by christopher on July 27th, 2008
this world of keys, clicks, electronic blips, newsfeeds, blogs, etc., etc,, etc…
it’s draining.
I like to call myself one who loves nature and yet day in and day out I confine myself to this prison of interconnected wires transmitting useless (mostly) information back and forth like some sort of internet convict who stares through his prison window bars to the outside world like it’s some illusion I can’t quiet reach.
but I can.
I just don’t.
so I’m thinking of severing the cord. Metaphorically of course. I’ve taken a break before but I’m thinking something more long term. If I’m to develop a lifestyle of communion with “mother nature” that I so desire, it’s probably a good idea to shake the dust off my own sluggish lap and spend some time in her company.
so I might vanish for a while.
at least my E-Persona.
by christopher on July 5th, 2008
when thought bubbles take their shapes above my head oftentimes their contents are country bridges.
I imagine myself as one, resilient, standing the test of time. Country bridges are old, wise, sturdy. No matter how many vehicles pass over them they still stand never faltering.
I am not a country bridge.
If anything I’m some sort of prefabricated steel building that’s sold on the television late at night.
1-800-NOTWORTHYOURHARDEARNEDMONEY.
Like those “easy to assemble” buildings I’m unreliable. I’m hurried and thrown together. When winds blow too hard I don’t stand in place but am shifted from side to side and sometimes flipped completely on top of myself.
I’m not a good shelter. Perhaps an ok place to store things not quite nice enough to bring inside but certainly not a place you’d lay your head.
For you I want to be a country bridge. We passed over a few today. I regret not taking a picture.
by christopher on June 30th, 2008
I’m in need of some cassette tapes.
preferably brightly colored ones.
if you have some, and you don’t want them. can I haz?
by christopher on June 6th, 2008
swarms of children echoing goodbyes
I get anxious around herds of children.
sweaty palms.
pre school is done and the party commenced. Kindergarten awaits this fall.
by christopher on May 10th, 2008
taken from a review I read :
The stark landscapes of the American West have long inspired mingled awe and dread in the creative mind. Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian and Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven both deconstruct the impermanence and loneliness of this forbidding environment, setting antiheroes adrift in a morass of long shadows and bad men.
The Grave Is a Grim Horse, a folk-noir collection by Neurosis frontman Steve Von Till, is inspired by this darkness but chooses to turn his focus inward. Von Till, a transplant from the California coast to the forests of Northern Idaho, offers a set of brooding, contemplative songs that search for man’s place in the unforgiving and often brutal path of history.
The album is a work with serious themes, and Von Till imbues the songs with the appropriate gravity. The arrangements are sparse, and Von Till’s gravel-tinged delivery takes center stage. Though the foreboding mood is greatly enhanced by the oddly bent, atmospheric guitar and strings, Von Till’s voice sounds as if it is a part of the windswept plains. The Grave Is a Grim Horse moves eerily through a spare sonic landscape. The album’s quiet is appropriately foreboding and encourages the kind of introspection that is obviously occupying the artist’s thoughts.
And despite a resume that tends to bombast, Von Till shows great restraint throughout the album. The Grave Is a Grim Horse ruminates quietly on the fleeting nature of human life. Von Till reaffirms his commitment to theme by including some eclectic covers. His choices underscore his attention to detail, particularly “Clothes of Sand” by Nick Drake and “The Spider Song” by Townes Van Zandt. These songs work on two levels; in addition to being thematically related, the songwriters’ fates marry perfectly with Von Till’s brooding depiction of life and death.
this could be my favorite album thus far this year.
by christopher on April 17th, 2008
pruning sheers came out today
and I, I became more domesticated.
the miracle of owning a home is that you find yourself doing things (and enjoying doing) that you never thought you would.
hacking away at the dead bushes, sheers in hand, raking up the wreckage.
steaks on the grill.
cold beer in hand.
bliss.
by christopher on April 10th, 2008
I’m listening to Acid Motherly Love right now and hanging up pictures. Outside it’s sleeting on my spring.
old man winter needs to go away.
by christopher on April 8th, 2008
so I own a home.
and I’m moved in and have a porch where I sit and think and smoke and drink and watch and laugh and relax and….
everything.
it’s nice.
by christopher on April 1st, 2008
but I’ll return.
moving and all that jazz.
by christopher on March 31st, 2008
I pack up a truck and move.
will it be to our first house, I really hope so. This process has drained me in every capacity. I have hardly eaten anything in days, I barely slept, I break down on a whim. To say “everything is grim” is an understatement. We are in limbo, literally. and we wait wait wait wait and are told to wait some more.
I don’t want to wait.
it’s mine and I want to move into it. fuck you for telling me I cannot.
