28 February 2005


Certain songs. They contain the past in every perfect detail. Like 3-minute dioramas illuminated---with twilight scenes of the green; the day-dreamy view out the window during 3rd period english; my room with its high ceiling and Sistine Chapel-esque/LSD murals; dad with his evening glass of red wine; mom hanging laundry on the line; the Bfd. Pt. pier with the B sisters and brown-bagged bottles hidden in secret rocky caches; SG's sandy hair & emerald eyes; winding, hi-speed scooter chases up & down Stony Creek road through the pines; weekends on the Metro North in search of impossible records; jamming Who tunes in JD's basement; the ocean; Arcturus and Vega and the smell of the summer breeze blowing through the yard at 2 in the morning. Press repeat.

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