for a while…
but we will return someday.
apologies if there is little response from the Hunters.
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listen to: Disco Music For Trees
and (fictitious white): Elephant’s Tusk II
and then: Three (Untitled)
All three tracks are great, and from an upcoming release.
Quilt is from Boston and is performing around New England in August.
…
listen/learn more at Quilt’s: myspace
“Rooms by the Sea, 1951″
This time I’m not going to say a thing
about Blue. It isn’t the logging days,
its centuries after. No dogs tracking out
in the bark-scatter and dust. Pilings stand still
in the lake, waiting to be docked. In New York,
John is at his desk blank words ticking by, and even
money has a seating chart these days.
In the slums of Florida, Hemingway kept
a cellar full of first editions, let them
rot of their own accord. Maybe roaches loved them,
made nests curled up and read. “Start at page one
and write like a son of a bitch” was not something
Hemingway said, it was Harrison
blind in one eye, Indian in the other
but hey, he’s not shot-gun prone
at least. My father cried when I lost
a tooth. Do not spend a lot of time crying
over lost teeth that aren’t yours, is the mantra. But
I loved him for it, sunk down on linoleum tragedy
in the bric-a-brac and Pine Sol of modern-day.
There are asteroid tumors in the universe
of the brain which start large, shatter into smaller
fragments, spread slowly out. When scanned,
they glow like fireflies in glue. Vanessa told me this
in the waiting room, all its magazines
dirty with staph. One Hopper we saw
opens on sea, no steps down
just water and the doorframe. It’s a surprise
the room doesn’t flood during storms.
…
for another Field Note by Erin…
When I sit in my room & the stars burn themselves out
& the celestial collides with the celestial somewhere
outside my window, I am reminded every time,
of how, at age two, Picasso learned to draw churches.
How they were shaped like breasts. How he made them
reach for heaven the same way Pavlov taught his dog
to love something that wasn’t there. Yearning.
That they never called it. But Ursa Major/Minor
call to each other & I never hear them right anyway
like once at a bar when a friend said look at them dancing there
as Zeppelin came on and I heard look at them dancing bears,
which caused, instead of a looking up, a half-thought Continue reading
I have never been on a motorcycle but I think my hair would look damn fine flying straight out behind me while cruising down a highway.
Red wine makes my skin blotchy but I drink it anyway.
I will marry the man who teaches me how to drive a stick shift. Uphill.
I have fallen in love with more fictional characters than any number of real men.
In the winter I wear a men’s wool fedora and men’s brown leather driving gloves. It makes me feel a very vintage sort of sexy.
My hair on the whole gives me an unprofessional look but I refuse to straighten it or thin it out.
I have only seen suns rising, never setting, over an infinite ocean.
I love mixing indulgent fabrics for outfits. Like corduroy and velvet.
I don’t know what to say when someone compliments my hair.
On summer weekends I go to the park and pretend to read. I just Continue reading
I spent yesterday alone
With John Coltrane.
The sky was a blank canvas,
Low and sad after the rain.
He was the only company I could bear.
His horn’s air blew through me-
Filled the space under my skin;
A sheet-of-sound wetsuit.
He searched and I followed.
He wept and I listened.
He floated away devotedly,
Losing me as the bass rumbled.
A Love Supreme ended
For the third time
And I’d yet to find God
As he’d intended.
Though there was something else,
Because today,
On stairways,
Streets,
Coffee shops, and
Sidewalks,
I am unable to look them in
The eyes.
