grendel's mother (a mountain goats playlist, track 2)
griefbacon.substack.com
a quick note: I went to see the mountain goats, I tried to write about it, it turned into something bigger, now short essays about mountain goats songs are an occasional feature on this newsletter. “Grendel’s Mother” (Zopilote Machine) I realized at some point in September or October of 2012 that things with this person I loved were not going to get any better. I began to suspect that we were maybe not even really in love, and that I was probably just using him as a sharp and jagged surface on which to hurt myself. But by then it was fall, in a soft part of Brooklyn, on a street overhung with generous green leaves like something out of a world with dinosaurs, and at night the streetlights cut orange through the canopy of the trees and blew out the long line of stoops and doors like an old photograph. I was in almost unbearable pain most of the time, but sometimes in the midst of all that heartbreak, coming at me like a truck on a highway in the opposite lane, I felt slow and easy and good, as though it were already over and I was looking back on it, rather than waiting for it to happen.
grendel's mother (a mountain goats playlist, track 2)
grendel's mother (a mountain goats playlist…
grendel's mother (a mountain goats playlist, track 2)
a quick note: I went to see the mountain goats, I tried to write about it, it turned into something bigger, now short essays about mountain goats songs are an occasional feature on this newsletter. “Grendel’s Mother” (Zopilote Machine) I realized at some point in September or October of 2012 that things with this person I loved were not going to get any better. I began to suspect that we were maybe not even really in love, and that I was probably just using him as a sharp and jagged surface on which to hurt myself. But by then it was fall, in a soft part of Brooklyn, on a street overhung with generous green leaves like something out of a world with dinosaurs, and at night the streetlights cut orange through the canopy of the trees and blew out the long line of stoops and doors like an old photograph. I was in almost unbearable pain most of the time, but sometimes in the midst of all that heartbreak, coming at me like a truck on a highway in the opposite lane, I felt slow and easy and good, as though it were already over and I was looking back on it, rather than waiting for it to happen.