scientist, artist, aspiring author. teacher. idealist. person who likes to think a lot about the world. Aspergerian. follower of Jesus. person who cares a lot.
I am trying to be a writer :)
Give Up Revisited
Given the popularity and critical acclaim of the indie-electronic group The Postal Service, it might come as a surprise that they only released one studio album, Give Up. In the intervening eighteen years, they have given us a tenth anniversary edition and, now, a live album, originally recorded in 2013 and released in December 2020. But The Postal Service doesn’t even need a follow-up. The original album is regarded as something of a classic for both its unique soundscape and Gibbard’s distinctive songwriting. And more importantly, it has packed a mighty punch in indie music history, demonstrating for the first time that indie lyrical sensibilities can pair well with electronic production and paving the way for a range of successful crossovers since.
Winter at Walden
Henry has lived in the cabin in the woods by the pond for two years. He now knows this woods, and this pond, as his closest friends. Closer than the frequent guests he invites for dinner, his friends among the writers and thinkers. No, his friendship with the pond is as close as the footprint in the snow that caresses his boot, or the amicable darkness that hangs about at dusk when he sits on his porch and muses, as he often does.
A Ghost in the Woods
[TW: implied violence] After I died, after all the pain and fear, I remember I was floating over my body, but I crashed. When I woke up, it was still dark, black treeshapes against blacker night. No feeling in my body. Still fear.
I have the same nightmare every night. When I close my eyes, green lines flicker against the dark. They solidify, forming bars like the laser lines in those spy heist movies, a cage I can’t escape. The lines speed towards me, the flicker ephemeral around the sharp green glow. They’re getting closer, closer, closer, I’m scared and I want to run, but I’m frozen, and—
The Black Bull of Norroway
The wind is swift today; the highland grasses are swaying. The stalks bob up and down with each gust, rippling like the wavelets of the ocean. In a fit of inspiration, I undo my braid and let my hair loose to the winds. My hair is wavy, bright orange to match the freckles that spatter my face. It billows out behind me and for a moment I am lost in wild bliss.
40 Days of Quarantine
Day 1 It's 3 in the morning , and what's happening seems important. I don't think I'll be able to remember this when I get a few hours of decent sleep, so I'm writing it all down. At 2 in the morning, the most ungodly hour to wake someone up, I was woken up by a person in a face mask. I was still very cloudy-minded , so I didn't hear all of what he (even though, for all I know, it could have been a woman) said, but it sounded like I had to be tested for some disease. I asked what they were talking about and the person in the mask just said there was a huge pandemic going around.