try try try

try try try
as you might
do do do
as you can
a little termite
fighting the man
a little knight
in the caravan

Top Artists

Somebody's been listening to a lot of "Moon River" and looping Norah Jones albums at night, on my iTunes.

so long ago

were it the day
for your life
to be on the block
under the blade
with the crowd
in fear and agony
anticipation
running through
the veins
in your neck
(bulging
pumping
afraid)
what would escape
through your throat
out your lips at last?
a breath?
a gasp?
a curse?
a prayer?
or a laugh
at the look
in their eyes
?

ides

beware the ides of march
said the prophet to the flea
and tell them off to tomorrow
before the shadows reach here

Wind

Hi. I work as a clerk in the mailroom of a large, faceless corporation. I don't really like it; when I was a very young boy, I never dreamed of working in a mailroom or anything like that, but this pays me money every week, and it's extremely easy work to do, so I do it. Besides, you never know when the bigwigs might pay a visit to the mailroom and be so impressed by your work ethic that you get promoted to become their personal assistant. This isn't something I count on, though, I'm fully aware how much of the fantasy element that situation has in it. Mostly, I'm working for the money. There's no other reason to take this job.

Everyday, I wear a nametag that hangs around my neck, a white buttoned and collared shirt, black pants, black shoes, and black socks. Those are all the clothing items visible to anyone outside the company. Every other clerk in the mailroom also wears the same uniform. There might be slight variations here and there, this guy's shirt doesn't have a breastpocket, this guy's shirt has a breastpocket with a button, and so on, but in general, what we wear looks exactly the same, except for the nametags, which have different names printed on them. Mine has my own name printed on it. I'm pretty sure that's true for everyone else's, too, but I haven't gotten around to asking everybody. It's a large mailroom. I am twenty-five years old.

Today, there was a great wind throughout the entire city as I was walking to work. I walk to work because it's only two subway stops away from my apartment, and I've always felt that you shouldn't take the subway for only one or two stops. You should only take it for distances of three stops or more. It just so happens that these two specific stops between my work and home are a little bit far from each other relative to the average two stops, however. Because of this, every morning, as I'm walking to work, a doubt will strike me about my personal subway use policy. This doubt usually strikes me around Mornington Street, after I've walked the distance of the average two stops. I have to walk three more blocks after Mornington Street, which isn't too bad on its own, but given the irregularity of the distance, seems just slightly unfair. Thus, with three blocks left to go, I always end up reevaluating my views, but I never end up changing them. It's because I'm cheap.

This great wind struck the second I crossed Mornington Street this morning. Literally, the moment my shoe hit the sidewalk for the other side of the street, my nametag got blown from in front of me to behind me, my carefully combed hair (grooming and appearance are very important to this large, faceless corporation, even for clerks in the mailroom) became an unruly, disheveled mess, and all the loose papers on the street flew with great speed to some unknown destination behind me. This wind was blowing straight down my street, directly in my face. It felt like I was walking into a wall of air. Every forward step I took after the triggering step was a difficult struggle to gain ground against this truly "aerial" onslaught. Every time I lifted one foot, I would feel the precarious danger of standing on only one leg as I tried to plant the airborne foot somewhere far enough in front of me that I could actually feel like I was successfully walking forward. However, the wind was so fierce, I could never move that foot much farther than where it was before without being bowled over backwards.

I glanced down Mornington Street to the next block over, and noted that there was no such wind there! The trash on the street lay calmly by the curb, and people were walking around in completely still air. Somehow, this wind had targeted me, targeted my street. After about five minutes of struggling against this wall of wind, I found that I had gotten no farther than two feet. That is an extremely slow velocity. It is much slower than a snail's pace, which is about ten to fifteen feet per minute. I can't believe I kept struggling that long, actually, but it became a matter of principle for me. This was policy, this no-subway decision, and clearly, this wind had arrived from somewhere in the Universe to encourage me otherwise. I do not like having my decisions made for me, especially by weather. So rather than dampen my resolve or weaken my mind with stronger doubts, I became even more determined to walk to work, not just through this wind this morning, but forever, for as long as I work, no matter where that is, and no matter how far away I live in relation. This wind was against me, and I refused to back down.

I spent a full day completing the last three blocks. I got a little faster after I got used to my strategy, which was to take little steps as rapidly as possible. I got a little slower, too, after that, because of fatigue. But I made it to the building with about ten minutes left in the workday. I checked in with my boss, who is a little mean, but always fair. He looked at his watch as I came in and gave me a grim look. He noted my extremely unkempt appearance; I looked like I had just gone through a war, he said. I said I had, a war of wills, or rather, a war of my own will against myself. He nodded, without inquiring any further. As I turned to leave his office, he called out to me.

"By the way. Today was evaluation-day from the corporate headquarters upstairs. Early in the morning, we had to replace you so that none of the executives would notice anything out of place, so that everything would be functioning properly. They walked around the mailroom, inquired about stuff, chatted with some of the clerks. They talked to the new guy, the guy we replaced you with, and he gave some completely retarded answers. I think the bigwigs were actually a little offended by him. Anyway, it was kind of a mess, and we had to have him fired on the spot, in front of the bosses, to make them satisfied."

"Sounds like a mess."

"Yeah. You caused us a lot of trouble today by not showing up until now. Today was pretty important. My bosses are now going to pay a lot closer attention to me and the mailroom. They are going to be a pain in the neck every day until they find another person who needs a pain in the neck more than me. All because of you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not sorry. You're fired."

So I took the subway home.

werks

work and what's worse
while we work
we're not ourselves
we become workers
we become work
work with a nametag
we're works
werks

The New Pornographers/Belle & Sebastian

at the show at electric factory last night
the new pornographers totally awesome
except no jackie hey hey hey hey
a lot of other mass romantic, though
keyboardist with short hair
carl/a.c. newman
belle & sebastian with scottish accents
best black eye on the whole tour
electronic renaissance
sukie in the graveyard
i don't love anyone (and more tigermilk)
girl from audience singing judy and the dream of horses
encore
harmonica and guy in suit
guy in suit dancing
stuart murdoch
best show ever
jealous?

Story

Once, in a dream,
I was you,
And I could see myself
Looking at me;

The rain began to fall,
Turning the leaves green,
And the trees breathed,
Turning the sky blue;

We did the best we could --
Me with you, you with me,
Until I saw my eyes turn red
And my hands folded in;

I think I got your clothes wet,
But I was soaked to the shoes
That you were wearing
On my feet;

And I fell through your hair,
With your hands over my eyes,
And I moved your lips
To the voice in my head...

You closed my eyes,
And when I awoke,
I was alone;
This dream had flown.

the roar

the roar came through your throat
like a whimper through a megaphone
and i could feel the rumble of voices
whispering, murmuring in my stomach
everything went black inside the whites
of my eyes until i blinked
gone
i tried to speak to you
but someone else's voice came out
did you notice?
my eyes closed over your face
and my body faded into the warm air
we had to hurry in the darkness
or risk being seen by ourselves
but nothing was in my control
my hands were in my ears
fingers tied together
everything happened off to the side
as i watched, helpless
as you laughed
but a song came through your throat
like water rippling down a river
and my eyes finally opened
i saw you for the first time
looking at me
and you looked just like me
a smile like a sunflower
eyes like tadpoles
there was nothing
to be afraid of
afterall --
except...

silence