crashmebabyonemoretime

as your stalker I couldn't help but notice the long hours you've been putting in at the university. I hear you're getting your master's degree next week. well, I just wanted you to know something. I'm undaunted. my stategy will never change. I'm going to continue following you around. down the street. up the stairs (especially when you have those jeans on). through the kitchen. through the living room. and the next time you're at the computer I'm going to breathe softly along the silky lines of your shoulders. you've been warned.

also, as your biggest fan I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you. in a few days you'll be done with school (for-ev-a? for-ev-a? for-ev-a-ev-a-ev-a?) and you've already got a sweet city job lined up. congratulations. we members of the fan club are not surprised. we've been admiring your work for a dozen years. so here's hoping you have a nicely aged bottle of wine to celebrate with. and good company to pour it nimbly into your glass.

finally, as your boyfriend (and husband), I want to tell you something: I have a huge crush on you. please let me know what I can do to show you how much I appreciate all the hard work you've put in. dishes, laundry, yard work, corporate back-rubs, etc (and more etc). just ask. meanwhile, I have a few ideas myself. I would like to share them with you. are you free for dinner?

when I was very small my mother told me something. I believe I was on her lap. looking up into her face. her eyes were fixed on the ends of the universe. or perhaps she was scanning the wall for dust. blue eyes that look for moments to glaze over in thought run in the family, you see. so does tidiness.

"I was a mother of three. extremely poor. if anyone had the right to have an abortion it was me. but I'm so glad you're here. you are the joy of my life."

I wondered what feeling was developing deep inside of me. it swam through the space between my heart and stomach. I was parenting a sense of belonging. and something else. something mysterious. something without a father. a sense of uncertainty without a beginning. a new daydream. I had something to prove to the world. I was walking into a hall. I was the prince. and I wasn't invited.

it's like that in every room I walk into. these are the little stories that replay in our minds. with interchangeable characters. you have yours. I have mine. in mine I cheat death. and strut in counterfeit invitation in hand. which is absurd. the whole thing is absurd. so I'm wiping it from my memory. I'm pretending I don't hear it. I'm waking up from the daydream. I'm pulling the plug on the tape machine.

bzzzzzt...

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or at least they were on saturday. overlooking an opening in the central washington gorge, it's as though God punched a hole into the earth---which then became full of moving waters and brown grass hovering above the dry sloping ground. the stage is very large. it has to be. it's at the apex of an enormous natural amphitheater.

standing twenty meters from the stage you can hear the sounds of scurrying equipment. things being plugged in. then unplugged. then plugged back in again. drums sounding out alone. this goes on for thirty minutes. then, with their backs to a grand hole in the earth, my new favorite band sent me to tears. viva canada! I also took in the dears, who invaded washington semi-directly from montreal. I was little match for their perplexing pop attacks and the singer's if-morrissey-was-black swooning.

the frames covered more distance. they're from dublin. so someone told me. who cares. they were tasty enough for every continent. my pals, menomena, methodically put the audience of stage 2 in an ass-shaking place of suspense. I also saw wilco, who jammed for five minutes at the end of every song. easy, fellas! you'll never get to all your good cuts that way. oh well. at least we know who neil young is passing the torch to. that thing has been burning since the 60's. and it smells like weed. which is convenient- that just happens to be one of oregon's most world renowned agricultural products. and it seemed to be in good supply. oh- you hippies and your funny cigarettes!

"and george bush get's paid off-a all a that!" the man is so right. the war on drugs is a joke. thank God for kanye west. he filled the entire stage by himself. it took arcade fire nine people to do that. and, yes, unlike wilco, he played all of his cuts. "can I play some joints off the old one?" heh. by my count he only has one album. he's clearly counting the one that doesn't even come out until july, which he generously offered a couple tracks from. diamonds are forever and gold-digger. good time had by me.

have you ever seen the pixies? I can now say I have. they were amazing, faithfully reproducing many of their great songs while standing perfectly still, lest they move out of the temporary drops of water from the fountain of youth in the sky. frank black's spitting fits of insanity repeatedly frisked me on the inside. and while joey was a little off on some of his guitar fills, the group was still incredibly powerful overall. I only noticed the blemishes on account of the thousands of hours I've spent hunched over works of sound looking for mistakes. it's a gift. and it's a curse- thankfully cured by an hour of unchecked dancing to the greatest band from boston not named boston (hhahahahahah).

I just wish kim deal was tucking me in that night. her whispy voice was made for singing children into the clouds and sunshine of their rich imaginations. but I saw no sun. not until I pulled into my driveway. I think must have kept my friend's honda on the road from one thirty AM to five in the morning, hoping my quiet singing was a part of the sweet dreams of my slumbering friends. soon, I was in my own bed calling on an old friend. 'come in, sleep. are you there? take me hostage, please. just don't wipe away any of my memories. there's some really good stuff about the arcade fire in there...'

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