Interpol - All The Rage Back Home

It is dark. We are driving; I AM driving, and she is traveling on a passenger seat because she is a big girl already,
my daughter,
she is talking and waving her arms and meters go by, and kilo-meters, semaphores, street lamps and parking lots guarded by dogs,
we are driving
and the radio is on.

There is a song on the radio.
She is listening to the song and I am not because I am driving and because I am a thousand miles away from that car and from that radio and from that song,
but she is happy and she's waving her arms and she yells:

"Why don't we have more songs like this?"

and I have no clue who we are listening to but the question is a lead ball starting the Rube Goldberg machine in my head and after a stream of clicks and whirls and cubes and falls
in the time span shorter then two blinks of an eye
my brain comes up with:
"But we do! We have complete Interpol discography."

After we come home we look into Interpol, we ask for recommendation where to start - because I do not know their discography but rather their sound - and we listen to, recommended,
All The Rage Back Home.

I keep falling, maybe half the time, maybe half the time
I keep falling, maybe half the time, maybe half the time
But it's all the rage back home
It's all the rage back home

She claps her hands, ecstatic to stand in front of one more door leading into the room filled with treasure,
and I sit there motionless,
my insides cut open,
while wondrous hypnotic rhymes avalanche me with powdery whiteness of emotion.
Each wonderful snowflake feather-light mathematical jewel.
All of them together crushing weight of existence.

I keep falling, maybe half the time, maybe half the time
I keep falling, maybe half the time, maybe half the time
But it's all the rage back home
It's all the rage back home

(Above text is my Facebook post published on 05/Dec/2018 - translated from Croatian)

The Mountain Goats - No Children

The child fell in love with No Children by The Mountain Goats so that is what we are listening to every morning before facing our day.

She gets up first.

She pushes the wet cat food from the tiny bag into the cat bowls and puts the oatmeal into the microwave while Philly D. is still summarizing yesterday's news, and then she sits to eat and lets Darnielle tell us again (but usually at least three more times) this story of hope and despair and fatality and loss and alcohol and love and the moment trapped in the amber of poetry.

Having it before breakfast makes me a little bit sick,

but,

later on I go to work, I live life and on the brink of returning from work to life I sit in a car full of girls I'm driving home, across the street from Velesajam, while the wind is howling and the Park is waving to me with its lovely long fingers of branches full of fresh leaves

and in my head I hear John listing stuff

and the words shared with us by Andrija Škare about that song during the first Slušaj me.

Behind the eyes, in the dark space, the thoughts are billowing 

and the arrhythmic ticker softly progresses through its numbers. 

Life is beautiful. Pain is a trove. Be happy for this moment for this moment is your life.

Volcano Choir - Comrade

Recently

the world is like a treadmill:

if I'm not running fast enough then I fall

and break my head open.

Living dangerously!

...And yet...

this on-the-border life also holds the particular beauty of continuously being just one sigh apart from an orgasm.

Pain is so close to pleasure.

When the Repave was released, in 2013.,

I was not Vernon's fan because his work with Bon Iver felt too pretentious and poser-like

but Volcano Choir has completely thrilled me.

Today a friend reminded me of a recent listening through new Lambchop album

(The December-ish you is a fcukin masterpiece!),

and to remember Volcano Choir was just a tiny step forward.

Repave is growing old so nicely

and Comrade

my wonderful favorite

is lovely and lovelier than in 2013.

Everything in it is wonderful;

Auditory abundance

Vernon's jagged lyricism

Rhythm of coitus mixed with the context of military and of brotherhood...

                *             *             *

They say you ain't a comrade

Still, I'd know you'd come back

For a folly-ridden Romeo, you break down a fortress now Standing out in public Stained with your conscience

I know that you love me

You are just lawless, son