Seasons

20140721-134655-49615835.jpgI’ve been on a Roy Orbison kick lately, which makes me think about the end of summer. And it’s July. His music does this to me in the way Tom Waits does and some jazz does, Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue,” for instance. I once listened to that album through earphones on the El, the Blue Line coming out of Chicago and heading towards the northwest and it was raining and it may have been one of the most cinematic things I’ve ever done, looking out the window, on a train, in lonely weather. Some music doesn’t have linear peaks and valleys so much as it has folds and that’s the music that braids with you in filaments of twine and you feel swallowed, sort of how winter swallows you and you bob there, waiting, existing, anticipating life while alive. continue reading…

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3 Truths From Before I Was 10

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There was a teenage boy named Todd who once told me in his room how he would go underneath his bed and lie on top of his girlfriend most times she’d visit. Todd was the brother of a friend of mine whose apartment wasn’t far off and when he told me this I thought of how I had friends over to my apartment and we’d close the door, just as Todd told me he did, and because of that, at first shake, what Todd told me didn’t strike me as curious. The gesture of closing the door, of separation, was mostly okay in my home and it made me feel like an adult, which maybe is continue reading…