Highways is Johnny Zachman, Elisia Guerena, Joe McLean, Dave Lucas, and me.
This is our self-titled LP - released 14 September 2011. Mixed by Phil Abbott and mastered by Dan Timmons.
Download or stream it for free at http://highwaysmusic.bandcamp.com.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Things that are small
atoms, hair, dirt, letters, eye contact, footsteps, threads, needle eyes
A small story:
Why I was late for everything I went to today, even though I made a distinct effort not to be late for anything, but was anyway, but never more than ten minutes
I'd rather not talk about it.
The tip of a pen. Reasons for doing things. Shattered glass. Note heads on a staff. Particles. The God particle. The moments we pass over. Sequins. Scales. Hang nails. Papercuts, which hurt. Splinters. How come small things are more noticeable when they hurt? My confidence in my writing ability. Rice. Sand. Stars from here. My understanding of a lot of things. Seeds. Everything, when it's divided up. Water vapor. Raindrops. Air sacs. Blood vessels. Brain cells.
Cocktail Party
Praying I don't say the wrong thing. Will they know?
Sandstorm
It was only after the wind died down that I heard I was not the only one calling for help.
Victories. Bursts of optimism. Lightning bugs.
The difference between what is happening and what might have happened. DNA. Temperature degrees. Sips of coffee. Sips of alcohol. Candle flames. Keys. Sharks' teeth. Moments.
Shoe buckles, shoe laces, earrings, hair pins, scraps, pennies, plankon/whale food.
[List of small things] Things that tear friendships apart. Fodder for denial. Little pink crosses.
Things that trigger memories.
Tricks of our senses and chance encounters. I swear it was Jeffrey's black hair, a block ahead of me; his wavy dark hair and crooked nose, I saw that angle of his neck in profile as he tucked his head and disappeared ino the corner store where he worked.
I didn't go in. That would have ended badly.
Things we recognize about each other.
A small story:
Why I was late for everything I went to today, even though I made a distinct effort not to be late for anything, but was anyway, but never more than ten minutes
I'd rather not talk about it.
The tip of a pen. Reasons for doing things. Shattered glass. Note heads on a staff. Particles. The God particle. The moments we pass over. Sequins. Scales. Hang nails. Papercuts, which hurt. Splinters. How come small things are more noticeable when they hurt? My confidence in my writing ability. Rice. Sand. Stars from here. My understanding of a lot of things. Seeds. Everything, when it's divided up. Water vapor. Raindrops. Air sacs. Blood vessels. Brain cells.
Cocktail Party
Praying I don't say the wrong thing. Will they know?
Sandstorm
It was only after the wind died down that I heard I was not the only one calling for help.
Victories. Bursts of optimism. Lightning bugs.
The difference between what is happening and what might have happened. DNA. Temperature degrees. Sips of coffee. Sips of alcohol. Candle flames. Keys. Sharks' teeth. Moments.
Shoe buckles, shoe laces, earrings, hair pins, scraps, pennies, plankon/whale food.
[List of small things] Things that tear friendships apart. Fodder for denial. Little pink crosses.
Things that trigger memories.
Tricks of our senses and chance encounters. I swear it was Jeffrey's black hair, a block ahead of me; his wavy dark hair and crooked nose, I saw that angle of his neck in profile as he tucked his head and disappeared ino the corner store where he worked.
I didn't go in. That would have ended badly.
Things we recognize about each other.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Fictional I Statements: Jessi
I don’t know what to say.
I had a hard day today. I am tired. I wish someone had asked me how I am doing today, but no one has. I should have told Joel how I felt when he asked how I was doing.
I am tired. I don’t feel at home in my body. I love to paint but even while painting I can feel my shoulders and my wrist and my back. I like to dance because it makes me forget.
I don’t know why. I can’t think about that right now. I like men because they distract me. I like living on friends’ couches because if I had a place to myself I’d probably be alone there a lot. I don’t want to be alone.
I am aware that that’s unhealthy. I’m fine.
Fictional I Statements: Walter
I am at the mercy of my neurons. I am not trying to be poetic. I see my reflection in everything. I cannot look inside. I have the feeling my brain is disconnecting. I don’t know where that puts me. I do know that the more I write the more I am afraid. I am trying to stay afloat. I am not a metaphor. I wish I were because then I would mean something else. I am less and less curious everyday. I don’t care. I find peace in looking. I find chaos in thinking.
Fictional I Statements: Harlow
I am a woman. I am a friend. I am a lover. I am a lover of beauty. I own a store. I earned my MBA from Loyola. I earned my store. I am happy. I wish I wanted something more than what I have. I wish I were more creative. I wish I could paint or write or sing. I have nothing new to say. Maybe I love old things. Maybe I’m okay.
Fictional I Statements: Joel
Joel:
I am a father. I am Joel Edward Samson. I am a musician who should be a better musician. I am a father who should be a better father. I love my son. I am trying. I have not done anything I thought I would when I was little except live in Chicago. It is not glamorous. I want a better life for my son. I want him to respect me. I want him to love me. I want him to think I’m cool and smart and everything I wanted to be when I grew up. I need to change. I need my son. I am scared of what might have happened if Jack hadn’t come along. I am scared of dwelling on that, and of that coming to pass. I am scared of not giving him a better life.
I am a father. I am Joel Edward Samson. I am a musician who should be a better musician. I am a father who should be a better father. I love my son. I am trying. I have not done anything I thought I would when I was little except live in Chicago. It is not glamorous. I want a better life for my son. I want him to respect me. I want him to love me. I want him to think I’m cool and smart and everything I wanted to be when I grew up. I need to change. I need my son. I am scared of what might have happened if Jack hadn’t come along. I am scared of dwelling on that, and of that coming to pass. I am scared of not giving him a better life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)