my headphones
~my headphones~this morning i was riding the tram from the "bobcat" stadium to the university campus. i had on my headphones. i think i listened to an edith frost song that i didn't recognize, a dawn landes song. there was a boy in a green shirt with a curly mohawk and a sweatband. he was right in my line of vision so i remember him. when you're standing up on the bus, clinging to a vertical steel rod, fighting inertia by a graceless kind of DDR, and your elevation causes the view out the window to be reduced by 75 percent, and all you can see is grass and the bottom of loads of laundry drying on the line, if you're listening to... wait, i can look it up to remember... sufjan and stereolab, but the one i remember without looking it up is up, bustle, and out (everyone should have their records). i stepped off the bus to this great song with flutes and brass and tabla and flamenco guitar and oneness received me. i've heard that flamenco dancers can kill themselves by jarring their organs too much, and that it happens. among flamenco dancers.
i'm so glad i get to go to school. i get to ride around on a bus and walk to and from stately buildings with my headphones on. and study weird sh*t. i get to spend 8 hours twice a week comepletely cultivating myself. and hosea spends eight hours with a wonderful lady who loves him. i am thankful, for financial aid and a baseline energy level at which i feel i have arrived since motherhood that sets me up for studying well. and myriad other factors. thank you thank you thank you!
right now charlie mingus is on in the bedroom and i can hear it. there has never been music that has affected me like charlie mingus's epics. i don't know why i should relate to it so much, but it makes my blood boil. admittedly, my blood is at a ready simmer most of the time.
hosea started liking "take five" by dave brubeck, pretty early. it was baby crack*, kind of like those einstein things. it would calm him down so well. but, god knows, we listened to that baby mozart thing thirty, forty THOUSAND times. oh infants. i'm so glad that my beloved son is no longer an infant, that i actually feel like it's right on my heels and at any moment, it could snap me back up and i would again be the mother of an infant. and, in fact, i am sexually active, and would most certainly carry any baby conceived to term if possible, so it could, potentially, BE right on my heels. the mingus brass is sounding like baby wail occasionally. must be hard to not know what the sh*t is going on in your environment but still feel subject to its effects. of course, that's just a different scale from our own rampant and inescabable ignorance about what in samhell is happening in this existence. so i guess if hosea wailed, i'd go pat him on the back and let him know it would be allright if he just went back to sleep. why do we, syntactically, speak of things that could be as if they are in the past?
*this phrase, specifically to describe baby mozart, came from jamie royer. thank you jamie. she's also the wonderful lady who cares for my son. thanks, again.
posted by hobbledog @ 9:44 PM
2 Comments:
"i've heard that flamenco dancers can kill themselves by jarring their organs"
Lord...thank you annie... I think I'll go and apply this to many things in life. ;) (by the way, you can cuss on the blog... it's a-okay, mama)
Kim
will you score the soundtrack to my life? zack braff is too expensive . . .
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