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you wept, but your soul was willing

the only decent radio station around here transmits from somewhere on long island. it comes in better on clear days... when it's overcast, I have to manipulate the little wire antenna around the back of my bookcase to get a good signal. but with how the radio stations are around here, halfway good music with static beats clearly broadcast shit.

maybe it's john in the morning talking about living and breathing his craft. maybe it's because it was still light out at 7:00, or because it was warm enough today that some chocolate I had my car melted. I noticed it with the top down in the grocery store parking lot, blaring picaresque and getting odd glances:

fifteen celebrity minds
served on a leafy bed of sixteen militry wives...

it occured to me today that after thursday I will have met ray lamontagne and john richards, all in the same week. oh, and sat five feet from tori amos in a folding chair. but I don't want to say too much, for then trains wreck and buildings implode and I also thought meeting chris carrabba was going to go down in history too - it did, just as one of the worst experiences ever. not what I was planning, but what the universe intended.

so I'll stay on now instead of what's coming, my low-fi indie christmastime. where I make cds, or have the best intentions to, I make them in my mind at least. where I answer questions honestly and speak my mind. (actually, I have three hours so maybe I can make those cds - my goal is to get ugly played on KEXP in the next seventy two hours. among other things. track suggestions welcome.) and where I become a part of other people's awakenings, instead of being the one that's always sleeping. where I stand up for myself, and humbly admit my mistakes at the same time. where I shake my mother by the shoulders, because she's afraid to ask for help, and I stop enabling the rest.

now I can't stop thinking about the cds. for john and for sarah. off with you, then, or you'll be walking the plank! I have to note here that I'm not only catching pirate-itis from kristin and steve's boat adventures (see links... arrr!) but I've wanted to lapse into irish slang. bloody and oy and me somethings and it all goes hand in hand I think. april 5th officially marks my personal equivalent of colin meloy entering his world of chinese trapeze artists bearing sinews and their pantaloons, and sweet miranda on the vast veranda.

portland's calling.

share some please tea with me

so we get back in the car...