AMERICA THE SORROW

I almost feel Presbyterian

Breathless as the owner of the car you’ve just stolen and unsettling as the first date who says I love you, Nate Slawson doesn’t push boundaries in Panic Attack, U.S.A., he warps them like a telekinetic Proteus.

In addition to dealing with nostalgia head-on, one of Panic Attack, U.S.A.’s strongest qualities is its appropriation of a seemingly immature teenage voice, and how it uses what could be a thin, reedy, irritating whine to gracefully address a number of “big” topics.

this old jam is my new jam, my always jam, my repeat jam--"my heart's an open sore that I hope heals soon"

wish I could find this whole damn thing...but I'll settle for the 2 London shows I got

THE ANSWER IS BLUEBERRIES AND ALL OF THE ABOVESometimes we try to pull our ears off and sometimes we pull off our clothes instead and I can't say which I prefer though I have an idea you have an idea that we have the same idea and sometimes there is nothing better than knowing that what ends doesn't really end if you remember hard enough     and I remember everything so hard it hurts it hurts my head and it hurts my beating heart but I love how hurt feels because I can remember much more how good naked feels. 

THE SAFEST TIME TO SWIM IS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHTWe should say something about darkness and the way it smells but I'd rather go outside in the middle of the night and swim across the lawn pulling pieces of grass from my teeth forgetting what it's like to wear pants because the wet grass feels almost unbearable unbearable in the same way a brand new love is unbearable and what would you say if I said I wanted to swim from lawn to lawn until there were no more lawns and then lie down forever until forever pulls us into tiny pieces like the rest of the universe? 

THE LIFE OF RABBITSWe are stones washed up on the riverbank shiny as the pants we wear when we're wearing pants which is not very often which is the greatest love of all     we feel good eventho we are sad we feel like brand new sweaters covered in ice cream and it's the same feeling every day every day the same day that ever was every day a new day that never will be again. 

EVERYTHING IS SOMETHING WHEN IT'S GLOWINGAnd the summer comes back with tiny fangs tiny muscles pulling our heads together into a new kind of sun a new kind of sun that's made of pop songs and Pop Rocks and glowing     the kind of glowing we can agree on we agree this kind of glowing has audiences cheering has our names cured in the sidewalk concrete. 

THE DICTIONARY RHYMES WITH ORANGEI like to imagine we are two airplanes landing softly into the sea     the sea is what we've named ourselves because we are always running out to somewhere bluer on the other side and we tell every-one our wings are snapping and we are crashing into each other each of us the sea we are crashing into and this makes sense to us because we are soft and we are sweet and the way we crash O THE WAY WE CRASH it's like how we call every night "Saturday" the morning after is a song in my head-phones the song is the sound of our engines turning over on the runway that is our twin-sized bed. 

The Last Lost Continent (live!)

WHEN WE LISTEN TO JAWBREAKERI think of my heart so much it's killing us both my heart is a three-chord in your blue jeans the song is a happy motherfucker because our hearts are crashing our hearts are dancing and we feel enormous and strange     strange because we are our hearts buttered and set aflame we burn like the end of a party a party where everyone has stumbled home drunk and happy in their strange enormous hearts. 

I TRADED LAUGHSThe radio in my heart is my heart and the night the night is still dancing in my other heart outside my other heart the place where rabbits come from my other heart the place I call my mouth because our mouths are hearts in the most obvious way more obvious than the ache in my sleepless sleep more real than my face and your face and our listless mouths we call them hearts for breathing. 

talk to me--I'll write you a poem. If you're happy, talk to me--I'll write you a poem.

words to live by...maybe. maybe not. whatev.

my new press, my new magazine, my new reason to pretend I know things about art