have one on me, de joanna newsom (2010)

have one on me!

cuando gritamos por primera vez en el día, llevamos con nosotros la pérdida de un mundo oscuro, áfono, solitario y líquido. siempre ese lugar y ese silencio nos serán sustraídos. siempre una caverna negra, caminos subterráneos, sombras frente a uno mismo, límites sombríos, una orilla mojada hechizan las almas de los hombres, en todas partes. todos los vivíparos tienen su guarida. es la idea de un lugar que no sería mío sino yo en persona.

se trata de un lugar antes que de un cuerpo.

la intimidad que hace remontar en el interior de uno mismo al mundo más antiguo es el bien más raro.

pascal quignard. de la barca silenciosa, 2010

HI CUSTODIAN

written & directed by david LONGSTRETH

all Music by david LONGSTRETH

performed by DIRTY PROJECTORS

letter 13

sorry to hear you're in a tornado. just because someone has a need for monogamy doesn't mean they necessarily practice it. there is honesty in laying with whores. i've never had a professional massage. i think i owe myself a couple thousand.

i've heard numerous times that your favorite horror journalist is a regular at cathouses. i get so dry when i'm working. like a desert that needs an encompassing rain. not a good analogy, but i guess i'm saying i can see it somehow. from the branch of a petrified tree.

but is that it for you and the baron. it's hard to tell. you always talk like it's over but when i suggest such a thing you're quick to correct me.

my television died. the picture squinched to a blurry cube and then it was gone. i almost got up and went straight to the tv store, like putting out your last cigarette while heading for a fresh pack. found out i was bottle- not breast-fed. was chic at the time. me and sister fig got the bottle while oldest brother thomas got the breast. now he has a wife and three trefuckingmendous kids. fig is more swooping. and well, you've seen the way i treat people.

letter 14

you resolved that fast. not sure if that's a good sign or a bad one.

this day seemed like it could have gone either way. the sky half blue, half gray. when i looked again the gray had lost to blue (a civil war sky), and then it rained a cloudless rain.

the place next door is vacant. did i tell you. cry-baby baker is gone. now it's just painters hanging out the window with the occasional cig. i wonder who's going to move in next and if they're going to leave their curtains open as much as chef sensitive. if they are considerate of my feelings, they will. that is the problem with the world today. no one thinks of his or her neighbor.

nice story about the grouch behind the counter. i was thinking, as i read it, how insurmountable some people are. but then you proved me wrong, you got him to smile. i am so often wrong but find it more rewarding than being right. i had bad experiences with clowns as a kid, too. these ones had guns. what makes certain alcoholics become clowns.

i once spent five days on my knees scrubbing the black fat between the tiles in my cabin at hq. ponderous labor was what i was after. one of the docs came in to yell at me. i regretted the hug i had given him on arrival and slept with a hat for six nights.

you ought to write me abaut what you're going to write me about and some other stuff, too.

bill callahan. de letters to emma bowlcut, 2010