The Small Lake
Rowing out onto the small lake, she greeted fresh perspective. Life was potential, choice. The impossible weight once slumber’d in her chest now absent, alight somewhere, a part of birds. The cool day welcomed her, through the door, into the new her. The new her was fresh and bright and bore little resemblance to the old her. The old her was another person, she thought, rowing further...
52 Week Song Cycle #7 Magazine (c) 2010 Mattroi...
Questions about Balloons
What if a balloon got really depressed and tried to hang itself? What would it look like? Is it morbid to think of all the balloons in the world as inverted rubber corpses noosed to children’s wrists?
Swede Child a Mine
There is an actually town in Sweden, in the far north, called Fitträsk (Cunt Swamp).
Pavement: Return of the Heavily-Favored Underdogs →
Trying to describe music in words may be something like trying to describe a car crash that happened in front of a beautiful sunset, just as someone started yelling the word “English,” a wild horse ran through the scene, in flames, and you have a stomach-ache or feel really good. It also may not be like this. Nonetheless, the attempt must be made.
Last night I dreamt that you turned into a doll of you, one of a set, though special. I dreamt that I was on time for the 2nd showing of our play, but that I’d wandered across the stage to find the dressing room during the 1st. I dreamt that I was wrong somehow and I didn’t dream that you were right or wrong at all. Last night I woke up and there were kids playing loudly in the...
You need not do anything. Remain sitting at your table and listen. You need...– Franz Kafka, Learn to be Quiet