Saw DJ’s brilliant video on Everyday-Genius because SJA is curatin’ the good shit, which lead me to this text, which lead me to make this thing out of my wife’s ‘gram of a tree I love and here we are because Internet.
The Whole Place is Dark by Nick Sturm
for Jason Molina (1973-2013)
Today I walked past the magnolias,
which were wet, because it rained.
Today I nodded while one of my professors said something
about the rhetoric of atrocity, the terror,
and I didn’t think of anything in particular.
Today a door slammed and today a knot formed
in a radio somewhere outside of Cleveland.
Today the sun was a welcome bruise
on my responsibilities, which made me less tired
than usual, though I am tired now and trying
to stave off the wish for emptiness
ringing in my chest’s blue thicket.
Today I turned in an application.
Today I deleted the last of her voice from my phone.
Today I talked to Sarah and Jeff and Carrie
who are important to me for many reasons,
one of them being the feeling
that we are, especially in the snow, never alone.
Today it did not snow.
Today I got out of bed on time
only because I thought I heard something crash
like light in a glass of whiskey or a window being knocked out,
but I found only the dark, my cat, and all the things
I’ve hung my life around while the train whistles
through the floorboards’ imperceptible chasms
I cross to the kitchen every morning.
Today I read out loud from Mary Shelley’s journals
and my voice felt like a heavy, lawless river.
Today we decided whether to call it a creature or a monster
and I’m not sure we made the right decision.
Today prisoners were captured.
Today there were complications.
Today I didn’t do my taxes and today I didn’t have to
say goodbye, though I did, even to those I’ll see tomorrow.
Today the dust cracked.
Today the analog incantations flooded.
Today my hair felt like a guitar and I remembered what I thought
once about love in Oregon and once about home in Michigan
and in the other room I heard the lyrics
paved in eternal circles off the vinyl
at the same moment I read them from an article on my phone
which is how you know at certain hours it all breaks down.
Today the transmission and today the ghost.
Today the lightning on all our hearts
like a rusty, gone-to-fuck halo.
Today sprawls us and today
the volume seems to be catching every mountain in your throat.
Today I walked past the magnolias,
which were wet, though it hadn’t rained.
Today a deer got up off the highway
with the dead moon in its jaws.
Today I walked past the magnolias,
which were wet, because it rained.
Today I nodded while one of my professors said something
about the rhetoric of atrocity, the terror,
and I didn’t think of anything in particular.
Today a door slammed and today a knot formed
in a radio somewhere outside of Cleveland.
Today the sun was a welcome bruise
on my responsibilities, which made me less tired
than usual, though I am tired now and trying
to stave off the wish for emptiness
ringing in my chest’s blue thicket.
Today I turned in an application.
Today I deleted the last of her voice from my phone.
Today I talked to Sarah and Jeff and Carrie
who are important to me for many reasons,
one of them being the feeling
that we are, especially in the snow, never alone.
Today it did not snow.
Today I got out of bed on time
only because I thought I heard something crash
like light in a glass of whiskey or a window being knocked out,
but I found only the dark, my cat, and all the things
I’ve hung my life around while the train whistles
through the floorboards’ imperceptible chasms
I cross to the kitchen every morning.
Today I read out loud from Mary Shelley’s journals
and my voice felt like a heavy, lawless river.
Today we decided whether to call it a creature or a monster
and I’m not sure we made the right decision.
Today prisoners were captured.
Today there were complications.
Today I didn’t do my taxes and today I didn’t have to
say goodbye, though I did, even to those I’ll see tomorrow.
Today the dust cracked.
Today the analog incantations flooded.
Today my hair felt like a guitar and I remembered what I thought
once about love in Oregon and once about home in Michigan
and in the other room I heard the lyrics
paved in eternal circles off the vinyl
at the same moment I read them from an article on my phone
which is how you know at certain hours it all breaks down.
Today the transmission and today the ghost.
Today the lightning on all our hearts
like a rusty, gone-to-fuck halo.
Today sprawls us and today
the volume seems to be catching every mountain in your throat.
Today I walked past the magnolias,
which were wet, though it hadn’t rained.
Today a deer got up off the highway
with the dead moon in its jaws.
