(Burn, Baby, Burn, 2011)
When we walked down that road, that street, and hit that corner, we often resented it's declining distance to us, knowing this is the end. Here you come corner, where we both part, and then like a bad dream come true we do depart. And like all departures with you, I'm not sure when I will be seeing you next. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps never.
Can I call you?
Can I write you a letter?
Can I kiss you goodbye?
My breath stinks.
At the end of the album, the record just skips away, endlessly if no gets to it. I wonder what happens when people die while listening to records, will needle skip on and on forever? Even worse, what happens when their needle gets stuck on a piece of the song they died on, and plays that one second loop forever. Will they end up in limbo? Will their limbo be painted with that one second loop in the background, playing forever, and ever?
Jesus, I don't want to go that way, I can't think of any good one second loops that would be good for eternity.
Dreams of flying are pretty awesome, dreams of romance with some perfect stranger that have very exotic names like Akimi or Fila, are even more awesome, though when you wake up you're wondering where they went, maybe I'll run into them today, but instead of some beautiful summer dress it's a starbucks uniform, and their name isn't as exotic as you remember it, hi (reads name tag) Robin, hi Sandra.
Right now, I wouldn't mind dying with the song I'm listening to playing, it's Sycamore by Bill Callahan.
When the air fills with heat, when the trees grow green again, your socks will be less thick or not at all, you will sing the songs of the Beach Boy, and have on your face some really cool looking sunglasses. I can't wait.