Darling, if I could, I would cradle your head in my lap behind the arches in my knees. I'd cup my body over you, and make a home for you here. Beneath my wishbone. A cavern of stars in my chest. There would be enough tender gestures to make you cry. If I could.
There are raisins behind my wishbone right now. Twenty year old raisins. Oh, they're sweet all right darling, and stale, and rock hard. And when you suck some juice back into them, what are they still but raisins?
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Note to Too Cool Cat Watching the Superbowl in My Living Room:
Old does not equal lame.
Open-faced joy does not equal nerdy.
The Boss does not equal irrelevant has-been.
I'd thank you to keep your lameness to yourself since I do enjoy Bruce Springsteen.
Your jokes wouldn't even be funny to someone who doesn't like Bruce, so it's just an all around waste. I wish Elliott Smith was watching the Superbowl in my living room. Or Brandi Carlile. I'm pretty sure they would know the difference between Cool and Cynical. They'd understand the strength of character it takes to step on a stage like that without the pretense that they are superior to their audience. Not having that pretense doesn't make a performer vulnerable or weak, Cool Cat, so who are you playing the vulture for?
Open-faced joy does not equal nerdy.
The Boss does not equal irrelevant has-been.
I'd thank you to keep your lameness to yourself since I do enjoy Bruce Springsteen.
Your jokes wouldn't even be funny to someone who doesn't like Bruce, so it's just an all around waste. I wish Elliott Smith was watching the Superbowl in my living room. Or Brandi Carlile. I'm pretty sure they would know the difference between Cool and Cynical. They'd understand the strength of character it takes to step on a stage like that without the pretense that they are superior to their audience. Not having that pretense doesn't make a performer vulnerable or weak, Cool Cat, so who are you playing the vulture for?
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