattoos, cigarettes, a flannel, some skeletons, and a cat.

Steve Rogers: ah – okay, just this once. Once upon a time there was an angel covered in tattoos wearing a flannel smoking a cigarette riding a motorcycle. With a skateboard. And their cat. The cat had bones.

Me: and then what happened?

Steve: oh, that’s it. that’s the entire bedtime story.

Me: well don’t they – I don’t know, go on adventures or something?

Steve: who said anything about an adventure? you totally failed to specify anything about any adventures.

Me: *nonverbally wheezing with much indignant disbelief*

Steve: Now you’re getting demanding about your bedtime stories.

Me: good god Steve, you’re terrible at this

Steve: goodnight, I love you too

Me: okay, fine. I’ll suppose I’ll just have to write the damned thing myself

In a plaza off main street, there is an antique shop called Florence’s Perpetual Estate Sale. A royal purple sign with fancy lettering, on the street side of the plaza, indicates to passersby that this out of the way little place exists and is open for business. It neighbors the martial arts dojo across from the convenience store parking lot.

On a bench outside the antique shop, there is an old skateboard. Unlike the other items appearently for sale outside the antique shop, the skateboard’s price appears to be unmarked. There are little red leaves – feathers? – painted on the wheels.

Have you ever been too scared to try something new because you’re quite certain you’re going to fall on your face and make a fool of yourself, if you do try? Not to mention the fear of losing control and falling, or the shock of colliding with the ground, or the prospect of painful blue and purple bruises.

The thing about falling is that you can usually get back on your feet, eventually, and it’s better to be sprawled on the ground covered in bruises than to never have tried. You’ll recover. I know this, in theory, and in some cases I know this from experience.

The only person I know – a little – who knows how to skateboard is so admirably good at it that I am far too shy to ask them to teach me how.

The thing about my fiancé is that if I ask him “are you hungry? do you want me to make you some pancakes?” he’ll turn pink and look at the floor and say “I don’t know, maybe, you can decide” and what that means is yes please I would love it if you made me some pancakes, I’m starving because so far today I have totally forgotten to eat and I have been awake since 6:30AM, I slept in this morning, I usually get up at some ungodly hour of the morning like 5AM so I can have time to be excellent at what I do for a living

and all I have to do is make pancakes.

Sunday mornings are the BEST anyway

Palestine will be free.

This is a photo of a page from an oldish copy of the King James Bible, somewhere in the middle of the Book of Genesis. The page features a map of the Land of Canaan – before some of the land on this map became Palestine, some of it became Isreal, etc..

“We accept the love we think we deserve.”

~ Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Published by Pocket Books in NYC on February 1, 1999.

“I’ll take my whiskey neat

my coffee black in my bed at three

you’re too sweet for me

you’re too sweet for me…”

~ Hozier, “Too Sweet,” from the Unheard EP. Released everywhere on March 22nd, 2024.

If you walk north out of my college town on main street, past the coffee shops, past the church on your right and the courthouse on your left, if you walk until you run out of sidewalk at the edge of town, and then you turn around and walk back towards the campus (but not to the edge of town yet), you will find a tree with a tiny green door near the roots. This is not significant to anything in any way at all, it’s just pretty.

wondering if the roses I got from the supermarket might actually like the corpse water from the body they dragged out of Highland Reservoir, the water supply for most of the city of Rochester. I am not sure.

For a few days this week the city was recommending that residents use bottled water, or at least boil tap water and let it cool before using it for drinking or cooking.

I wonder who’s body it was and how it got there.

~

POV: you are in Gaza and there’s more than one dead body in the water.

At the gym today, an older gentleman who looks a lot like Chuck Berry told me I move like a ballet dancer and this made my dayyyy

Irish solidarity with Palestine is a heartbreaking and bittersweet thing to consider in the middle of a genocide, in the approximate season of Saint Patrick’s Day.

I am celebrating my amateur genealogist’s claim to a little potato famine era immigrant heritage by listening to Hozier and drinking beer and whiskey and getting up on a soapbox for a second.

The starvation of an entire population as a weapon against civilians in warfare is a despicable move for any nation, let alone a nation whose people were starved to death in concentration camps and ghettos. We said never again, or don’t you remember?

Offerring famine relief as bait for an ambush to attack innocent children looking for food is despicable.

I am disgusted by the US supplying the weapons and the bombs for the military that flattened cities and then air dropping cold rations out of the sky onto the refugee camps that  would not have existed if our country hadn’t kept vetoing a ceasefire at the UN.

A man sit himself on fire and died of his injuries and asked that his ashes be scattered in a Free Palestine but the protest which has stuck with me the most is the man who filled the streets of a city in the Netherlands with thousands of pairs of children’s shoes but the photos of the shoes were not in black and white they were in color they were taken yesterday.

Around the world people who are using their platforms to speak up are being disciplined at work, told to be quiet, arrested.

It should not be socially questionable to speak up in opposion to a fucking genocide.

Never again means never again and it doesn’t matter whose families are the gods damned target.

I guess I’m going to step down off my soap box, for now.

Find the old painting studio on the second floor of the theater building – Brodie 220. It’s usually abandoned and unlocked since they stopped funding the fine arts program. It’s a well lit and cozy place to study or write or read poetry or even nap on the couch if you’re tired. I have napped on that couch and I have spun quarters on those tables.

It used to be the office of a classmate and a friend, who somehow had a copy of the keys.

There’s still koi in the fish pond in the greenhouse at school.

Last night we watched old western movies and lay awake talking about mountains. Rain and wind against the windows all night, and the air was colder in the morning.

This morning we woke up early and shared a cup of coffee with a slice of homemade raspberry and lemon curd pie – left over from pi day, 3/14, the first pie crust I’ve ever made from scratch.

We bickered about the metaphysics of personal identity and the no-self doctrine for what felt like several hours, eventually deciding that we have mostly similar ideas about this topic and that our appearant disagreement boils down to different ideas about what we mean when we use certain words.

I scrambled some eggs with onions and mushrooms, ate that with hot sauce and watched a documentary about navigation via topographical maps – got out our own maps and planned an itinerary for a backpacking trip in the spring. Over dinner we watched vlog documentaries about thru hikes of the Appalachian Trail. My heart physically hurts for the adventures I’ve never attempted.

Orzo and “chicken” parm topped with red sauce and mozzarella, a little wine and some dark chocolate for dessert.

The cat is purring, and I can still hear the train whistle even from here.

I would like to have a way to think about my gender which does not rely so heavily on the subjectivity of self perception, even though the freedom to self identify with any gender is an important thing.

I am getting tired of feeling like I am insane whenever I try to reconcile the logic of everything I think I know about gender with everything I know about my life.

I had the experience of being born as a girl, quite enjoying the prospect of femininity as a youngster, suddenly losing any desire to be perceived as anything other than a boy as soon as other people began looking at me and seeing a young woman, finding the safety and euphoria of a cozy little masculine comfort zone in a wallflower attitude and clothing from the men’s section at thrift stores, not figuring out how to “present feminine” – whatever that means, idk – until I was almost halfway through my third decade, realizing that some people declined to participate in the stereotypical binary and feeling an affinity for this path, asking for alt pronouns in a couple of circles, receiving either confused rejection or a lukewarm acceptance from people who I think were mostly virtue signaling with the exception of a few who were being genuinely respectful, and then feeling like – nothing I tried on fit, none of the words fit, including the words I was born into.

I now have a much better sense of my self and who I am and what I am like, at the cost of fitting in with any of these different ways of being.

“Women can be masculine and still be women” okay, yes, lovely, we needed warm bodies in the factories when we sent all our boys off to fight a world war and then it was fine and practical for everyone to wear pants. Brilliant.

What do you mean when you say the word, “masculine?”

I want to understand.

All of this is brought to the surface as I am agonizing over the decision of what I am going to wear to my wedding.

Of course, the nuances of gender are so much more than a binary choice between a tuxedo or a dress. It isn’t how we look on the outside that matters. There is so much more to a well written character than their costume, their body, even their personal voice – not just the spoken word but that they’re saying.

And yet.

And yet.

I would look so good in a tux.

“Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
The summer’s out of reach
Empty lake, empty streets
The sun goes down alone
I’m driving by your house
Though I know you’re not home

But I can see you –
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

I never will forget those nights
I wonder if it was a dream
Remember how you made me crazy?
Remember how I made you scream
Now I don’t understand what happened to our love
But babe, I’m gonna get you back
I’m gonna show you what I’m made of

I can see you –
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
I see you walking real slow and you’re smilin’ at everyone
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

Out on the road today, I saw a DEADHEAD sticker on a Cadillac
A little voice inside my head said, ‘Don’t look back. You can never look back’
I thought I knew what love was
What did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go but –

I can see you –
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got that top pulled down and that radio on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

I can see you –
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got that hair slicked back and those Wayfarers on, baby
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone…”

~ Lyrics by Don Henley, from the song “The Boys of Summer.” From the Building the Perfect Beast album, released in 1984. Music composed by Michael Campbell.

Try the cover from Front Country, featuring vocalist Melody Walker