Sean Taylor's Blog, page 10

November 21st, 2016

I think I'll just take up mapping the bottom of the ocean.
Oh, thats real deep.

I remember every detail, the Germans wore grey, you wore blue.

On sadness and watching Casablanca on repeat.

I always paint myself as Rick. But I've been Victor Laszlo, I was just too busy being Victor, to appreciate it.

Everyone wants to be Rick, and Rick wants to be Victor.

Right now I'm definitely Rick. Who knows if I'll get to be Victor again.
Perhaps Victor is just short for Victory.
Fuck I miss when I was Victor.

Your prattling lips.

This is where I have decided to live, in the space between the pronunciation and exclamation of Anais Mitchell. She chokes me, when she is true. Her album ‘Young Man in America,’ is all of the empty shovels of agriculture, split-seconds, before they hit their crop.
And in every swing we see fruition, and yet we keep on swinging.
And when it comes up full, (when she comes up full) we will choke. Our eyes will team with our nose, to water a feeling something like some gold.
We will discover th...

Fortune spent, but that's irrelevant, to build something that's sacred till the end.

Conor Oberst is no stranger to vulnerability. Now his latest album ‘Ruminations’ seems his last best refined attempt at salvation by exposure. Not far from the opening lines of the opening song Tachycardia these words rest, “I’m a stone’s throw from everyone I love and know, but I can’t show up looking like I do.” There is a pressing narrative to this naked language he employs throughout. The album is also instrumentally stripped sometimes urgent, wherein he has exhaled upon full orchestras...

"So long living in between a tiny screen and slightly larger screen, the loneliest way to stay alone."

When John K. Samson tells us in the title song “Winter Wheat” “We know this world is good enough, because it has to be, allow the hope that we will meet, again out in the winter wheat,” he is hand written in a field. His pace is set in the eyes of everyone that has glanced a landscape after arriving somewhere quiet, be it to a thought or a place, and there is a great level of endearing comfort there.

When he is chasing the beat of another song, Postdoc blues, he sings “Don't despair, you'll...

Oh sad young man I think I need you, for reasons I don't know

Roughly twelve years ago (my god that is forever ago) as an eighteen year old boy I took classes at Fullerton Junior College. I don’t remember why but I met a girl named Christina who introduced me to a girl named Amy (that I would go on to foolishly fall in love with).
Amy introduced me to a song called Worn me Down by Rachael Yamagata.
Tonight, I saw Rachael Yamagata live.
It took me twelve years to see her. I didn’t go to war, I didn’t study abroad. I just never did.
She has released four albu...

Everything I'm not allowed to say

I've probably already said.
Now it's just deep breaths for the anxiety and music for the heart and time for the cure all.
I got that job.
There's a disco ball switch I sometimes hit, it's a feigning star.
I want to say I'm working on a new poem.
I want to write reviews on the new Conor Oberst record, and the new John K Samson record.
I hope I do. It's this damn anxiety.
Ever panic attack in the shower? It's like if I die now my roommate will see me naked.
Anxiety really cuts down on my water bill.
Dra...

I know how I get.

On Friday I’m interviewing for a job that closely resembles a job that I had when I was the happiest I’ve ever been.

I’ve quit a job that numbed and depressed me, and cost me a beautiful relationship that I miss more than anything right now. I spent years under this fog, I didn’t care about anything, I culled anxiety just to feel something. Since I’ve been working on my feet again the fog has slowly cleared, and since I don’t drive all day I actually feel alive. This week the fog seems to hav...

Notes on Alaska, on a boat, part two

The chlorine in the pool found a burn on my left thumb after the rush of jumping into the seven foot deep water. I wondered if I collected all of the exhales of all of the passengers and pressed them into all of the bedsheets that we never used to make enormous sails, would we get anywhere? How many passengers had the good exhales. I swam back and forth to get my heart rate up to warm my body and forget about the burn on my thumb.
On the third or fourth night I realized my friends and I (for...

Alaska, on a Ship, Part One

Preface- no edits never forever.

I spent the last ten days on a cruise ship to Alaska. The night before the first day of the trip a friend of mine asked if I’ve read David Foster Wallace’s non-fiction essay “Shipping Out.”
I had not.
And as a fan of David Foster Wallace (not an Infinite Jest (yet) fan but a Girl With Curious Hair fan) I downloaded it.
It is most definitely worth reading. Click here for a link to read it for free if interested.

“Shipping Out” written in nineteen ninety-six, t...