the chronicle of a life foretold

your ex-lover is dead [stars]
remedy [j. mraz, acoustic]
good love is on the way [j. mayer]

madison, briefly.
sentry, for old times' sake. autumn on east j. americanos on the capitol with girls from the beginning. still running into artists and thieves and undercover lovers. attempting to remember what it was like not to know every inch, and failing miserably. the fancy pinkus. accidentally driving to middleton and knowing where i was all the same. spotted cow.

a visit to the chi-burbs & michigan avenue.
tollroads. rain, and coral & gold & clementine, and reading the onion. five years. paint wars in the new house. crate & barrel, carol (and the wild things), cold weather blues. to the train! a gonzo journalist infusion and (more) dreams about cats in the cradle jumping over[under] the [full]moon. an exit. adieu.

the corolla and i go way back.
into the city and out the other side. over the bridge, or how the interstate hwy made me surrender my seed money. i like pennsylvania. i hate pennsylvania (really only in the dark). the 70E debacle and the miracle entrance into maryland. and then

coming out of the woods
and onto the mall
to see the
washington monument lit up like a beacon which has been saying all along,
"there you are.
we knew you'd get here
someday.
we've been waiting.
breathe."
a museum or six,
and a wrought-iron gate.

brooklyn & the Q.
blue moon.
i'm in the city again and the streets eat me up (they love me so), while the fog hovers and hopes around the chrysler and everyone we've ever been has come forward in the rain to see through THESE NEW EYES.
new days.
everyday.


all of that, and ice cream for dinner.

the way i romanticize my life makes me sound like a hipster.

fifteen things i miss about before:

1. dinner parties that revolve into dance parties that end on the kitchen floor, hysterically.
2. having a spot, and a sandwich, and recognizing everyone who comes into Espresso.
3. talking to eclectic strangers about Ganesha. and smoky quartz. and listening to Allen Ginsberg recordings at work. sitting on counter tops and watching the world come in and out.
4. sleeping on your couch. walking home in the cold.
5. the light in the kitchen during summer rainstorms, whilst learning how to fry tofu in tamari.
6. workshops.
7. riding my bike in a city with a scarf on.
8. tension over banana waffles, served with a smart mouth and a side of anarchy.
9. staying up 'til it gets light with the whole sick crew.
10. jambo with etri. math in the nighttime with wotje. jolok-ing iien with belisa & wilpina & batrick. watching baulina & limama & lowa walk around on their hands for half an hour. making angel food cake with sera. biking to the airport, coconut potholes, oogling lakatus, rabid canines and all. birthday parties at adma's.
11. drinking tea on the steps while bigote makes breakfast.
12. bird observing on the river bank.
13. riding around in boats (anywhere).
14. taking the horses out after the lessons are done. talking to Ben, humoring Willa, and watching Sox try to flirt with all the girls. Wren & Dover. Agatha. eating ramen in the clubhouse, covered in mud and half-numb. Dom, always.
15. singing in the nighttime. and then eating crab and roasted coconut. and then walking home in the dark, covered in marshallese love.

{well, this time tomorrow |where will we be?
in a space ship somewhere, sailing across an empty sea?
this time tomorrow | what will we be?}

stalemate

{yeah the city's old but it never seems to get tired
no sally don't get down, cuz I've been lookin all over town
for a brand new set of wings}

shed a little light (foy vance)
moonshiner (r. zimmerman)
slim slow slider (van morrison)
where we gonna go from here (mat kearney)
love (the coup)
darlin' do not fear (brett dennen)
i shall not walk alone (blind boys of alabama)
ohio (damien jurado)

we are the lost generation. lost to the wayside, the rest stop, the porchlight, the backdown alley. say hello, little girl. we ate all our ideas and walked home every night under the drunken golden street lamps of philosophy, mentally framing each square of cement because
we'd stood there, once
and it had to be remembered when
the world got
light
again.
our blood thrummed.
but we couldn't run around forever, feet free and walking on water.
which of us will learn to swim?
they'll dig up our bones, and call us the
lost generation
because you can't grow a bleeding heart back.

drinking too much coffee. getting my heart broken by the twinkies. sleeping in yellow sheets. reading tom robbins. wearing houndstooth and trying not to be too cold. giving in. counting woolly bears. pretending not to notice. contemplating life as a townie. reverting. missing jendrik in the nighttime. living the way we do in october.

tell it everywhere you go | you're outta reach