goodnight.

i bow without grace. my heart isn't in this any longer. it's not that i don't care about the mountain goats, but, well, it turns out that about thirty or forty posts is all i needed to feel like i'd exorcised some of the feelings i had locked up. i don't have any reservations about this. i'd rather disband than have this get worse than it's been for the past handful of posts.

i'll have a new blog soon. people who know who i am will probably be able to find me.

"resonant bell world," from beautiful rat sunset

(just so you know, my new job makes provides an 11-hour workday, so EK will likely become a nighttime affair.)

the last week or so has been an obsession with the 1974 czech film sweet movie, whose crucial line comes when a woman and man are frozen by a cramp in mid-sexthrust and have to have their muscles loosened by injection, to which an onlooker says "happens to dogs, too."

darnielle rarely touches on animism or animalism or even anthropomorphism, but we get them all here. "you put on your special coat and made your special lunge for my throat--and between you and me, it was really exciting."

naughty!

and yeah, lately, i've actually been on the outs with darnielle--could you tell?--because people have seemed more and more like kites or dogs, and hanging out with the horses last weekend was better than any human drama i could possibly enmesh myself in right now. i soldier on.

"the alphonse mambo," from the coroner's gambit

q: mike, who are you?

a: i am a guy who works in an office. this is a new thing.

q: do you have a bad heat rash?

a: terrible heat rash.

q: "the alphonse mambo"?

a: when things are sweet and easy, i get obsessed with darnielle's songs about being fucked-up and down and out. when things feel crushing and difficult and transitional, i need the spirit-lifters.

q: is this really spirit-lifting?

a: no.

q: huh.

a: not a question, but that's okay. you know, it's like, i could be playing "the alphonse mambo" in my office, grooving out to the melodica, popping benadryl, or i could just get the hell out with some minor savings, one lonely ked, six yellow socks, and a bundle of nervous excitement. he does that. i couldn't care about the future not one salt lick.

"going to georgia," from zopilote machine

dunno why davey wondered, this morning, why this was the "mg's 'hit,'" because, well, it's so obvious, what with the fist-pumping vocal (earns darnielle "reedy"), site-specificity and situation obscurity--is a murder about to take place? has it already?--the simple hammer of love (in the face! worse!): "the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it's you--and that you're standing in the doorway," and on and on and on.

well, wait.

well, because what could be simpler?

got a call in the middle of the night from EK's unnamed co-star (i am the predictable animal!), and i realized why i like this one above all: we're just going to hurt each other, but it's going to feel so rich and singular.

noticias

for one week, i am going where the horses run. believe it or not, there are places without the internet. don't forget me. see you soon.