Build a rocket boys!

Be still my heart! I remembered this song this morning at the train station, where my dorky foggy breath was getting confused with the cool smoke coming from the lungs of the girl next to me. My eyes were all welled up as Guy Garvey hit that second build a rocket boys! and I know it had nothing to do with the icy wind blowing on my face. Sigh. Today bits of blue sky wove between clouds like watercolours and it made me realise that even though the sky is so grey it's worth going outside because of the holes of blue. 


If my belief is correct, and Apple is taking over not only the world but our minds as well, my iPod was certainly intertwined with my own nostalgic habits this morning on the train. First Lippy Kids, then this:

Oh Joni you just know everything.


and then this: 

I was considering this song today and I honestly would list it as one of my favourite songs ever. It is just the best. I don't know why. Perhaps it's because of the state I was in when I first found it; comically serious, huddled in a corner on a bus from paradise to palookaville and surrounded by same-aged hungover hooligans, vomiting in plastic bags in front of and behind me. It paints weird lines in crimson and grey all over me and all around me until I can't even smell vomit anymore. I had to have a blood test yesterday so perhaps I'm feeling particularly fond of it right now because of the doctor's needle that was inside of me and the time spent with the dizzy head of a non-meat eating nineteen year old female...but I think there is still certainly that something there that is so appealing. One day I want to listen to it and lie on the edge of the pier from the paradise the bus took me away from, backwards with my head over the side so that the sky and the ocean are vice versa and I don't know which way is up anymore. 

Well, I met you at the blood bankWe were looking at the bagsWondering if any of the colorsMatched any of the names we knew on the tagsYou said, see look that's yoursStacked on top with your brother'sSee how the resemble one anotherEven in their plastic little coversAnd I said I know it wellThat secret that you knew but don't know how to tellIt fucks with your honor and it teases your headBut you know that it's good girl'Cause its running you with redThen the snow started fallingWe were stuck out in your carYou were rubbing both of my handsChewing on a candy barYou said, ain't this just like the presentTo be showing up like this?As a moon waned to crescentWe started to kissAnd I said I know it wellThat secret that we know that we don't know how to tellI'm in love with your honor, I'm in love with your cheeksWhat's that noise up the stairs, babe?Is that Christmas morning creaks?And I know it well, I know it wellAnd I know it well, I know itAnd I know it, I know itAnd I know it, I know it

And last but not least, I sat with EE Cummings on the way home, who I love very much, and who I read with wide young eyes, amazed not only by how words can be so goshdarn beautiful-sounding but beautiful-looking too. I only just remembered this as I read through some of his work today, but a while ago I decided to do away with capitalisation ALL TOGETHER purely because of Cummings. While this was an ill-fated tribute in many aspects (my high school teachers were quite annoyed), I still write my letters to loved ones, my diary entries and my songs with no capitals - and of all the things I write, those are the things that matter the most, don't you think?