The Noresoup Jukebox

Josephine Foster - Little Life loss is so apparent the dinner table loses a chair, a place mat removed but the meals are still made for six and the meat is someone's favourite dish someone who isn't missing but is not in their usual place, the armchair facing the front door, the wooden bench in the gardens, the mug so tenderly held  the deep laugh that ended with a sigh laughing together sounds different than it did before familiar hands, held to reimagine what is almost gone similar smiles, familiar eyebrows - and the way they furrow finding jokes to paint over what is almost lost the human mind is so cruel with remembering gone in bits and then lots before you are ready before you notice it's leaving and then you meet someone who reminds you and go home - heart heavy with guilt the punishing self, going back when you've gone so far ahead. hard to remember to keep the hope brewing keep the kitchen alive, the pot half-full leave the bedroom and bid the night adieu  to n...

juvenile feelings, juvenile thoughts juvenile writings breed juvenile lots writer acutely aware of juvenile ways juvenile in their approach to juvenile essays from reader who is juvenile in expressions of juvenile laments, of juvenile sorrows to juvenile minds who think they can be great juvenile greatness, veiling juvenile laze  which might explain my juvenile claims that i am capable only of juvenile grades for if juvenile at heart, juvenile in spirit then all must juvenile, or none will hear it 

The Roches -Hammond Song I lost a friend to the illusion of marriage. The most bizarre thing was not the change brought by the introduction of a man (near blasphemy, I must say). Change is bound to happen—inevitable with the encounter of novelty. Novelty in itself is bizarre. Yes, and yet, the most bizarre thing was in the ordinary: the unexpected willingness to abandon the self in the face of imagined union, and the imagined happiness tied to it— tying oneself to this illusion, illustrating it through meek, childish displays of marital love—whatever that is. To behold it as a previous lover, carer, friend, now forever demoted to mere observer— the man promoted as partner— himself not having known the person more than thirty days. How disposable it is to be friend, how much more indelible to be enemy! Perhaps it is my contentment in platonic company and family that immunizes me from disparagement regarding my refusal of marriage, of love, of romance. I do not hate men; I love all three...

Fleetwood Mac - Landslide weekly phone call with the family i tell my father i do not know what to be he says endearingly do not worry the world has empty seats when i met my professor yesterday she told the class we were dumb, aloof and lazy she meant it,  she was not often inspired instead, compassion for our silent, hopeless choir better to have a hopeful father for hope requires ignorance often worse yet for a hopeless professor for she sees where his hope goes barren for the child in between; a constant state of longing, yearning to be or not to be that is still the persisting question child in a sea of children yes, all children look alike bathed in the same bathwater bathed with the soap of heaven's light clothed in cloaks of linen lined with red polyester  child looks forward to the future child grows child loses hope, child loses father.

Kate Bollinger - A Couple Things i haven't done any good this week i did the laundry once i cooked a total of 5 times 5 meals in 7 days means 16 left to crumbs my brother and i work well together  i cook and what is left, he cleans he loves me but might never know  that i get killed in all my dreams we meet at 4 in the morning  for what must be the 14th time  for him, his finals approaching  for me, delaying decay;  which is to say not committing the most sinful crime.

Sharon Van Etten - One Day i have made happy  three people in the past week my mother, my father and my closer friend, yepekali she writes to me at five to ask me if I've slept and it should be a crime that the replies repeat - not yet, not yet well neither have I! but what keeps you up at night?  is it the coffee? the stress? is it memories of the guy who slept on the left side of your twin-sized bed? how to simplify the complicated? i say all the above! the coffee, the stress, the memories, us trying to enjoy our 20's me, hermit, in my bedroom, failing miserably pulling out my hair because all I'm good for  is writing writing writing so then write! and then some more! what is stopping you from poetic galore? how to confront the sorry self the unhappy who makes happy - mess oh well, you know how i can get, i write only when it comes to me and if it comes to me gently and sweetly if otherwise, i reject it completely no other critic as spiteful as I as to glance at my writ...

Lau Noah - if a tree falls in love with a river songs as capsules i cannot listen to alice phoebe lou anymore haven't slept right in thirty nights correct that the body keeps score new hair fades into the same brown i cannot wash you out last I cried, it was my professor i am mortified, i cannot cry any more in the end we try to be kind i haven't woken up in eighty-eight days i was listening to Jane Austen until she went and passed away bliss is but a fleeting state smoking under a whirring fan last night i dreamt i had you worst dream i've ever had

Pink Floyd - Wot's ... Uh the Deal When I was five God was all the bigger things the great sun before it set wind when it blew fiercely my mother holding me my father's deep voice, bedtime stories and when he came home from work God was the chocolate in his socks my body lifting from the car to the bed Oswald, plastic Barbie dolls, my baby sister Angie Then I was fifteen God was all the smaller things a smile reciprocated the mattress, softer the boy next door, glimpses my sister growing 3 more inches my brother passing the ball play-fighting on the bed bruised arms putting posters on the wall God was the cheesecakes I baked the bleachers in the morning the starfruit tree covering the sunset Well, at twenty-three I'll have you know Life is not so grand, after all the leaf falls because it is weak the moon doesn't glow, it reflects beams the chai is better today because of a lucky brew not because of divine faith, or me, or you sheets fresh and pressed only to be thrashe...

mordechai,  i cannot seem to write about myself,  so i must write to you the other night you called and i couldn't pick up it reminded me of the calls i sent you on the rooftop, turning 20 you were tipsy, i was a crying fool how much we've grown since then me lighter you heavier with love and gratitude i made chicken stew the other day it reminded me of you and the chicken you boiled in my crappy flat how you had all 3 kilograms, not one, not two you pat my head four times you said there's comfort in change well, say it once, and then again let it be the only constant thing for i was blue then now i have been five other colours one of them reminiscent of butter like the love you found just a month later an unexpected hue of happy on a bleak sheet of course, unruled paper mordechai, you're a proper fella! i always believed in you the last time i cried, it was only because i was so glad to meet you take care of yourself as you have i have happier tears due and if no one h...

Ruby, I wanted to write to you because I found you on the lawn today. I was wearing red,  You were tired and it was evident that we barely slept. I wonder if the same squirrel that stole our food was the one that scratched me today. Change is innate for Hudson Lane; That old bar, Judge and Jury, wooden interiors and stained glass doors, was closed down the other day. From a certain angle, you can still make out the J and at the cusp of dusk, you can find two unsure girls making use of the 50% sale. Love sure is different now for the both of us; who knew it could be so tragic? The other day, I saw us leaving that posh cafe - do you remember? I got an Americano as always, and then paid for your latte. I wanted to stop them and tell them they would be okay but then you wouldn't be Ruby  and I wouldn't be this awful poet  and as we know, the pain we knew then would soften the pain we now know. I wonder if you're watching me right now Ruby.  I wonder if it might be alrigh...