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Music · · Tucson

Sometimes

I am enjoying an early morning vigor that is rare for me when calendar driven forces pair the moment with a specific measurement of time and space whose namesake is Monday. Unsupervised sunbeams promise a cozy morning and lure me from the soft polyester safety and blunt grays of my lover’s hybrid vehicle. I stand in the dusty driveway, still in sneakers and the throes of a mixtape and cardio-induced flashback. I am here and this is now and I shall express my solidarity with an at times foul and unpredictable universe with a dark breath bestowed upon me by Saturday night’s pot of black beans.

Music · · Tucson

Sufjan Stevens - Tonya Harding

In Kingman, Arizona there is a man who looks much older than he is. His skin smells like beer and his clothes smell like the tar they treat railroad ties with. He picks a tiny music box up off a yellowed doily on a dresser and opens it. Sad music comes out and he smiles like he is happy.