Undercover
The Hanged Man Last week, I left a concert earlier than I had intended. I’d had fun but my boyfriend and I had agreed it was time to go. I apologized to a friend who was playing later that night and traded her a drink
Category Archives: Noise Column
Undercover
Writing Ahead Hemingway said, “write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next.” While I’ve always taken this advice when I write I often wonder how these words apply, if at all, to real life.
Undercover
Hail Mary Don’t ever ask yourself the question: how will I survive after college? The fit of terror, anxiety, and depression that follows won’t do you any favors. Monday night, I lay in bed, wondering how the hell I was going to pay the rent
Undercover
Dissonance For the last two days, I’ve woken up to the sounds of hammers, nail guns, and steel-toed boots in my ceiling. The roofers come early and go hard on the roof of my apartment building. I live on the top floor and can’t help
Undercover
The Healer My eyes rise to the night sky as Florence sang the words, “You need a big god / big enough to fill you up.” As I watched her under the lights, statuesque as her voice soared over our heads, I tried to imagine
Undercover
Today I drove through the Rockies’ game-day traffic. I was barely able to merge—twice; once on I-25 and again on Sixth Avenue. I attribute the recent influx in traffic to the legalization of pot. I’m not blaming weed directly, but the recent population growth has
Undercover
The other night, I found that the novel I had been working on had lost all the changes I’d made in the last four months. I punched my faux leather couch 11 times. I drank five shots of bourbon. I said the word “fuck” about
Undercover
Cynthia had just shown me the bathroom, and then regaled me with the ethical details of her booking gig. From what I can tell, she books about three or four shows a month. As she goes on, I glance over at my boyfriend who
Undercover
I stand on the dance floor at Ophelia’s, watching the people around me—mostly guys in hip clothes trolling for girls in hip clothes and everyone bobbing to the beat. On stage a guy called Panda Say What is playing. He and my friends, who go
Blood Tangent | Column
Blood Tangent is coming to an end. And I guess I am moving on to bigger and better things—but I’m not sure, definitely not cured, a little allured, and maybe a bit more matured. Over the past four years I’ve gone to more shows than