Is it snow? It could be ashes from a nuclear attack on Superior. It could be the finely shredded results of an angel’s collision with a jetliner. It falls like rain, pings like BB’s and collects like lust in the shallows of the ocean.
I wrote the following note to myself on my desk:
FADE FROM CROW TO TITS… longer?
Ten points to whoever can tell me what it’s from.
Today at noon Sunny Wicked will be playing Seraph in recital hour, my philosophy video running on a 10 foot screen behind. I’m very excited.
I’ve been listening to the Presidents of the United States of America this morning and it’s resonating something fierce within. I feel fourteen years old again. Chillin’ in Washington DC, touring the Smithsonian, transcribing lyrics on the plane, buying peach penguins and jellybeans at the mall. I still have a small Pier 1 flask of those jellies at home.
I’ve been elected to orbit the planet in a rocket…
I’m goin’ to Mars, I’ve got a message for the poodle in your pocket…
Well Mission Control, call a supernova
The hotlines rockin’ and you can come on over
And let us be who we am…
And let us kick out the jaaaaaaaaaaam yeah!!!
Kick out the jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam!!!
WE DONE KICKED ‘EM OUT!
Playful. Doldrums? Pah. No such thing.