RIYL = The Velvet Underground, Crystal Stilts, The Soft Boys
Understanding this: Women are complicated. Aren’t they? I mean one minute you think everything is great, some steady, rhythmic conversation, it’s a nice day, there’s a breeze, then, like a rogue wave, your muted, suddenly underwater, scraping away at some unnatural din rubbing against the silence. And afterwards there’s no explanation, just an awkward tilt, and eventually a bass line. But what can you do but love ‘em. Women, I mean. Don’t the complications – the weird fractures, the blessedly beautiful moments, their hair, pale skin, pale guitars – constitute the crush? And that first date, wasn’t that a whirl. It can be hard dating a manic-depressive, but when she’s so beautiful, and with so much charm. Who knew it could turn into a relationship. The ups and downs, those slow times, everything is becoming a bit more familiar, the back of her neck, the neck of her guitar – low and pulsing – it’s not much that you even want to leave that white-walled house of hers anymore – old and bare, on the west side – it’s enough to just sit on the couch, to watch old movies in the middle of the afternoon, those short, cold kisses lingering on. It’s a steady beat, beautifully wrought, a situation that makes you say something about perfection as you drown in the light sifting through the blinds, thin strips of sun across your face. It’s lonely a bit, beautiful, subtly brilliant. Lets never break up.