Jeff Buckley - Morning Theft
I haven't been writing much this month. Or, rather, I've been selective in my words to the point where I rewrite the same word many times every day. I've been considering foregoing this whole blog thing. We'll see. For now it stays, if tenuously.
I've seen several deaths in the past couple weeks. Not anyone I've known bodily but those I've known affectionately. More than one. One much younger than me and for seemingly no reason (though any death is seemingly without reason I suppose, even those of age). It's been paralyzing.
I've written two songs. Might not sound like much but lately it's been a lot. I've even learned a song by Philip Glass and am mastering it in the hours I have.
Tomorrow I work 15 hours. I wake at 8, work at 10, break at 6, work at 8, done at 3, home at 5 and sleep. I feel like I should be preparing but what's to prepare for? I'll wake and I'll go. I suppose the only frightening thing of it all is all the hours spent in waves other than affection, skin and tenderness.
I saw Corey today and we had a big talk. It was beautiful. I love that man very much.
The weight of living is difficult. Beautifully.
And I dream so vivid it sometimes pains.
Okay. Sleep. See you all soon. I fly to New Brunswick later this month and I'm glad for the break. I'll come back fresh.
(I don't know why but the last half of this song has captured me to tears lately, it's been mine. From "What am I still to you..." and on. It's it.)
Friday, December 10, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
December 6, 2010: Bing Crosby & David Bowie - Little Drummer Boy
Bing Crosby & David Bowie - Little Drummer Boy
I was 18 and had to get my grad pictures taken. It was a tradition I didn't want to be involved in but the appointment was made and paid for and everyone else was doing it and I didn't know how to deny this process. So I was made to go to a man's house where I waited in the basement for him to take my picture in a graduation gown. When I walked in there was a woman there waiting.
"Hi there. My daughter is getting her pictures taken in the next room. Who are your parents?" I told her who my parents are. "Oh, you're a Casey? Did you know you're related to Bing Crosby?" I thought her a little crazy. I humoured her. Oh, I didn't know that. She sat there and told me all about Bing Crosby having family in Miramichi and how the Caseys are related to him but she never went into too much detail. Or, if she did I didn't really pay attention. Then her daughter came out and they left. And then a man took my picture.
When I got home I looked right away for my Dad. I saw him through the window, in the backyard working on his pool, getting ready for summer. "Hey Dad, do you know who Bing Crosby is?"
"Yup. We're related to him."
I still don't know how. Apparently it's a distant relation, barely conceivable but there. It's all nothing to remark over, really, but that it was an interesting moment between my father and I. He answered like he had heard my whole day.
I was 18 and had to get my grad pictures taken. It was a tradition I didn't want to be involved in but the appointment was made and paid for and everyone else was doing it and I didn't know how to deny this process. So I was made to go to a man's house where I waited in the basement for him to take my picture in a graduation gown. When I walked in there was a woman there waiting.
"Hi there. My daughter is getting her pictures taken in the next room. Who are your parents?" I told her who my parents are. "Oh, you're a Casey? Did you know you're related to Bing Crosby?" I thought her a little crazy. I humoured her. Oh, I didn't know that. She sat there and told me all about Bing Crosby having family in Miramichi and how the Caseys are related to him but she never went into too much detail. Or, if she did I didn't really pay attention. Then her daughter came out and they left. And then a man took my picture.
When I got home I looked right away for my Dad. I saw him through the window, in the backyard working on his pool, getting ready for summer. "Hey Dad, do you know who Bing Crosby is?"
"Yup. We're related to him."
I still don't know how. Apparently it's a distant relation, barely conceivable but there. It's all nothing to remark over, really, but that it was an interesting moment between my father and I. He answered like he had heard my whole day.
Friday, December 3, 2010
December 3, 2010: Third Eye Blind - Motorcycle Drive By
Third Eye Blind - Motorcycle Drive By
I remember Andrew's mother driving us back home from a soccer tournament in Bathurst. I was in the front seat, Andrew and Simon in the back. It was beginning dark in streetlights and I was tired and didn't feel like talking. I put my headphones on and listened to Third Eye Blind. I was 14 at the time I think. I didn't know about revolution then, only what was presented to me. And I remember watching out the window and being filled with some kind of longing during that hour of driving.
I've listened back to some of the music I listened to in teenage lost and most of it is shit, turns out. (Ever re-listen to "Zombie" by The Cranberries?) Somehow, though, despite how much I want to dislike that first album by Third Eye Blind I can't. It's in me forever. I found something in it in my middle teenage years when I longed for escape and love and adventure and it won't let me go. When I could have run away but landed on patience reluctant. When I didn't know anything about PJ Harvey. I listen back to it and see it's terrible and unlistenable flaws but fall into it like water. There's a romance somewhere in there that still holds me.
I haven't seen Andrew's mother in years, nor Andrew nor Simon. I remember them well, though.
I remember Andrew's mother driving us back home from a soccer tournament in Bathurst. I was in the front seat, Andrew and Simon in the back. It was beginning dark in streetlights and I was tired and didn't feel like talking. I put my headphones on and listened to Third Eye Blind. I was 14 at the time I think. I didn't know about revolution then, only what was presented to me. And I remember watching out the window and being filled with some kind of longing during that hour of driving.
I've listened back to some of the music I listened to in teenage lost and most of it is shit, turns out. (Ever re-listen to "Zombie" by The Cranberries?) Somehow, though, despite how much I want to dislike that first album by Third Eye Blind I can't. It's in me forever. I found something in it in my middle teenage years when I longed for escape and love and adventure and it won't let me go. When I could have run away but landed on patience reluctant. When I didn't know anything about PJ Harvey. I listen back to it and see it's terrible and unlistenable flaws but fall into it like water. There's a romance somewhere in there that still holds me.
I haven't seen Andrew's mother in years, nor Andrew nor Simon. I remember them well, though.
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