We pull in to the campground nearest the Lucy and Snoopy rocks, and try to find a spot near some sort of tree. She always pitches tents near trees because she says she’d rather be connected to the earth with something other than a metal stake shoved into it, piercing the crust. Dust gets into everything here, and even the nighttime desert heat blasts enough that the inside of a tent just pulses with heat. But this, too, is some sort of home. I’m glad, too, because it’s hot in the poor places; tonight, I’m not going outside.
***
Note: this was inspired by today’s prompt; the writing turned into a kind of short story. The above is an excerpt from the beginning of that story.
Also: Lucy and Snoopy rocks.
1.
Adam Duritz was 32 years old when they released their second album.
There’s something so heartening about that.
2.
I encoded this album on 11/10/03
with iTunes 4.0.1. iTunes 10.2.1
tells me that the album came out in 1996.
I would have guessed 1997, actually, but then
it makes sense, since Let’s Face it was 1997.
It’s strange when albums that flipped you over
start celebrating their 15th, their 20th
anniversaries.
Goodnight Elisabeth, goodnight.
I will wait for music whenever it decides to leave
for a while. And I think about that age-old drunkards
dilemma: sight, or hearing? And I think—there’s no
question here. I can imagine a life without sunsets
and rainbows. Imagining one without seeing my dog’s
ears perk or my girlfriend laughing hurts more. But
I can’t imagine a life without Darnielle’s shout or
Wilco’s distortion or even Duritz’s moan, Melloy’s
affected syllables. Tweedy tells me music is his savior,
and like so many of us fans, I nod. I know.
3.
You want poetry? Find the letters I wrote to Allen Park, Michigan for my entire sophomore year of college. Read those words of longing, of why-aren’t-you and when-will-you and please-can-you. I was hardwired to want Counting Crows. It couldn’t have been any other way.
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