november 3rd, 2008, 4:57 pm

this is nothing like it was in my room
in my best clothes
trying to think of you
this is nothing like it was in my room
in my best clothesthe national, mr. november

it's november. this time i'm armed, but none of my armaments are working. i'm afraid it will still get cold. is this the beginning of the end?

i will go to sleep early. i will wake early. it will be dark when i waken—i'll have a hot shower; i'll have coffee. the room will be warm with the glow of incandescent light. i'll pull on wool layers. then i'll put on a wool sweater.

unfortunately, that's all i know how to do.

you'll have to invent what you lack

now it's hunting season for sleeping demons
i want your attention, your infection
for every new reason, do you know how i need it?

oh your face and everything that you say
and oh your face and everything that you say
and oh your face and everything that you say

i almost washed us out talking to me
the call came like a wave of relief
i'm such a lucky mess
i just need some rest

take me along
from now on
take me along
from now onnada surf, from now on

i would say "create it and let it go," but i keep getting caught up on the first half of that aphorism. the first half is difficult when starved of value.

i love this double-entendre:

climbing from over-stimulated states to hearing
cold radio and license plates but don't dream
that it's a dream—it is what it seems
that it's a dream—it is what it seemsnada surf, weightless