if you move. never go back to the house of you childhood. you'll be sorry you came.

there once was a train engineer who took a load of coal to the same city everyday. and everyday at the same time he would pass a quaint little house up on a hill. in the summer it had blue-green grass on all sides and a young oak in the front corner of the long yard.

there were no fences.

the soft grass would just wander down the hill into the trees or stop harshly at the brown gravel road. the house itself was too inviting. white wood exterior with a gray shingled roof. a small porch too. the porch always had three or four chairs set up were people could spend the summer evenings watching america until the cool air from the west blew gently in. and almost without fail there would be a woman and a small girl outside. always in some activity. putting up clothes to dry in the wind, playing some game, making snowmen, sitting on the little porch woman reading child drawing. and everyday they would wave at him, the train engineer. and everyday he would wave back to his beautiful little family.
and everyday he would pass this perfect house in the perfect yard. and everyday he would look forward to passing the perfect house in the perfect yard. and everyday he would be a bit happier after passing the perfect house in the perfect yard. it was painfully beautiful.
then one day his employer told him he would change routes and he instantly thought of his beautiful little family on the beautiful little hill. i'm going to visit them he said to himself. he would explain who he was and tell them why he's here. tell them how much their waves meant to a lonely old engineer on a lonely old train drive. he practiced his conversations with the family all week.

then on a cold Saturday he drove to the house. it took him much longer than he expected, all the country roads were frustratingly misleading and he only knew the route by the train tracks. eventually he found the house, but when walking up to the porch he thought maybe it was wrong. the grass was patchy and it was more pale than it should be. the porch itself was too small and the chairs looked cold and uncomfortable. he knocked on the door. he heard movement inside and eventually a girl came to the door. but this wasn't 'his' girl was it? she seemed bored. he didn't know what to do for a few seconds then asked if her mother was home. the girl went to get her mother. while he waited his eyes wandered onto the screen door. its screen was curling up at the bottom left edge, it had been ripped slightly years before and now it was starting to rust. the door itself needed paint. when the mother finally came to the door he realized he was sorry he came. she was older than he imagined and poorer. she looked at him untrustingly as he explained himself. when he was done there was no look of enlightened joy like he wanted. she seemed a bit confused and invited him in, the girl laid on the couch watching a brown television turned up too loudly. she never took her eyes off it as he came in. the house was not clean and too warm. he struggled through a conversation with the mother all the while wanting to leave. he wanted to drive away quickly and forget everything. and only remember the perfect family from the railroad tracks that waves at him every afternoon.


todays recommended mp3 - the pernice brothers - 7:30a.m.

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
-gibran

this passage from 'the prophet' says what i always suspected but never seen this clear or so poetically put. the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can obtain.

today's recommended mp3 - denison witmer - rise and fall

"it was the summer of 1950. but before i left denbigh road i saw the end of an era, the death of a culture: television arrived. before, when the men came back from work, the tea was already on the table, a fire was roaring, the radio emitted words or music softly in the corner, they washed and sat down at their places, with the woman, the child, and whoever else in the house could be inveigled downstairs. food began emerging from the oven, dish after dish, tea was brewed, beer appeared, off went the jerseys or jackets, the men sat in their shirtsleeves, glistening with well-being. they all talked, they sang, they told what had happened in their day, they talked dirty--a ritual; they quarrelled, they shouted, they kissed and made up and went to bed at twelve or one, after six or so hours of energetic conviviality. i suppose that this level of emotional intensity was not usual in the households of britain; i was witnessing an extreme. and then, from one day to the next--but literally from one evening to the next-- came the end of good times, for television had arrived and sat like a toad in the corner of the kitchen. soon the big kitchen table had been pushed along the wall, chairs were installed in a semi-circle and, on the chair arms, the swivelling supper trays. it was an end of an exuberant verbal culture..." --doris lessing, "walking in the shade, 1949-1962"

today's recommended mp3 - jurassic five - what's golden

if theres a right thing to say, i probably missed it by a mile

did you know that laugh tracks they use in sitcoms were originally recorded in the 1950's? when you watch a sitcom and you hear all those people laughing, there's a good chance your hearing the laugh of a dead person. freaky innit?

today's recommended mp3 - keith green - stained glass

did the indians really use every part of the buffalo? everything? i find that really hard to believe...or really gross.

the fourth album is officially finished as of today. its called homefield road and it has 12 songs on it. 9 written by me and 3 by either jurado or bazan. so please check your local record store next week. and if they don't know what your talking about, stop by my house and i'll give you a copy. peace and grace. sedge.

things you should see before you die (for americans only)

the grand canyon
yosemite national park
your favorite musician in concert
general sherman (sequoia nation park)
the Coliseum in Rome
a baseball game at wrigley field
all of Athens, Greece
the great pyramids
alaska
the great barrier reef

ok, maybe i'm leaving out a lot of stuff (stonehenge, south american rainforest) but if you disagree than tell me. i will see those last three before i die; or die trying. - sedge

today's recommended mp3 - low - closer

today on the bridge over kickapoo creek a spider floated down to see what i was reading. it slowly worked its way down and floated for a minute or so a few inches from my face, but i doubted if it could read - and there's no way it could read dillard. it was roughly the size of bb or the head of a pin. it was gray and had furry little legs. i think it was the smallest spider in the whole world. i can't help wondering what kind of insects it eats. what kind of bugs are that small anyways? does it make a web like other spiders? is the web really tiny as well? what's it doing on the bridge over kickapoo creek anyways? it is november right? what do spiders do over the winter?
it floated there for a while unsure of what it should do and during its time of indecision i looked for its thin thread. i searched up and down and left and right for the stupid thread but i couldn't see it. i thought that surely it would reflect off the sun and i would see that the puppet had strings. after a while i got frustrated and thought about waving my hand directly above the floating spider to at least satisfy one of my senses, but then i gave up and decided it was a magic spider. and maybe it could read dillard maybe he was more advanced than i and he was going to tell me interesting things about the book. but he didn't. after a while the magic flying spider got bored and flew back up to the top of the bridge. he probably had more important things to do.

today's recommended mp3 - ida - boots of spanish leather (dylan cover)

sometimes i think the most attractive thing about television is the shared experience. it seems like most things people talk about around water coolers is some stupid thing they watched on t.v. the night before. i listen to the excitement rise in their voice when find someone else who spent the night in front of the t.v.
sometimes i wish i was a tv watcher again so i could join in. sometimes i think if only i was watching the newest reality show or if i was an avid watcher of that doctor show 'er' people would talk to me more often... but then again maybe not.

today's recommended mp3 - dismemberment plan - you are invited

the ancient greeks used to think that they didn't have original thoughts. they thought that if they had an idea or desire that one of their gods had somehow implanted that thought in their brain. like if they felt love towards someone that really it was Venus controlling their brains. or if they thought about death, it was obviously pluto taking care of business. here in america we all find this pretty funny but when we see an ad for sour cream potato chips we all rush out to the nearest store to get some.

today's recommended mp3 - otis redding - these arms of mine

"...colleges being nothing but grooming schools for the middle-class non-identity which usually finds its perfect expression on the outskirts of the campus in rows of well-to-do houses with lawns and television sets in each living room with everybody looking at the same thing and thinking the same thing at the same time while the Japhies of the world go prowling in the wilderness to hear the voice crying in the wilderness, to find the ecstasy of the stars, to find the dark mysterious secret of the origin of faceless wonderless crapulous civilization..."

jack kerouac

today's recommended mp3 - t.w. walsh - silent movies

there's an emotional curve when you have to take trains everyday. (really almost all public transportation). if your like me and your used to taking your car everyday, your used to the complete control. you are the one driving; if your late or early you can speed up or slow down. you could take an alternate route or stop off somewhere to get a coffee. but when you start taking trains, you immeadiately give up your control. sometimes you don't even get to choose where you sit. you give up everything to the public transportation system. at first this is pretty overwhelming. when your on a train and need to make a connection or whatever and the train decides to stop in the middle of nowhere; you kinda freak out. or at least i tend to do... it becomes so frustrating because there's nothing you can do. you can't will the train to go faster, you can't rush up to the driver and step on the gas or whatever he uses to make the big thing go. some people complain but that doesn't improve your situation either. and so you just sit. but here's the funny part; after a while you start to like it. not right of way of course, no it takes a few months to teach you that your powerless. but once it happens its very freeing. your not in charge. its not your fault that things aren't going well. just relax. enjoy a few minutes to yourself. sometimes when you give up power you get peace.

today's recommended mp3 - jets to brazil - sea anemone

i'm not the social type.

today's recommended mp3 - denison witmer - stations

this is exactly the kind of fall day that people get all fired up about. sweaters and hot chocolate. falling leaves and pumpkins. i have nothing better to do so i walk down to the woods that surround the creek behind our house. down past the crumbling ravine, past the broken barb-wire fence, past the now missing rope swing. i walk up to the old rusty railroad track bridge and find the perfect reading spot. i can lean against the metal post that supports the bridge and dangle my feet over the creek. the kickapoo drifts slowly under me; deceptively. the fall breeze blows the ripples in the water one way and the current moves downstream in the opposite direction. i can't read because i'm distracted by the trees who keep fighting to keep my attention. the sun moves and changes its perspective and every few minutes the colors change on the leaves. its beautiful in ways that can't be given to words by even the most gifted writer. and i notice a feeling of growing frustration. i can't take it in enough, the cup overfills, the memory fades, the picture yellows, the journal is lost. the moment will pass. everything does. but i'm frustrated that i can't have it, i want to put it in a box and take it into my room. i want to hide it in the closet. i want to take it out when i'm bored or lonely or when i can't sleep. but i know i can't. and so...it passes. the sunsets. i walk up back to the house and watch tv or play video games and everything is lost.

today's recommended mp3 - rosie thomas - bicycle, tricycle

one of the things i love about texas is the polite way they drive. sometimes the state gets a bad rap because of the whole "were our own country" mentality, but i know you would be a fan too if you were driving to mexico at 85 to 100 miles an hour and people pull their cars off the road just to let you pass. The first time this happened to me i thought there was something wrong. it could be a number of things... like maybe there is an ambulance right behind me that i've been ignoring for a few miles, or maybe they think i'm a cop, or maybe their car is breaking down. but no, i look as i pass and sure enough there just letting me pass them. no charge, no dirty look, just nice people. its a good feeling. its hard to shake or forget for a while. that someone is just being nice for the sake of being nice. it kinda makes up for all the times i did get dirty looks or shaken fists or middle fingers...

today's recommended mp3 - pedro the lion - song a

i really don't have anything to say today. i tried to think of something creative or just things i've been thinking about lately on my walk home today, but alas, nothing is cool enough to put on the web. so i write this. oh yeah, and pete yorn would be cool if they took all the stupid dance beats out of his music.

today's recommended mp3 - dashboard confessional - anyone, anyone

the worst thing that can happen to you on a skateboard is not what you think. sometimes the board flips up and hits you shin, that hurts like crazy but its not all that bad. other times like when you try a nose manual you can fall face first and scrape the skin of your palms. thats bad but not the worst. the worst thing is when through some strange series of events, you come down off a jump or a curve or whatever and you end up somehow with one foot on the deck and one on the pavement. now you kinda hafta visualize at this point. the skateboard keeps going - so one of your legs (regardless of its angle or position) goes with it. the other leg stays firmly on concrete. and there - is the painful moment. that's the time when you wish you were somewhere else and sometimes you are... the inside leg muscles (groin, i think?) scream in hellish agony through both legs and throb for a long time afterwards. days or weeks later they complain bitterly of the horrible injustice they suffered like old people getting bad service at Denny's. and that, is the worst thing that can happen to you on a skateboard.

today's recommended mp3 - unwed sailor - once in a blue moon

the thing about progress, yeah, is that it can be so insulting. It doesn't care about you, it never did. It looks you in the eye, deep down inside, and says, "im moving on; with or without you." and it walks away - never looking back to gauge your reaction. believe me i know, i've been there. when i moved to england last year, peoria decided that since i'm gone to make all these radical changes. there's a baseball stadium just a few miles away on the southside, there's about a million huge shopping centers just north of town. why didn't somebody phone me up and ask if these things were O.K? These are my streets and buildings just as much as anybody else's - this is the road that would take me to jr. high basketball games and thats the intersection where i got my first speeding ticket. here's where my car blew its transmisson out. i'll show you the bump that me and my brother would jump our bikes on. you can't just change things. how dare you. i'm afraid to go to bloomington - that place is a thousand times worse, i would leave for a weekend or just a day and there would be like a whole new section of town just smiling at me - with its brand new black parking lots and white cut stone. but it didn't bother me that much cause bloomington isn't mine, my years at isu were rented, not bought. but peoria is mine or at least it used to be...

today's recommended mp3 - Damien Jurado - Rehersals for Departure

i guess i better start writing better stuff i'f i'm gonna be a real blog writer. today i went to my old high school to see about subsitute teaching jobs. it was a really weird experince. as i pulled up i got a nervous feeling in my stomach like when your really late for a class or when you did something wrong to someone and now your gonna talk to them for the first time. Anyways the first thing that took me back was the smell of the heat; those big high schools run some massive blower system and it has a distinctive smell. one whiff of that and i'm back to p.e. and study hall. everything was suprisingly unchanged really, the same stupid banners down the hall, the same type of kids wandering the halls, and the same disgruntled secretaries out for blood. high school was so strange....college is infinitely better. mmm... this isn't very creative writing, its tougher to write on a blog compared to a journal because other people read them; you end up protecting yourself more than you would with a journal and it therefore isn't really as personal, you try to make yourself out to be something your not. something better, smarter, cooler...

today's recommended mp3 - The Tragically Hip - Ahead by a Century.

the best part about blogs is that someone actually reads them... that just cracks me up. hey, your reading this? get a life, there must be something better to do than to read this useless crap. take a walk read a book write a letter learn an instrument draw a picture set up your own blog and make fun of the people who read it.

oh, it does work cool. blogs are cool. ok, mmm... my dog's name is pip. i like taco's and indie rock. my mom thinks im cool.

why does this not work?

hi, this is my web site and my blog. i am a big dork. type. type. type.