mtadkins

I hide my fears
way down, way down
where you dry your tears
way down, way down

I can’t keep living like this
trying to remember your kiss
you made my silly little dreams
oh I don’t wanna fall asleep
We’re spinning out of control
my teeth are shaking in the cold
I can’t keep living like this
I know

We were born apart
too old, too old
& we were torn apart
you know, you know

that there are tangerine skies
awaiting our failing eyes
‘time leads to healing’ you said
time leads to dying leads to dead
I’m losing sight of what’s right
you’re awkward putting up a fight

this was the way it began
this will be the way it ends
way down, way down
way down, way down
way down, way down

• The Washboard Abs, “Way Down” [on Bandcamp]

Been listening to these LPs for weeks. Go buy them now…its “name your price” so you can’t complain.

Tuesday, there’s a false start.

A mistaken understanding of time. Tuesday, we will wake, and walk to our normal places – our showers, kitchens, cars, desks – only to find the day never began. We will slowly notice an absence of all matter, all light, all time.

And then, as suddenly as we false-started, we will begin our actual day. And everything will happen the same. Only, because of our awareness of it all, it will happen differently. Less differently at first, but more differently later.

– Night Vale #36

“It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.”

F.Scott Fitzgerald

“I couldn’t have spoken like this yesterday, because when we’ve been apart, and I’m looking forward to seeing you, every thought is burnt up in a great flame. But then you come; and you’re so much more than I remembered, and what I want of you is so much more than an hour or two every now and then, with wastes of thirsty waiting between, that I can sit perfectly still beside you, like this, with that other vision in my mind, just quietly trusting to it to come true.”

Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence

The Lace

Being human: term for a flickering possession,
existence of a happiness still undemonstrated:
is it inhuman, that a pair of eyes
turned into this small densely woven piece of lace?
Do you want them back?

You, long since vanished and finally blind–
is all your human joy here inside this thing
where your huge feelings went, as between
stem and bark, miniaturized?

Through a tear in fate, a tiny interstice,
you absented your soul from its own time;
and it is so present here in this light
section of lace, it makes me smile at “usefulness.”

And if someday all we have done
and all that has happened to us
seems so inferior and strange,
as though there’d been no point
in taking the trouble to outgrow our first pair of shoes
just to come to this — … Shouldn’t this
strip of yellowed lace, this tightly meshed
flowery border of lace suffice
to keep us here? Look: this at least got done.

A life was ignored in the process, who knows.
A delight was there, was going to be sacrificed,
and finally at any cost
there would exist this thing, not easier than life
yet finished and so lovely, as though it weren’t too soon
to smile and soar.

Rilke, Rainer Maria. The Unknown Rilke . trans Franz Wright.