ComPILations

I've been making one CD a month for B since December. Here's an email I recently sent him:
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B, the August edition is in, so I thought I'd provide a summary thus far, to get you up to speed. The August edition was interesting to put together; I had different ideas about what I wanted to do, and how to do it (yes, I think about these things a lot!); so, I went with my instincts and just let my guts pull out the songs to put down, and I'm very happy with the result. I've decided to provide an image/description/feeling to capture the essence of each comPILation:

Half-Birthdays & Winter Solstices:
*You're ice skating on a pond in mid-December, and one of your skates breaks and you twist your ankle. You're sitting there, in the chilly air and in pain, but you can't help but look at the falling snow, the way it coats the trees. Then you see a figure in the distance, approaching. He will offer you a hand up and help you to shore.

The Mer Collection:
*Your mom tucks you in and reads you your favorite faerie tales, with the night-light on. Then she leaves (the door is still open a crack), and you drift off to sleep, and dream about the future. In this future, the faerie tales let you down -- they fracture and disappoint. But inside the core of them--in your own DNA--is a way to hold onto the lessons they teach and take these with you when you wake up. You wake; the night-light has burnt out; your comforter feels warm and safe.

Two Hearts: A Unicorn Tribute:
*Sitting on a parkbench, your memory sifts through your lovers. You hold onto fragments, weaving them together to form a story about who you are, and who you are not. A squirrel comes up to you, and you feed it breadcrumbs from your sack lunch, and the two of you share a moment of silence.

March Into (Non) Madness:
*Winter melts, leaving behind it wet and clumpy leaves, dragged down stems of flowers, and hard ground. The garbage truck drives by, rattling and waking you, but you don't mind -- something about the humming engine reminds you of the school band you once played in, everyone dressed in red outfits with gold buttons, and this humming fills you up like a soft earthquake.

April's Fools:
*The hangover from the night before bangs into your brain, and you wake to a hammer -- someone fixing the roof on your apartment building. In your bathroom, you hear the drip-drip-drip that is both soothing and irritating. Your tears get trapped behind your anger. Later that day, you shout in your car with the windows rolled up, and sense a feeling of release. Once catharsis sets in, your inner panther strengthens you, makes you wiser.

Walk the Dogwood Til Dawn:
*In line at the cash register inside the grocery store, you realize you're two dollars short for your six pack, frozen veggies, and copy of PEOPLE magazine. The man behind you sighs, but you ignore him because you're transfixed by the long, fake fingernails of the cashier. Her name is Desire, pronounced "Des-a-ray"--and when she asks you again for that two dollars you look up to see the button on her outfit: Employee of the Month. You pay for the six pack and PEOPLE, and leave the veggies.

Birthday for the Healed-Hearted:
*On vacation at the beach, you're settled back in your chair. You didn't realize Life could feel so good; you rarely let it; you rarely allow yourself that raw freedom. And, while you understand it's transitory, you understand that pain is transitory too, and you close your eyes. The sounds of the waves lapping the shore take over, and the breeze feels just right, and there are grains of sand in-between your fingers and toes. Something feels lighter in your chest, and you stand to walk, then jog, then run into the ocean. It's not even the feel of the cool water you crave, but the feeling of standing up and walking out of that same water, the way it will dry and clamp your bathing suit to your skin. You look forward to salty, crackly skin that--later--you can wash off in a bath filled with bubbles.

God Bless America:
*Sitting on your checkered blanket in the park with your friends, you anxiously wait for the 4th of July fireworks to light the sky. It's that moment before nightfall; dusk is still holding on. Earlier that day, you've bought an old American flag at a garage sale from a war veteran in a wheelchair. You want to hang it off the porch of your home, in both an ironic and non-ironic way. It stands for a government you loathe, but it also stands for a country that you love and feel oddly protective of, even with its global bully status. Your bitterness, if you let it, gets translated into a dark humor. You lay back on your blanket and put your headphones on--shutting out your friends and the hundreds of others at the park--and listen to your country favorites. Everyone thinks you only love Depeche Mode, REM, Madonna, but there's a (more than small) part of you that craves Dolly Parton's "Jolene" at least every other day. The guitars greet your eardrums and then, behind your eyelids, you see the fireworks going off. You make up your own shapes for them.
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Okay, B, there you go. I didn't think about these images before I started this email. I just knew I wanted to write this email. Here you go.

Dove Hugs,
Nathan