uncontrollable falling down

Lorrie Moore

What the water wants is hurricanes, And sailboats to ride on its back. What the water wants is sun kiss, And land to run into and back. I have a fish stone burning my elbow, Reminding me to know I'm glad That I have a bottle filled with my own teeth. They fell out like a tear in the bag. And I have a sister in Detroit. She has black hair and small hands. And I have a kettledrum. I'll hit the earth with you. And I will crochet you a hat. And I have a red kite; I'll put you right in it. I'll show you the sky.

The Same Boy You've Always Known is my favorite song that Jack has ever written. To see it performed like this is something really special.

(ok, except this)

can listen to nothing else right now

Don't forget this feeling. The electric buzz in the ribs when baby is high up, the funny shudder as it kicks around like it wants to come out and say hello. Before, I thought it would feel alien, but at first I could barely distinguish the kicks from my own jittery muscles. It still feels strangely like it's me that's moving, in a way, but then again it's impossible to deny there's a separate entity in there, squirming away the day in the warm little world of my body. I sing Beatles and Leadbelly songs, even when I'm out of breath from the pressure on my lungs, and search for signs it likes the music. I rub the little mystery bumps that bow out asking to be touched -- a heel, or maybe a knee? I find the latest development -- hiccups -- endlessly amusing, a soft and rhythmic beat inside my belly. When I wake up, usually anywhere from 2 to 6am at this point, I wait anxiously for the first movement and finally feel safety and relief when it comes. It all feels so other-worldly and impossible, but at the same time, the most natural thing in the world.