In Hebrew, "me" is "who", "who" is "he," "he" is "she" and we are all together.

...

Personal pronouns and adjectives are a fruitful nuisance in this language, and should have been left out. For instance, the same sound, SIE, means YOU, and it means SHE, and it means HER, and it means IT, and it means THEY, and it means THEM. Think of the ragged poverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six -- and a poor little weak thing of only three letters at that. But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey. This explains why, whenever a person says SIE to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.

- Mark Twain, "The Awful German Language"

Alprazolam! Melt.
Radio repeats a tridentine mass in the dark
(there are no prayers of the Hours from twelve to three)
Good children breathe soft under moving hands;
I sit and drink and wait, keep winter here
Rest awhile.


Forty-seven.

Mappa Mundi

I

In the land of mutual rivers,
it is all a conversation: one flows uphill, one flows down.
Each ends in a bottomless lake which feeds the other
and the boatmen who sail up, down, round and round
never age, growing half a day older, half a day younger
every time... as long as they never step on land.

II

In the land of always autumn
people build their houses out of fallen leaves
and smoke, stitched together with spiders' webs.
At night they glow like parchment lanterns and the voices
inside cluster to a sigh. Tell us a story, any story, except
hush, please, not the one about the wind.

III

In the land where nothing happens twice
there are always new people to meet;
you just look in the mirror. Echoes learn to improvise.
So it's said... We've sent some of the old
to investigate, but we haven’t heard yet. When we
catch up with them, we might not know.

IV

In the land of sounds you can see
we watch the radio, read each other's lips, dread
those audible nightfalls. We pick through the gloom
with one-word candles home... however... only... soon...
while pairs of lovers hold each other, speechless,
under the O of a full black moon.

V

In the land of hot moonlight
the bathing beaches come alive at midnight.
You can tell the famous and rich by their silvery tans
which glow ever so slightly in the dark
so at all the best parties there's a moment when the lights go out
and you, only you, seem to vanish completely.

VI

In the land of migratory words
we glance up, come the season, at telegraph wires
of syllables in edgy silhouette against a moving sky
like code, unscrambling. Any day now they'll fall into place
and be uttered. Then the mute months. The streets
without names. The telephone that only burrs.

- Philip Gross

Do you know that I'm still in love with you?

Yes.

and yes.

Good morning, stranger.

Please, fairy godmother, fly me to California in May!

Coachella

SATURDAY, MAY 1
RADIOHEAD
The Pixies
Kraftwerk
Wilco
(International) Noise Conspiracy, The Rapture, Desert Sessions (possibly featuring PJ Harvey, possibly not...we'll let you know), Heiroglyphics, Kinky, Stereolab, Future Sound of London, ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead, Peretz, Death Cab for Cutie, Laurent Garnier, LCD Soundsystem, Living Legends, Sander Kleinenberg, The Black Keys, The Sounds, Howie Day, Junior Senior, Mark Farina, Moving Units, Sahara Hotnights, Electric Six, The Stills, Seb Fontaine, 22-20's, Juana Molina, Phantom Planet, Dios, Jem, Q and Not U, Erase Errata, The Section Quartet, DJ Icon

SUNDAY, MAY 2
The Cure
The Flaming Lips
Air
Belle & Sebastian
Basement Jaxx, Mogwai, Prefuse 73, !!!, Le Tigre, Broken Social Scene, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Paul Van Dyk, Dizzee Rascal, Bright Eyes, Atmosphere, Thursday, Cursive, The Crystal Method, Adam Freeland, Ash, 2many Dj's, Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra, Muse, Sidestepper, The Thrills, The Sleepy Jackson, Ferry Corsten, The Cooper Temple Clause, Sage Francis, T. Raumschmiere, Stellastarr*, The Killers, Home Town Hero, The Section Quartet

ohpleaseohpleaseohplease?

kadosh kadosh kadosh
(bounce bounce bounce)

I told you when I met you
I was crazy

Court and Spark circling at 33 1/3 over cups of coffee, time in little bottles. On the counter gleams Della's sum for gasoline: one dollar and eighty-seven cents, and the next day would be Christmas. Or Partly Cloudy, lows in the twenties. Weather, I hear you.

Forty-seven.


White Dwarf

One day when our sun runs out of fuel and collapses inward under its own weight, then picks up enough mass from its neighbor to explode outward, the blown debris approaching a good fraction of the speed of light, then, then you'll be sorry. Oh, relax: we have five billion years, give or take a few million, to prepare. Meanwhile we go on believing the universe has our best interests at heart. The dock down at Groton Long Point throws a lovely wood skeleton fifty yards out into the Sound. There we rest, after a bike ride, and the winds rise by our witness and the waves build, and the paper-white sails and hulls of pleasure boats cut scimitars into the bay. We sit close-pressed and watch without speaking, wanting to live here, in this model galaxy of islands and peninsulas and rock borders where earth, water and air meet in the small fires of our blood. Oh, why not. We watch a long time. I whisper to you. It is the middle of the day but your hair has that scrubbed protein smell once locked in the center of a star. Why not here? This is what I whisper. Even as we speak, close galaxies are speeding away, faster than more distant galaxies, which are also receding. Groton Long Point, Milky Way, heat of your body next to mine: this is where we live, now. Lovely little islands of matter, surrounded by the blank of space. And the dark taking over more real estate even as we speak. Encroaching zero of the infinite, white dwarf, my breath on your neck: even as we speak.

-- Jeffrey Skinner