A Calendar Revisited

March 8March 1984

Eventually, the sky set in a systematic deadening of color, in blues and purples, and the sand cooled around my feet and I was alone. My friends went home long prior and losing the buzz of the sun made me, there with half-buried buckets and grit-scratched trucks, feel even more solitary. I liked the quiet at these times because it felt like the time of day when there should be quiet, when the world packed up and relaxed its shoulders. Intermediately, the stillness would be cut with growls of landing planes and then the quiet would once again come and at some point I would start a countdown from continue reading…

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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…