don't ever think my lonely ones that you cannot be your own sweetie

good morning ~

(click the link / movie theater dusk to listen)

My Big Breakdon't ever think my lonely ones that you cannot be your own sweetie

today’s track is a hastily assembled banger - - the drone needed something and of course that something was amen breaks

apologies for missing last week’s email - - simply could not get it together (and barely scraped this one, tbqh). I’m continuing to tinker and wonder about the format of these emails - - considering putting together a “your big break” email next week, which is essentially me turning the broadcast over to you, the readers. Reply to this with a message, an essay, or a photograph you want to send to this readership and maybe I’ll include it in next week’s?

I’m just about to drive to New York City to start rehearsals with Nico and Léna - - they’re gonna be backing me up on this upcoming tour and tomorrow we’re playing our first gig together at the Rockaways - - Shea Stadium booked a whole gaggle of great bands both Friday and Saturday and I am extremely stoked to be a part of it - - can’t wait to run directly into the ocean after our set:

One great thing about going to the movies is that they start at a particular time and if you spontaneously get the urge to go watch one the showtimes will serve as a kind of dare. Check the website, says the movie we wanna see starts at 7pm, that's 25 minutes from now, are you sufficiently full of life's joyful essence to make it there in time? If we leave right this second we can still catch it, let us run, my darling. Let us fly toward a future where we watch the shadows flicker in the dark. It's a very particular kind of high stakes, one that feels urgent and electrifying, but it's great because, well, first of all, there are trailers, so maybe we have a little extra time, and then if we miss the movie then really, so what? Even the rarest of hard-to-see screenings is ultimately just a movie, nobody's doing anything up there, it's just a series of images and sounds bouncing in a darkened room. No big whoop if we go for a walk instead.

But then say that you do make it. You try for it, and isn't just so sick to give it a try? And say that it's one of those historic theaters that's been lovingly maintained or restored, with a neon marquee jutting out above the sidewalk, where heat lines squiggle up from the asphalt. And then in the lobby there is the intoxicating smell of a concessions stand - we're trained from a very early age to associate popcorn with wonderment and leisure and the sound of the kernels exploding inside out in the metal popper basket always warms my heart. Other sounds: the easy chatter of people milling around, waiting for the movie to start, the narrator's voice in the trailers phasing in and out as the door swings open, allowing people into the dark. And say you and your sweetie sneak down the aisle and find a pair of seats in the ideal location: close enough to the screen to where the images feel totally immersive but far enough away that the sound or the picture remains undistorted. And say that before the movie even starts you settle deeply into your seats, arranging your limbs in an easy tangle of summer-warm skin, holding your snacks and your drinks in such a way that each of you has it all at hand, has it all before you.

The intimacy of a movie theater date is one of life's greatest joys. You are inarguably in public - you are undoubtedly among others, and even if there's no one else watching the movie, the usher might walk through with his little air traffic controller wand, or the projectionist might catch a glimpse of you through the tiny little window up in the booth. But you are obscured, you're in the dark, and your identities and the specifics of the configuration of your bodies comes in and out of focus as the light spills off the screen. Is this simply a culturally trained association? We see it in movies, in our teenage years we make out in the back row. But no, I think it's something inherent - there you are, bathing in the light of other people's lives and stories, getting swept up in the music, the rumbling thunder of the action movie explosions, everyone breathing each other's air. There is something so transgressively sweet about whispering a joke to your beloved and giggling quietly into the side of your shoulders. You're right, that guy in the movie does have a stupid haircut.

The cool, persistent whisper of the building's air conditioning gently wicks away the sweat on the back of your neck. There is a compelling stickiness to the floor, the evidence of other humans having enjoyed sour patch kids and popcorn before you. The matinee dark is friendly and safe-feeling and those little plastic strips of lights in the aisle guide you as you need - you shall tumble not. You and your fellow moviegoers begin your communion as the trailers wind down - you react to the commercials and the announcements as one entity and set the tone for the screening that is to follow. Are we laughing out loud tonight? Or are we watching on in quiet observance? Are we talking to the screen? What quality of persona am I among here? Are we intellectuals, dutifully observing the auteur's vision? Or are we a bunch of goofballs gleefully violating the sanctum? All is acceptable, all is a kind of holy. Your cell phone turned on to airplane mode and you are unyoked, a shawl of ease settles upon your shoulders as you luxuriate in being unreachable, switched off, unplugged. The movie is about to begin. You are beyond the world but you are within it, you are swimming through it as the images blaze before you.

It's such a profound pleasure that - truly - I feel like what's actually on the screen is somewhat irreverent, or at least secondary. A mediocre or laughably terrible film can be just as sweet when caught all of a sudden in the afternoon. And don't ever think my lonely ones that you cannot be your own sweetie - take yourself to the 2pm screening on a weekday and see how companionable the spectacle really feels, your arms splayed over the empty seats to your left and right, your empathetic tears trailing and salty down the smile of your face as the credits roll. You are worth the ticket price, you are worth the cup of burned coffee you allowed yourself to savor, you are worth the box of goobers you paid exorbitantly for. You live in a world in which you can project yourself into another human's dream, it's happening at a specific time and you can get inside. You are so simply enough, a beautiful bobbing buoy on the human ocean. A mole from the hill, squint into the brightness of day when you emerge from the dark.

But what about you? What was the last great life pleasure you allowed yourself to experience? Is there something routine and pedestrian that you see true poetry in? Seen any good movies lately?