Midnight Prayers

Dollar Store Novels for Free

Month: November, 2013

Day 0: Moving on, Again, Sort of

Something people probably know about me is that I have a brother.  Another thing people probably know about brothers is that they disagree often, not because they’re so different, though that’s sometimes the case, but because of something as basic as proximity.  If you live near someone long enough, you’re bound to find discourse, and that’s something I’ve found with my brother.  His name is John.  He’s a grad student at Georgetown and an Aries.  He also thinks differently from me because he’s a separate, conscious individual formed from original, if adjacent, life experiences.  He is not me, and I am not him, so we argue to measure the gap between us, to remember who we are.  I’m not sure we’d forget, but it’s definitely helpful to set a reminder.

The point is that we’re starting a blog together, over on Tumblr, where we’ll argue, agree, argue again, then not talk to each other for weeks at a time as we write on things that interest just one of us since we are, again, separate, uniquely conscious individuals.  I will still be posting here, but not nearly as often.  There is no shape to this project, only energy, like early Paul Thomas Anderson.  We’re just trying to make it rain frogs.

Follow this link to read our arguments: http://seanchairevisited.tumblr.com/


Day 172: Playlist Music – Joyce Manor’s “Constant Headache”

Don’t listen to anything else, listen to this, it’s that good, trust me, I put it first for a reason.

It might not have original subject matter (it’s about a one night stand), but Joyce Manor’s “Constant Headache” is a showcase of the grimy, sharp-elbowed realism punk can collide into when it’s done right.  “But you were drunker than high school, self-conscious and sweet/I never ever felt so cool disguised in your sheets”.  It’s a song written like the final chapter of a novel, bursting at the seams with subtext so thick it’d swallow you up if only the song’s tide wasn’t relentlessly pulling you out to sea.

Not that any of that matters, really.  Either way, you’re going to drown.