Obligatory Best-of-Decade Post, part 1 of 1.

I’m taking a break from not writing poetry to hunker down and consider my own list(s) for the best things of this decade, as this is the first decade of my life I can claim to coherently remember almost all of. I’m tempted to go with a film list, as it’s what I’ve had the most experience speaking critically about on the internet. But for no better reason than it’s just what I’m in the mood for, I’m going to break down my top albums of the ’00s.

But the thing is, I’m completely self-indulgent (I have a poetry blog, for fuck’s sake), so this list has nothing to do with trendsetting or societal/industry/cultural impact. In fact, calling this a “Best-of” list is probably a misnomer, since it’s really just “All the Shit I Liked Over the Last 10 Years.”

So… yeah. Here’s about a dozen of my picks, in no particular order….

Queens of the Stone Age, Songs for the Deaf (2002)

It’s a long drive from the Mojave to Los Angeles, and Songs for the Deaf is the perfect accompaniment to such a strange trip. This album, which features the strongest drumming of Dave Grohl’s career, to say nothing of Josh Homme’s knack for making simple ideas seems complex and vice versa, rocks in a dozen different ways from start to finish. Progressing not unlike a David Lynch film, it starts out with enough punch to hook you in, and slowly gets a little more strange as it goes on, culminating with a set of songs that are a little creepy, a little sexy, and endlessly intriguing.

Jimmy Eat World, Bleed American (2001)

I don’t want to sound like a dick, but Bleed American is easily Jimmy Eat World’s best album. And why is that? Because it’s their most DIY effort, eschewing major-label support and forcing the band to take day jobs to pay for the recording. In my opinion, its a near-perfect pop rock record, starting off with a huge bang (the title track) and moving smoothly through upbeat anthems and heartfelt acoustic songs. The biggest charm to this album is that a lot of its songs are about songs, or more specifically, how much songs can mean to people and the way they encapsulate moments and memories. Bleed American is an album for music lovers, by music lovers.

Iron & Wine, Our Endless Numbered Days (2004)

It was the first time he recorded in an actual studio, but all the technology in the world can’t affect Samuel Beam’s voice, and he sings with such intimacy that it’s as if he were a tiny bearded angel perched on your shoulder. Iron & Wine’s debut, Creek Drank the Cradle, was lauded for being stunningly good for something recorded on four tracks in someone’s house. But there is absolutely no authenticity sacrificed by Our Endless Numbered Days being recorded in a studio. If anything, it benefits from the scene change, allowing for a fuller sound thanks to outside musicians and proper mixing. Iron & Wine won hearts by being soft, emotional and intimate, and Our Endless Numbered Days is all of those things.

R. W.

I had the craziest dream about me last night.
I didn’t fly, or see through walls
I (still) couldn’t even dance.
The crazy thing was that
all of a sudden, with total clarity,
I really knew who I was.
I saw all my hopes, my fears
and my goals in full focus
for the first time.
All that uncertainty, gone.
The crippling torment of doubt
that kept me from moving in any direction
was lifted, and I suddenly realized
the best ways to travel in all directions.
And so i set off at once, the direction unimportant
because I knew just what lay ahead.
The euphoria that comes with complete confidence
in your actions is an unrivaled sensation.
On I walked, knowing – knowing – I was
on the right course.
So I walked closer to my destination, to the
reward I had refused to let myself see I had always wanted
And then–

Out of Season

Today I was driving
and I was looking at the yellowing leaves
and the oranging leaves
and the reddening leaves
and it made me think about autumn
which made me think about pumpkins
which made me think about pie
which made me think about Thanksgiving
which made me think about the parade
which made me think about Santa Claus.
And I got to thinking,
about that time in your life,
when every adult you know
would lie to you, right to your face
for years and years and years.
Just so that it seemed like there was a little magic in the world.

The Odyssey – 1st Reprieve.

They laid there together, without
saying a word, letting the sound
of the falling rain fill the silent room.
He wondered how something that sounds
so much like the tapping of a thousand
impatient fingers could be so soothing.
She wondered why he never wanted to
play in the rain anymore.

Memorandum

The real world is no place for a writer to thrive.

this is not a suicide note, by the way.

Seven and One

I haven’t read nearly enough books.

Since the summer I’ve amassed this whole pile of “shit i should have read by now” but all I’ve managed to scrape off the top so far are Brave New World, 1984, and A Clockwork Orange, and I finished each of those by the end of september. I’m right now trying to read Cat’s Cradle by Vonnegut, but it’s been relegated to that humbled position of “bathroom reading” that must be making Kurt spin in his grave.

Indictment in Villanelle

Through all windows, I see only infinity.
You’re wrong, you know; raise yourself and the curtain
At least believe in a tangible divinity.

Isn’t it easy to see pessimistically?
Despite your best effort, I can say for certain
Through all windows, I see only infinity.

I don’t care about One, let alone a Trinity
I admit I do like trying to pervert an
Ideal such as intangible divinity.

These zealots will bury you neck deep in it, see,
Then they’ll tear you apart and leave you deserted.
Through all windows, you’ll see a lonely infinity.

So let’s escape; we can hide safely in a tree
Should it really be so wrong or absurd if
We placed ourselves on a mantel of divinity?

We’ll never worry about our ’sins’ in our tree
Rest now; I promise to never see you hurting
I believe in a tangible divinity
Because through all windows I see only you, infinitely.

4th Movement of the Odyssey

“I’d like to know,” he began,
turning the defrost up to an audible 3,
“just what is so endearing about melancholy
that compels me to desire it stick around for so long?”
Silence followed, save the white noise of the heater.
The snow in the headlights reminded him of stars,
flying past some interstellar spacecraft.
The road crunched and slipped under the buick
and only then would he wonder how old these tires are.
He turned to look at the passenger seat
as clarity slowly crept up the windshield.
He waited for her to say something cute,
something with her effortless profundity
that he made sure she thought he hated.
and if she were there, she might have.

Freeway Cars and Trucks

It would figure that the first thing i post in 2009 isn’t even written by me.

But it is an article written about a Tom Waits album.

As you read, ask yourself: does this remind you of someone you know?

i would say names were changed to protect the innocent,

but you and i both know theres no such thing.

Written Last March

Once the snow’s melted
I like to walk on the grass
as much as I can.
The way the ground feels
soft again, cushioning footsteps
like walking on layer cake
is such a hopelessly optimistic feeling.
The grass is still wet and weighed down
by phantom snow,

I almost wish
I was still pining for you.
Writing, at the very least,
would be easier.