Words From The Midwest XVI

Good afternoon, all moons rising; all switched-off lights; all dark and real truth. Welcome to another edition of Words.

What to say, what to say, what to say. Oh my goodness, what to say?

I’m listening to The Mountain Goats’ album The Sunset Tree as I’m writing this: this cosmic validation of all things remote and languid; all things finalized and brimming with sunshine.

It’s raining.

But I like it.

I like it because this album is playing and it’s a great rainy day record. I love every song on this LP and hold it very close to my heart. It helped me through a very difficult time. And besides, it’s the first Mountain Goats album I ever heard and, you know, it’s common for the first anything by anyone to mean the most to you. My favorite Okkervil River record is The Stage Names. My favorite Bob Dylan is Blood On The Tracks. My Favorite Beatles is With The Beatles. My favorite Cat Stevens is Tea For The Tillerman. Or maybe Greatest Hits. No, no, Tea For The Tillerman, even though it wasn’t the first one I ever heard. I guess rules are made to be broken; made to have exceptions which, all too often, tend to prove the rule, I suppose.

Today has been a long day. A long day, indeed. I’ve been up since seven this morning and spent the good part of the morning going around with my Mom to stores and we went out to lunch at Tommy’s and I got a roast beef sandwich. It was delicious. It was a good morning, really. Really.

Now, I’m just killing time until I feel like reading again.

That time is now.



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