The soundtrack featured Pearl and the Beard who I saw for the first and last time almost a year ago. Here's a nice little song I liked if you are itching for a heartbreak:
NOT BAD, DAD, NOT BAD
I think you are most yourself when you're swimming;
slicing the water with each stroke,
the funny way you breathe, your mouth cocked
as though you're yawning.
You're neither fantastic nor miserable
at getting from here to there.
You wouldn't win any medals, Dad,
but you wouldn't drown.
I think how different everything might have been
had I judged your loving
lie I judge your sidestroke, your butterfly,
your Australian crawl.
But I always thought I was drowning
in that icy ocean between us,
I always thought you were moving too slowly to save me,
when you were moving as fast as you can.
Bearing gifts of flowers and sweet nuts
the family came to watch the eldest son,
my father; and stood about his bed
while he lay on a blood-sopped pillow,
his heart half rotted
and his throat dry with regret.
And it seemed so obvious, the smell so present,
quiet so necessary,
but my uncle prophesied wildly,
promising life like frantic oracles;
and they only stopped in the morning,
after he had died
and I had begun to shout.
You once believed if you could only
crawl inside a bear, its fat and fur,
lick with its stuffy tongue, take on
its ancient shape, its big paw
big paw big paw big paw
heavy-footed plod that keeps
the world-wide earthwork solid, this would
save you, in a crisis. Let you enter
into its cold wise ice bear secret
house, as in old stories. In a desperate
pinch. That it would share
its furry winter dreamtime, insulate
you anyway from all the sharp and lethal
shrapnel in the air, and then the other million
cuts and words and fumes
and viruses and blades. But no,
not anymore. I saw a bear last year,
against the sky, a white one,
rearing up with something of its former
heft. But it was thin as ribs
and growing thinner. Sniffing the brand-new
absences of rightful food
it tastes of ripped-out barren space
erased of meaning. So, scant
Oh bear, what now?
And will the ground
still hold? And how