listening to kris delmhorst, covering peter mulvey's 'ithaca' (i've always worked out better... or should i say that i've had better workouts, while listening to slow, intense music, rather than loud, pulsing music... maybe that says something about me?):
we leave this cursed city
the same way we come in,
we trace the roads
on our way out, we shed
our uncertainties like clothes...
then i spend time cruising the news in between sets of reps (again, one of those odd quirks... i love reading in between sets... think a little less about the aches and pains, i guess). i find headlines like 'j.lo craves an oscar' a few inches from 'nation honors rosa parks' and a few more inches to 'Claim of responsibility for deadly India blasts.'
love will never listen to us,
why should it?
love knows the score,
builds better songs than we do,
sings a better metaphor....
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