Monday, September 5, 2011


…I have a new story, “The Sin Jar,” up at The Midwest Coast Review (page 23) and also here under “Words in Print.”

…Yesterday was Bumbershoot, the annual musical festival here in Seattle akin to Lollapalooza.
The weather, being spectacular, may had something to do with there being throngs and throngs of people.
It was quite a day.
My son and I saw four concerts in a single day:
Massy Ferguson (eh)
Sol (hot hot Seattle hip hopper who brought friends, his mom, and his aunt from Haiti on stage for the closing song)
Broken Social Scene (Canadian sound bending band. If sea glass could sing it would sound like them.)
Macklemore (huge Seattle rapper)
Additionally, these are some other things we saw:
Lots of pot. Bales of marijuana were being smoked.
Gallons of rum (why rum?) we being drank
People were popping ecstasy.
A girl in front of me fainted.
There was a female mime dusted all white and dressed up like a spastic fairy.
Mario (replete with a thick, fake mustache) and Luigi from Super Mario Brothers showed up and danced during Broken Social Scene.
There were a lot of very short skirts and some cut-offs that were essentially frames for bare buttocks.
Around 20,000 people crammed into Key Arena to see Macklemore.
I was in the mosh pit. Normally that would be a cool place to be.
I was in the mosh pit with five thousand other people.
It was hard to breathe. Moving was almost impossible.
Female breasts were squished against my arm. Slimy, sweaty guys were pushed up on my back.
The mob kept pushing this way and that. I was like a human windshield wiper blade, nearly falling backward or forward dozens and dozens of times.
It became an inferno.
After a while, after an hour and a half, I fought my way out.
Once I was on the upper floor I realized why everyone was staring—I was drenched in sweat, some my own, half belonging to strangers.
I watched the concert from up above. It was an amazing sight with 10 thousand arms bobbing up and down to the beat.
Oh, and I was the oldest person in the entire coliseum. Really, I was. I did, however, get I.D.-ed the other day at Safeway, so it’s a balancing act.

…Tomorrow I see Fleet Foxes and The Walkmen. Life is song.

…Here’s a Sylvia Plath piece like on a Monday, especially when that day is a holiday:
"Mad Girl's Love Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
— Sylvia Plath

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