A cow on the balcony of the nation

Written by

The Borstal Choir – Jerusalem

… one January afternoon we had seen a cow contemplating the sunset from the presidential balcony, just imagine, a cow on the balcony of the nation, what an awful thing, what a shitty country, and all sorts of conjectures were made about how it was possible for a cow to get onto a balcony since everybody knew that cows can’t climb stairs, and even less carpeted ones, so in the end we never knew if we had really seen it or whether we had been spending an afternoon on the main square and as we strolled along had dreamed that we had seen a cow on the presidential balcony where nothing had been seen or would ever be seen again for many years until dawn last Friday when the first vultures began to arrive … [Gabriel García Márquez’s ‘the Autumn of the Patriarch’, Tom Courtenay, and the Borstal Choir.]

Unhappy years of domesticity

Written by

Midlake – Roscoe

I wanted a dining room table, I realized. I wanted a dining room. Living in Paris at 34, I had awakened and realized that I wanted to go home, only to discover that I had no home to go to.

[The New York Times / The Trials of Van Occupanther.]

Addicted to a certain kind of sadness

Written by

Lady L asked: I usually dress pretty frumpy on the reg. But like what date number is it cool to dress down for? I’ve been dressing up for the first three and I’m over it.

Dear Lady L-

THAT BLOWS. Bitch, you already set the bar too high! As a real life Frumplestilskin myself, by date three I’m already wearing a cat sweatshirt. It’s also a great conversation starter because it has a picture of a really fat cat and says, “LARGE AND IN CHARGE” and on the back is the picture of the cat’s backside. BUT I DIGRESS.

I’d say ease into it. If you keep seeing this asshole chances are he’s gonna get the know the frump that covers the rump reaaaaaaaal good so he better get used to it now. Start off wearing that beige grandma sweater and move into those (if appropriate for your body type) harem pants. Pretty soon you’ll be able to be wearing just a poncho! And isn’t that why any of us date in the first place?

YOU CAN DO BAD ALL BY YO’SELF.

XO,

Allison

Glory in it and be very glad and grateful for it

Written by

The Smashing Pumpkins – Stand Inside Your Love

New York
November 10, 1958

Dear Thom:

We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.

First — if you are in love — that’s a good thing — that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second — There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you — of kindness and consideration and respect — not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply — of course it isn’t puppy love.

But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it — and that I can tell you.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.

The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.

If you love someone — there is no possible harm in saying so — only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.

Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.

It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another — but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.

Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.

We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.

And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

Love,

Fa [Steinbeck / Machina.]

Perfectly able to hold my own hand

Written by

Wye Oak – Civilian

Things I did on my day off:

  •   Got my pockets shortened by my tailor.
  •   Ate a leftover fried banana.
  •   Overpaid for a translucent keyboard cover for my new MacBook.
  •   Checked to see if HiFiMAN had gotten its act together yet and shipped more RE-Zeros to my headphone shop. It hadn’t.
  •   Watched Thierry Henry score for Arsenal.
  •   Dozed.
  •   Read Calvin & Hobbs.
  •   Dozed.
  •   Caved in an listened to my playlist entitled “Songs of Yearning.”
  •   Moped.
  •   Ate mee udang at the place along the ocean. The last time I was there Joseph accepted my bet of RM 50 to strip and swim to a nearby raft, which surprised me as I assumed him too callow to carry through on his boasts.
  •   Watched a shitty movie.
  •   Went to the far side of the airport, lay down on my back in the grass and watched airplanes land in their all their jet-noise glory.
  •   Wondered why I don’t have any friends who seem interested in activities like lying on the grass and watching the airplanes land, especially since, really, it’s the only type of activity I’m any good at.
  •   Flailed my arms furiously at the air and spazzed out listening to ‘Civilian’ on repeat on headphones in my living room.
  •   Decided that — if I keep my head down and take it one bullet-point-sized activity at a time — I just might be able to handle this whole life thing. [Civilian.]

We are old and grey

Written by

Guided By Voices – Old Bones

By registered post, we’ve sent for her indefinite residency on the greenest isle. The folder/application/lifeline, unintentionally sickly green, is thick with pages still warm from an overworked printer. Copies of copies prove its muscle, with insides including an abundant fall of letters one wouldn’t keenly show to even a best friend, birth certificates, one with an ink print of baby feet (about the size of those toy cars we had as children, the ones you’d get free with cereal), financial records, receipts, invitations, film stubs, concert tickets; everything once saved and stored and now used. Set out are our characters – in black and white characters – now en route in its registered clothing, for us simply to wait and be judged. “When your bones are frail.” [Let’s Go Eat The Factory.]

Some things you do for money and some you do for love

Written by

The Mountain Goats – Love Love Love

Some days, like today, I walk around with U.S. $700 in my back pocket. Malaysia still has a cash-based economy. I once held, in my stubby little fingers, $2000 worth of currency. (It wasn’t mine. Or, rather, it was mine in the sense that I now owed a substantial debt.)

It’s an awesome, awful feeling — all that expensive money, in a wad in your fist, waiting to elide away as rent. All that value eventually to turn into soggy piles of papier-mâché mulch, multicolored and meaningless. Long after that happens, I’ll still be out there somewhere in the raking monsoon rains, hustling and grafting so that I can hold — albeit temporarily — next month’s rent in my hand. [The Sunset Tree.]

Wash teeth if any

Written by

Woody Guthrie – I Want My Milk (I Want It Now)

(Click picture to enlarge.)

It’s not meant to be a strife

Written by

Mount Eerie – Voice In Headphones

The Believer: When you changed the name of your project from Microphones to Mount Eerie, you opted to reference a particular natural object in the landscape of Anacortes. Can you discuss the reasoning behind the shift?

Phil Whitman Elverum: Well, for one thing, a sense of place is lacking in most of our American lives and art and music and everything. Everyone moves around so much. Kids grow up in five different places and return to nowhere. Towns are all generic because if everyone is going to move soon, who cares if it’s an Olive Garden or something more permanent-feeling? The lack of “home” that most people feel is fucked. We have a shallow history (especially on the West Coast) and it’s getting shallower. I had the good fortune of growing up in a town where my great-great grandparents were some of the first Euro inhabitants, and a town that is town-like enough that I recognize faces at the post office. I love this place. It is home, in a deep way. The mountain (Mount Erie) is right in the middle of the island. It has this distinctive, dramatic rock face. It’s almost like the mascot of this place. I grew up under it, staring at it every morning waiting for the school bus. It’s a special place for me, and the mysterious beauty in the rock face is potent. It has a similar vibe to much of what I am trying to do in music. “The voice of an old boulder.”

Just smile all the time

Written by

Wilco – How To Fight Loneliness

Madeleine idly stared out the window of the oversized speedboat that acted as the ferry between Langkawi and Penang, old reclining airplane seats eight across the belly of the hull. Her husband, Jay, slept, mouth open, on her olive-toned shoulder.

They weren’t in love. She knew that.

They’d been married a year. Two years ago, at a New Year’s Eve party, she’d surprised herself by leaning up to kiss him on the mouth at midnight. When their drunken lips parted she said, “Oh,” and he said, “Well then.”

After a year of dating, when he couldn’t think of any substantial reason to dump her and saw no other recourse but to propose, she said yes because it had always been her secret dream to not have to work. She quit her job as a temp secretary and spent the days at the gym and picked up hobbies weekly and generally was content. He worked in insurance or something. She wasn’t quite sure in what capacity but the checks never bounced and her car had leather seats so she didn’t much care.

He snorted and shifted slightly in his sleep, and she felt the cool on her side where his heat had so recently been.

When, after a day laying out on the sugar-white sand, she rubbed aloe into his pink skin, giggling at his ginger misfortune, were her hands any less tender than those of any other wife?

Sometimes, like on this vacation to Langkawi, she saw single people, chirpy and chatty in new red bathing suits. Maybe there really were happy, going back to hostels to fuck each other and reveling in each independent decision. Maybe she was projecting how lonely and downright bored she’d felt while single. Either way, she didn’t envy them.

Madeleine and Jay’s relationship was comfortable, two worlds intersected by shared space and experience but without much regard or emotion toward the other, like siblings. Siblings who fucked sporadically; their marriage was loveless, not sexless.

She ran a finger down his freckled bicep, feeling the sun’s trapped heat emanate off his usually pale skin. With the corner of her mouth, she kissed the top of his head and she felt nothing. [Summerteeth.]