Sadly, I’m not sure any human – no matter how good lookin - is sexier than BULLDOGS in hoodies. I love love loveee seeing hawt boys and girls in hoodies in the winter. Jeff Buckley: Good for winter - YES! However, clearly not better than Dolly Parton circa 6:45AM in the wintry snow-capped mountains of Vermont. Written in rain in a coat designed to be unbreakable Sleep for an hour or two if only in respect Over old months collected and times we've spent With the last of the ice early april melts It feels like the cardboard might be searing away the lines of our fingerprints, but it feels like so much good heat all at once, I'm willing to burn my tongue or my identity just to taste it.
In the winter we have cups without sleeves. In the summer we have shirts without sleeves. I am thinking of my fingers on the coffee cup without a sleeve. Maggie and i just had a 10 minute conversation about ways to get Starbucks delivered here (car service? homeless person? courier? submissive man from craigslist?). please please please let me get what I want/the smiths. But too many homo-people didn't get Christmas, didn't get real questions about their lives which are words that mean I Love You, instead they got the cold stare people deliver instead of saying I hate you you make me nervous and they didn't get rings that later go with certificates to announce at cheering tables of families lost already to the abc family channel and so you come back to where you've set up exile and you wait and in six days, it is Your Holiday, it's The L Word Day, where lesbians are beauty queens and straights are serving punch and crackers on folded tables, it's The L Word Day you deserve it, everyone else just had Christmas, goddamnit. The straight people got Christmas, because they had swollen bellies holding babies and man holding wife. The L Word Day is because everyone else got Christmas. I remember when the boys complained 'Why isn't there a "Take Your Son to Work Day?" and I thought Because every day is Take Your Son to Work Day, because that's how it is, you take him there-THERE-or you raise him to believe he deserves Assigned Work and he takes himself somewhere like THERE, and The L Word is Our Day, like Our Chart. In grey freezing January, you have no choice about happiness. "Not people who want to be happy," I said. "Everybody loves Jeff Buckley," a friend said to me yesterday. Listening to Jeff Buckley is the closest we can get to unbridled pain without having any unbridled pain in our own lives.
Crack open a cold one with my boys trump ice skin#
But what gets me about funeral songs (those of us who've spent years feeling morbid, staring into voids of emotion or aspiration, know this) is that people can't sing at their own funeral, you know? But if the ghost of Jeff Buckley could've sang a song at the funeral of Jeff Buckley I would like for it to be "Lilac Wine." Listening to Jeff Buckley is like flirting with Death, except that Death is fashion model with expensive skin and eyes like bullets and she is wearing a white t-shirt and Jeff Buckley's underwear. He (not Jeff Buckley, but My He, an Illusive He, He Himself) told me in one of our first conversations that he wanted to play Tom Waits at his funeral, "Take it With Me," to be specific, and I've listened to it a million times since then and I think I agree, mine too, maybe he and I will go down together, that would be easiest, you could just play the song once. An open letter of tribute to Winter-Wear, My Winter Essentials:
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