I want something but I don’t know what it is
We went to see Mary Timony earlier in the week, she’s been playing “Honeycomb” in other cities but she didn’t play it here. This afternoon I watched a video of her playing it at Johnny Brenda’s in Philadelphia and cried (and she spits and swears until she can’t swear anymore/and she doesn’t care when you call her a whore).
At some point, I don’t remember when anymore, Alana tattooed a honeycomb on my left arm, the words “stay alone” (how I misheard the lyric “stay at home” when I was a teenager) beneath it. My old boyfriend hated that tattoo.
I cry more often since going off of my medication a few years ago - playing catch up, making up for all of those years I couldn’t cry. I’m not depressed, I just have feelings again, which is interesting. All of those years I spent existing outside my body. Now I’m back in it.
I was talking to my dad the other night and he told me he ran into a friend of my old boyfriend, that this friend was telling him that not being able to make it work with me was the biggest mistake his buddy ever made. I don’t believe that’s true, not even for a minute, and I think it’s embarrassing that this person even brought me up.
Yesterday I finished reading Molly by Blake Butler, sat in the soft morning light with the cats padding around on their little paws and thought about the many times in my life I have longed not for death but for never having been to begin with.
Today I drove home listening to a playlist I had forgotten about and when “Homemade” by Sebadoh came on, I thought of Blake saying that Molly would rant and rave about Lou Barlow being the real genius of Dinosaur Jr. Speaking from experience, no woman who identifies with Lou Barlow is well.
Here I am, on my knees/With nothing to blame but my curiosity/It got the best of me
I went to put my copy of The Golden Dove on this morning and Chad did a deep sigh, so I put it back in the crate. Now I’m home alone sitting on the couch & letting it spin. Sorry to the man I love, but real heads know.
You showed me pictures of your ex-girlfriend on a beach without her shirt on/And it made me sick, but I didn’t tell you it did
…
I don’t care about you and whatever you want me to do/Wipe your nose, take out the trash, give and give and never ask
We went to see Liz Phair last night - the last show on her 30 years of Exile in Guyville tour. She didn’t play this song (she never does, why should she?) but I thought of it all night anyway.
I have something really good for the Anaïs Nin heads, but posting means sharing info that cuts a little too close to my real life… missing the days of the LJ friends list…
Is there a better album opener/closer than “Mallo Cup”/“Ever” on Lemonheads’ Lick (1989)?
Here I am outside your house at 3am/Trying to think you out of bed
…
I know commitment is not the trend/Don’t misunderstand what I intend/When I say this doesn’t have to end
I spent my birthday at a funeral home, which is, unfortunately, par for the course at this point. I don’t think there is a time of year I hate more than my birthday - an annual reminder of how many people I love who are no longer here, a time that feels more and more lonely with each passing year. The sour, end of the season punctuation mark that I always spend crying.
The business book I’m being forced to read for work is so stupid it should be illegal
We went to see Angel Olsen play in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery & I found myself overwhelmed by memories listening to her play “Give It Up” (the year I lost my mind) and “All Mirrors” (the year I started over) and, most of all, “Sans.” I’ll never see Angel play another house show, but it was beautiful to see her out under the open sky.
Saying hi to every guy at the Braid show (except for the ones I’ve slept with)
shookupshookup reblogged
Jenna Gribbon (American, 1978) - If a Woman Reads a Book in the Forest But No One is There to See It (2020)
It’s just warm enough to have the windows open. C is getting stoned and looking at his phone and I’m reading that collected Cookie Mueller paperback that came out last year. There’s a J Church record on the turntable and late-day sunlight is streaming through the trees while neighborhood kids play in the street.
This weekend was hard, for a lot of reasons and for no reason at all. I’m overwhelmed and underwater, my job is making me feel insane and I don’t know what to do about it. There are days where it feels completely unmanageable and there are days where it feels fine in the way that all terrible things can come to feel fine.
I worked at home yesterday, just for four or five hours, and today I worked at the cafe where C works. They played Neil Young and Toots and Rain Parade and I type type typed away on my computer drinking low caffeine iced tea because my nerves were too shot for coffee. After they closed the cafe for the night C and I rode our bikes to the pizza place at the end of our street and had dinner together before riding home and now here we are, here I am.
Filled with a truly deranged amount of rage after hearing my ex’s band on college radio!! GOD
shookupshookup reblogged
1. When my dad was a teenager, he reached a point where his friends were either dying young or finding god. One day, a friend came to him with a box of Neil Young records and said, “I’m not supposed to be listening to worldly music, I want you to have these.” This is where the copy of Zuma I heard growing up came from.
2. When I was a teenager and my parents were finally able to afford a car with a CD player, my dad would play his CD version of Zuma in the car. My mother, who preferred New Order, had no patience for “Cortez the Killer” and would roll down her window saying the song was making her sick. My parents are divorced now.
3. December 2022, my dad gives my boyfriend a copy of Harvest for Christmas. “This is the record that broke Neil big.” A few weeks later, at our favorite used record store, we picked up a copy of Zuma. When I told my dad he said, “That’s my favorite Neil Young record.” I can’t help but wonder - why start someone on the breakout album and not the one you love the most? What assumptions are you making about taste and trustworthiness?
Of COURSE I’m going to the Braid reunion show, who do you think I am?!
RIP Camp Cope, RIP to me the year this album came out, RIP, RIP, RIP