Come, Come to The Sunset Tree

I went to see the Mountain Goats at the Pabst with Rory the other night. It was a very good show, much better than I expected. The music was simple and straightforward; lo-fi and dynamic, but the lyrics were savage and gut-wrenching. Good music for a fall night, as the weather hints at its coming viciousness.

you are sleeping off your demons
when i come home.
spittle bubbling at your lips,
fine white foam.
i am young and i am good.
it's a hot southern california day.
if i wake you up,
there will be hell to pay.

It occurred to me at one point that I couldn't really remember how I first met Ror; although I'm pretty sure it involved drinking. dog, we spent a lot of time f***ed up back then. Shooting darts for the Landmark, or just hanging out. Tonight I was sticking to soda cuz of a potential cold, and Rory - well, Rory had to stop drinking some time back.

Our friends say its darkest before the sun rises,
we're pretty sure they're all wrong.
I hope it stays dark forever.
I hope the worst isn't over.
I hope you blink before I do.
I hope I never get sober.

Walking in to the house, the lawn was covered in dead leaves - but they were covering up the dog shit. A few dead branches strewn here and there, by morning everything will have icy dew on it and the sun won't be strong enough when we leave to dry anything. A leaf almost always sticks to my shoe and ends up in my car, first freezing throughout the winter, then crumbling dry to dust in spring.

the rain fell all night and it kept me awake
it was still falling by morning.
it was hard to take.
and you were sleeping on the floor,
breathing free and even,.
if i ever want to drive myself insane,
all i have to do is watch you breathing

I don't have to check the weather to know that tomorrow will either be cloudy and wet, or weakly sunny, with a wind that has a cold edge that defies any light coat. But nobody wants to wear winter coats yet.

look at the person i've turned into, tell me,
how do you like him now?
no standards of any kind to break, no creeds to disavow
i am right here where you want me
do what you brought me out here for.

Stephen King once wrote that this season should be called 'locking', between autumn and winter, but I don't know if that's quite right. It doesn't have the warmth associated with fall, but winter has a pristine, regenerative feeling, like the world is out being cleaned. But now, things just seem mean and dirty.

Yeah we're all here
Chewing our tongues off
Waiting for the fever to break

When we walk out in the sunlight we tell every we know it hurts our eyes
When the real reason we don't like it is that it makes us wonder if we're dying

Rain doesn't make anything grow, it just leaves muddy prints on the floor, and the morning sun just comes in low and blinding between buildings as you drive to work, trying to cause minor accidents; later it's already over the buildings to the west when we get home, leaving nothing but chill and darkness and those dead leaves.

one day in september you come here.
you pull my head down
and you whisper in my ear.
and you tell me the sidewalk is as far as the world really goes
but that's a secret everybody knows.

Every year around this time, one day will come when an urge to just chuck it all and point the car down the highway will come on strong, and I find myself being unproductive and reticent, occupied with thoughts of highways that lead West, and the other roads that lead over mountains; and the Sea. And places where I've never been and nobody knows me. The urge toward movement fades in a day or two, usually; winter comes on, the first flakes fall, and the landscape closes up finally and completely.

I clawed my way to the living room window,
stood there in the cold.
the last bits of my dream like figures in the distance,
hard to hold.
I thought of old friends,
the ones who'd gone missing.
said all their names three times.
phantoms in the early dark,
canaries in the mines.

ghosts and clouds and nameless things.
squint your eyes and hope real hard,
maybe sprout wings.

I could never get the hang of October.