alice

The last few weeks have been pretty great, the next few weeks are going to be awesome, starting tomorrow:

Tomorrow: Get up dead early to go to Cambridge to see brothers (and Joanne)

Next Thursday (Valentines Day): Bob is coming for the weekend :D:D

Weekend after that: Off to Durham for Amy’s birthday!

Mint, that’ll take me to the end of Feb, and then only have a few weeks left at work after that. Travel plans are going well, got a route, now I need to book hostels/inter-rail card x2 and I am practically sorted.

Yay.

(more…)

I’m coming into your town. Night is falling to the ground, but I can still see where you loved yourself before he tore it all down. April 12th, with nobody else around, you were outside the house… where’s your mother? When he put you in the car, when he took you down the road. And I can still see where it was open, the door he slammed closed. It was open, the door he slammed closed. It was open, long ago. But don’t lose me now, don’t lose me now. Though I know that I’m not useful anyhow, just let me stick around while I tell you, like before, you should say his name the way that he said yours. But you don’t want to say his name anymore. Oh, Cynda Moore. Baby daughter on the road, you’re wrapped up warm in daddy’s coat. Well I can still see the cigarette’s heat. I can’t believe all that you’re telling me, what is cutting like the smoke through your teeth as you are telling me forget it. But if I could tear his throat, and spill his blood between my jaws, and erase his name for good, don’t you know that I would? Don’t you realize I wouldn’t pause, that I would cut him down with my claws if I could have somehow never let that happen? Or I’d call, some black midnight, fuck up his new life where they don’t know what he did, tell his brand-new wife and his second kid. And I’ll tell you, like before, that you should wreck his life the way that he wrecked yours, you want no part of his life anymore. Oh Cynda Moore, don’t lose me now, let me help you out. Though I know that I can’t help you anyhow, when I watch you I’m proud. When I tell you twice before that you should wreck his life the way that he wrecked yours, you want no part of his life anymore. Oh Cynda Moore. It’ll never be the way it was before, but I wish that you would let me through that door. Let me through that door, baby.

This has been my favourite song for almost a year. I still can’t get enough of it, and last night, I heard it live! Bob saw Okkervil River live in London, and phoned me during this song YAY!

Look, though, I don’t know what notes you want to hear played, I can’t think what lines you’d like me to sing or say, and I’m not sure what subjects you want mentioned. So pause and add your own intentions. We’ve included a form you can print out and fill out and send below:
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All the latest toughs, well, we have seen that stuff, and we have seen enough blood in dying coughs, which means that we have lost. We have lost, and if you’re crying to be tossed they’ll toss you down the oubliette with all the old things that you let yourself forget because you’d like to love a star who’d throw you down below the ground he thinks you are.

I LOVE Okkervil River.