sewn to the sky

Red days are when the wolves howl all night and in the morning the birds return with torn out feathers. The days are filled with ambulance sirens. My hair is on fire. Everything moves in slow motion. The flames, the heat, my body soaked in kerosene. The screams in the distance. The monster in the corner, gawking. The stripped birds. And then: the wolves. 

Blue days are heavy and I spend them speaking in spiderwebs. My reflection is clouded and the air is always too humid. The world does anything it can to make my bones weigh me down. My hands, a noose. My head, a haunted house. My heart, turned into a stress ball for when you needed it most.

Green days are spent wondering if it was painful when the sky had stars sewn into it. Wondering if the pain was worth it. Cactus spines stuck underneath skin when you try to drink the water. I am walking the precipice, one foot in the real world and one stuck in dreams. I am an inventor these days, writing fables for a childhood I can’t remember.

Purple days are murky and the owls have dangerous omens. I am on the tightrope. I am living out my childhood dream of being a ballerina. I am the circus act. I am the caged bird. I am spinning on my axis. The bystanders hold a collective breath. They are, after all, just paying for a pretty show. They don’t care about what comes after the fall.

Yellow days are a safe haze, coating my hands in syrup. My blood stays on the inside of my body. My skin actually does its job. Everything is safe and sultry. There is lemonade without sugar. There is your messy mouth again. Everything moves in reverse. There is my candy necklace. There are the sunflowers. There is the sunset we named after us.

Pink days are sunrises and fairy floss. I write about flowers and paint my face in watercolors. There are sugar angels on the counters. The spice containers are overfilling. I am happy and whole. I am kinetic energy and the explosion that comes with. I am rosy cheeked, and roses growing from my wrists. There is no pain. There is only the beauty I’ve torn myself apart to create. I am on the edge of a cliff. I have my wings. When I jump, I am a bird set free.
—  COLOR COORDINATED DAYS, angelea l.
Cow
Smog
Cow

Smog // Cow // Strayed

Cow was one of the earliest Smog recordings, a self-released cassette of instrumental guitar noise from the late-80′s, pre-Sewn To The Sky even. Drag City eventually reissued it without notice as the b-side of some versions of the Strayed CD single.  

“Did you ever love him?”

“Of course,” she replies easily, eyes to the sky, a twisted smile sewn on her lips, “but our love wasn’t two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that could perfectly fit together, and our patience wasn’t a strong enough glue to keep us from falling apart.”

—  hanavmaki

He talked about her like she held the moon in her hands. She alone had sewn the stars into the sky.

I watched as he mumbled, staring not at me, but through me, and I felt the enormity of my loneliness – bone-crushing since the moment I saw his truck pulling away from my doorstep, headlights vanishing into the horizon.

He said her name like a prayer; it was heavy with silence and hushed, a confession from which he needed to be absolved.

He held onto her name the same way I held onto us. He recalled his pain the same way I remembered how it felt to snap a door shut behind another person’s retreating back – like waving a white flag, like falling apart.

It made me wonder how – even after all of the years we spent together, running in circles, running out of breath, chasing some elusive sense that we were meant for more – I have still managed to care about him more than he could care about me.

—  After that, I was too drunk to ask the questions I should have (I hate myself)

Trying to think of a logical reason of why Pitchfork gave Sewn To The Sky by Smog an 8.0, since that album seems pure noise, it’s almost unlistenable, too much lo-fi.. TOO much lo-fi. Anyway, if you are a fan of experimental music and your favorite Beck album is Mellow Gold and your favorite Sigur Rós album is Von, then you’ll probably like this. There are some songs which are listenable, but others that don’t  even have a melody. Still, I’m glad I am listening to it, since it shows clearly how much Smog’s music has developed throughout the years. Oh, and also because I finally finished listening to the eight albums Smog released in the 90’s! Who releases eight album in only ten years?!

me, with my color coded sadness wrung across my neck, and how we have talk about dipping our toes in the sand-i called you ocean, and maybe you didn’t understand what that meant; all you ever do is smile, and all i ever did was to keep quiet. i am sorry i didn’t explain. i am sorry that i can’t; i’ve never had the words, or the understanding for this. i am broken world / shattered sky / the sun sewn into one; skin of a person. i am strong front / strong front / and more strong front- i am an uprooted palm tree- in a storm; drowning myself in seemingly unfamiliar waters, with the grittiness of salt in my teeth, and a pair of damaged lungs yet again. i could plead for you to save me, as the moon- but is that what we want, standing on the edge of a bridge ready to jump- with a harness and everything; this is how it feels to let go for the weak.