Tonight is clear and the air smells of Cold and Snow and Smoke and Fire and I’ve gone to the window to look at the Moon but I cant see it, but I know its up there somewhere big and full because I can see the table and chairs down in the courtyard, covered in dying blanket of red and yellow and brown. If it weren’t for the moonlight I couldn’t tell one color from the other and I wouldn’t see the outlines of all the rooftops stacked up on top of each other all the way out to the river. Instead, I would only see myself reflected back and maybe someone out there would see me staring out and ask, “Who is that man in the window up there?” and that would make two of us.

and here are a few photos I made a few weeks ago while looking at the greco-roman sculpture at the Met.

I was driven thence by foul winds for a space of nine days upon the sea, but on the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus-eaters, who live on a food that comes from a kind of flower. Here we landed to take in fresh water, and our crews got their mid-day meal on the shore near the ships. When they had eaten and drunk I sent two of my company to see what manner of men the people of the place might be, and they had a third man under them. They started at once, and went about among the Lotus-eaters, who did them no hurt, but gave them to eat of the lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it left off caring about home, and did not even want to go back and say what had happened to them, but were for staying and munching lotus with the Lotus-eaters without thinking further of their return; nevertheless, though they wept bitterly I forced them back to the ships and made them fast under the benches. Then I told the rest to go on board at once, lest any of them should taste of the lotus and leave off wanting to get home, so they took their places and smote the grey sea with their oars.

-from Homer’s Odyssey, Book IX

I am still recovering from last week’s battle with the Acura, yet footing in the war against the gas guzzling beasts of the concrete jungle has continued to show positive advance. While the mourning period has yet to wane and being mired in police reports and insurance deals has done little to quell the sense of loss for my beautiful Peugot, a wonderfully corroded and multi-colored machine of two wheeled beauty has appeared and offered itself as an honorable replacement. In short, I have a new bike. Its a PUCH CAVETTE- an Austrian cycle from the mid 80′s. I found it this weekend, fell in love, paid too much for it and brought it home for some mechanical tweaking.

This is me doing the mechanical tweaking:

once tweaked and ready a baton passing ceremony was held, and the Peugot gave over her seat to the PUCH. Here is a view from the ceremony. It was beautiful and moving.

Most importantly, it was on the PUCH (pronounced like poohk, with a strong H sound on the end before the k sound) that I went right back to the battlefield this morning and cycled straight through the intersection where I had been plowed into exactly one week to the day before.

This is the intersection, taken from inside a friend’s jeep over the weekend:

Sucker intersection. I now own the corner of North Capitol and Mass. Ave.

Vengence is mine.

I’ve been recently initiated into a music club set up by a friend here in DC. Each month one of 12 club members edits and mails out a mix cd to the 11 other members. Each person takes a turn and over the course of a year every body gets a crapload of music. This is month numero uno, and we’ll see how it turns out. As part of said club I receive emails from other club members, and tonight one came across the line that asked for everyones info so that we could all get to know each other better. The questions asked are listed here, my answer below:

– Name
– Age
– Where are you from?
– Where do you live now?
– Who do you live with? (pets? spouse? kids? etc.)
– What’s your day job?
– Hobbies?
– Favorite book?
– Favorite food?
– Favorite music (genre and/or artists)?
– Least favorite music (genre and/or artists)?
– Favorite music mags and/or blogs?
– Favorite concert experience?
– How do you listen to music (at home? in the car? on the train? at work? CDs? MP3s? Vinyl? Headphones? Out loud? etc.)?
– Do you make any music of your own?
– Three things you love (non-music)?
– Three things you hate (non-music)?

Hello my name is Marv, but its not really and I have been breathing for 28 whole years pretty much non stop except that one time at age 4 when I nearly drowned in Pensacola, Florida. I come from Alabama but there is no banjo on my knee. Banjos are over-rated these days anyway. Thanks freak folk. Thanks Sufjan. My apartment in DC is nice except the neighbor next door keeps his workout equipment in the front yard. I’ve thought about asking, “hey, do you need a spot?” when he is doing the bench press because otherwise ill just walk home to an empty place and I aint got nobody, sad and lonely, sad and lonely. I do have my hobbies however, and there’s always time for crocheting or pilates or dungeons and dragons even though I do none of that because I’m too busy reading the English Patient or A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius for the umpteenth time. Both are served well with a short stack of hotcakes or with a side of hummus, depending on my mood or the time of day.

Music is good. I like sad songs so much that people wonder when I’m gonna launch myself off a building, but I really think its Morrissey that should take a dive into concrete. It’d give the bloggers plenty to talk about and pitchfork would do “pitchfork’s 100 favorite Morrissey songs” feature spanning 5 days and I would read none of it at all. Stylus is pretty ok though, and I might read what they have to say because like Morrissey, they spell “color” with a “u” and refer to two weeks as a “fortnight” and I think that’s just really damn cool. Exactly 624 fortnights after my near death experience on the white shores of Pensacola Beach I saw my first concert- the Beach Boys reunion tour, sans Brian. He was still in bed and not talking to anybody back then, but I loved the show and had no idea that the Beach Boys were actually missing heir genius leader. I thought it had always been Mike Love. Remember, I was only 10 years old. I didn’t know any better.

Exactly 15 years after that I saw Sufjan sing about the shores of Lake Michigan to a crowd of about 20 people in Atlanta, and yes, I am saying that with a full lilt of elitism. It’s the same sort of snobbery I employ when talking about my superior vintage vinyl collection that I can never listen to loudly because I have a picky landlord who lives on site. It’s also the same snobbery that’s displayed when you scroll through my bipod and don’t recognize any of the bands and I think you’re clueless because, “What, you’ve never heard of INSERT OBSCURE BAND NAME HERE. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of INSERT OBSCURE BAND NAME HERE !!! You have to get INSERT OBSCURE BAND NAME HERE’s latest record, even though their first release was better.” And then, once you do go out and buy INSERT OBSCURE BAND NAME HERE’s latest, I’ll resent you for it because they were mine first. I hate that feeling, and would get rid of it if I could. I also hate hating things, and I love my grandfather and books and junk and coke in a bottle and a full tank of gas and fries in the bottom of the bag and scarves on cold days and when a pretty girl smiles at me on the street for no reason.

today i found a jumbo sized tootsie pop in the pocket of my favorite green army surplus jacket. I havent worn the jacket since last winter. and now, the question you ask is whether or not i ate said jumbo sized tootsie pop. and the answer is an emphatic “yes.” and to answer your second and third questions respectively, it was grape flavored and, no, i did not count how many licks it took to get to the center.

everything is changing.

a murder of crow flew over my head, each of them cawing, as i arrived at my grandfather’s house. he is dying. i have absolutely no idea what i will do without him.

a few days before one of my best friends was married. it was a great celebration, but the seat next to mine at the rehearsal dinner was vacant. someone special was supposed to have been there, but i never saw her. there was no phone call, no chance meeting, only a simple text message acknowledging my arrival to the city. i left it unreplied. i feel unhinged.

i drove a lot. i thought it would bring a sense freedom, but its where the memories haunt the most.

it rained on monday. afterwards, a heavy white mist (or was it low laying clouds or maybe ghosts?) clung between pine covered alabama hills. the streets made a great swooshing sound. i wish you could have smelled it. i’d say its like home, but as time passes i am questioning just where home may lie.

i didnt see my friend BEN. he used to have cancer but now he’s pretty ok so seeing him isnt quite as urgent as before. im glad he stopped dying.

ive found that i sort of enjoy saying as little as possible when seeing old friends because it causes little awkward silences. i feel at home inside that silence.

on thursday i met DAVID, a dylan-devendra-like hairy fairy with sufjanian aspirations. he is currently writing, recording, and releasing a song everyday for an entire year. his solo performance at lenny’s was captivating. he played a child’s guitar with flames painted on the front, and i drank a pbr tall boy like a good hipster.

not bad kings but the good kings, dan and james of WARM IN THE WAKE, are two of the most talented people i know. im proud to call them friends and happy to have seen them play after so many years.

this laundry list is so melodramatic that i’ve hesitated in posting it for nearly a week.

theres a horsefly beating itself against my window pane, buzzing, screaming, swirling, falling, stopping then starting all over again. the refrigerator hums, the faucet drips, my fingers on the keyboard provide an erratic beat. i wore the brown shoes today, but they dont smell so much anymore. they are over there. tonight is something, maybe some chicken or a bowl of chilli followed by a brownie. or two. why not, right? and now theres laughing on the sidewalk and im all of a sudden in a jealous rage. they fade out, and i wonder if maybe when they stop laughing one of them will do the “ohhhh, hmph” that leads into an awkward silence with hands in pockets and heads pointed to the sidewalk and i’m not so jealous anymore. i did nothing today and ill never get it back. i should redeem it by doing some laundry, or reading a chapter or two or finally getting around to that one thing. but i wont. john david mcnaughtan was the name of my best friend in kindergarten, and he got cancer and died.

hey, theres news about THIS, from your favorite scarecrow screaming music monster lover lord. my name is impatience.

This morning my window was a time machine, and from it I witnessed the change of seasons. I seem to have this experience at the waning of each summer, when the sunlight starts getting lazy and then one day decides to trade in its straight standing blasting high contrast white light with a lackadaisically leaning warm orange glow. The air begins to lift and cool and this familiar yet ephemeral feeling makes a homecoming entry and memories come flooding back. Its like the years fold over on themselves and crease on this very moment, year after year, and i notice it every time around.

If we go forward in the time machine we will see that very soon that the day will come when the evil axis powers of heat and humidity will surrender to the good guys and the victory of fall will be celebrated by the alliance of soft light and shaking leaves in gentle breezes. It happens every time around.

this record sounds like what it would be like if black was in the rainbow, or if if creaking floorboards could compose. its by bonnie prince billy and i’ve had it for years, but i played it tonight for the first time in a while and it took me to a different summer where the night sings the sound of cicada and moonlight has a hard time getting through the magnolia trees. and there was a hammock there that summer, and the smell of must and pine mixed with nag champa under a string of loosely strung christmas lights. and there were little white chips of paint stuck to my dirty bare feet as i walked across an old porch toward a sweaty glass of iced tea over there on the fold out card table. that was a good summer.

in an email exchange today my friend chris roberts wrote this:

One of the best things about Heaven, I believe, is the theater in which you learn all the stuff you didn’t know when you were here. I’ll hit the matinee to see what Jonah saw inside the whale, or learn what Kay Harris was really thinking when she broke up with me in 10th grade — in my brother’s car on Homecoming, after I’d paid for the corsage, the game, the meal, etc.

Or imagine asking: “Jesus, what was the 43rd nastiest thing I ever ate? I’m pretty sure I can’t handle knowing about the first 42.”

“And He shall wipe away our tears,” it says in Revelation, so I assume it means he’ll work on my gag reflex, too.