I read an article once about how astronauts returning from outer ( Read more... )

You know those movies about haunted houses where there’s a ghost
that doesn’t know they are dead? Mistaken by the pedestrian details
of discontent? Unsure of why their voices refuse to carry from room to
drafty room? There were things I was supposed to do today but I’ve
forgotten what they were - e-mails left unread, and a hair
appointment I willingly ( Read more... )

In yellow lamplight a boy is pulling a green knit sweater over
his head. It is winter or maybe late autumn, at any rate, the
branches are bare and his room is cold. He’s forcing his feet
into a battered pair of Converse with frayed laces that he never
unties. On his stereo, Bob Dylan sings a song about a girl from
Canada; the boy pushing his arms into ( Read more... )

and it's coming to me, like a baseball to a bat. i'm only hitting .118 and i'm wondering where you're at.

I.

The pond behind your uncle’s house froze over every winter. In a recurring dream from your childhood you are digging down under the snow, under the ice, and beneath that thick layer there are fruit tress growing and wolves sleeping beneath them. Their teeth are sharp and their eyes are hungry, but they are friendly. You somehow thought this ( Read more... )

            Nearly six years to the day, Elliott Smith has come to occupy a space in society reserved for artists like Nick Drake or Kurt Cobain, who’s work means much more in light of their tragic deaths than it ever did while they were alive.  I wish, like a lot of us, I could be one of those people who proudly proclaims that “I liked Elliott ( Read more... )

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