Good morning, all arbitrary lines; all pushed and pulled; all skinny loves. Welcome to another edition of Words From The Midwest.
Ebola. It’s a word, by now, that should cause shivers to run down your spine. Not because you have any chance of catching it, by the way, but because of its overexposure on Mass Media in this country. It’s a very real problem in West Africa. Sure. But that’s an ocean away. An entire ocean, you know? We should be doing all we can to help. But if you, the American Citizen who has never been anywhere near the bodily fluids of one with Ebola, is actually afraid of it like the goddamn plague…you’re a crazy person. Plain and simple.
But that’s not really what I want to write about. It dates this entry and I wouldn’t mind if these essays or journals or whatever these things are are as timeless as possible.
They will be a book, after all.
And so I will shift gears and talk about The Dirty Projectors, who I am currently listening to.
The album which is playing is Bitte Orca and I can’t say enough about it. It’s weird, I should say that first and foremost. But through its oddities, and beyond the strange time signatures, it is, at its core, just a pop record. The songs are infinitely accessible and they shouldn’t be. The lyrics are cryptic and yet direct. The opener, “Cannibal Resource” shimmers, and with the hook “I think you’re more than a terrified witness” it begs you to sing it in your head all day long, even if you’re not quite sure what it’s supposed to mean.
So go listen to it if you want. I don’t really care, I suppose. I just like to write.
That’s all for today.
Maybe next time it’ll be longer and I’ll say more.