I’m playing music again, here’s some video from the show last night in Knoxville with Will to Die and Deathbed.
Ringo Deathstarr - “So High”
I miss my dog. I have no energy.
Minks - “Kusmi”
The Sweet Spot
Winter break is like a breadstick. When you first dive in, you may not be thinking “dang, I’m glad I’m eating a breadstick,” but it’s all worth it when your buds brush that crusty, buttery, garlic-glazed surface.
This break has been a lot of bread, and a pretty good bit of buttery garlic crust.
Bread wise, I’m sitting on a puzzling hybrid between a futon and a couch (a futch), and I’m about to fold it down into its bed form and go to sleep. The trick is finding the sweet spot on this baby. When in the proper “bed” position, it has a spine that runs right down the middle, where it creases and folds. I can usually sleep in the nice pocket right next to the spine.
My grandmother is sleeping a few feet away from me. She has a variety of different snoring patterns that reflect her colorful personality. She’s really a wonderful woman. I’m glad she could come down from Cleveland to visit.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had the privilege of seeing a cousin get married, congratulating recently engaged friends, grabbing some good ol’ Satco, getting slaughtered at scrabble, catching up with the pets, and celebrating the new year with people I love. If that isn’t buttery perfection, I don’t know what is.
I’ve found the pocket, and am drifting off to slumberland.
Stay crusty, my friends.
I’m too lazy to write a story.
A rough plane
The dresser drawers pulled open
Through slats of sunlight
The dust swirls and sets.
I saw you once, whetted blade
Shadows cut to ribbons
I saw you once, glass eyes
The light shifts and refracts.
Face in stone to be turned
Flesh glowing in springtide
Across smoothed stones
Old skin interred with worms.
Gaze ever stronger, youthful amber
The aches too deep
Life flowing freely
A burnished surface remade.
Yuck - “Suck”
