EVENING WILL COME: A MONTHLY JOURNAL OF POETICS (ISSUE 13: JANUARY 2012)

Shane McCrae
Ghost Limbs

I tried to kill myself when I was seventeen. Honestly, I can’t remember whether or not I was sad, but I think I was. What I do remember is the method I used—I washed a bottle of Tylenol PM down with a glass of chocolate drink (not chocolate milk—the label on the milk jug-shaped jug specifically said “chocolate drink”), and put My Bloody Valentine’s “Swallow” on a loop. Here, have a listen.

That’s what I wanted dying to sound like.

A few weeks ago, I was waiting to board a plane to Cleveland and thinking about what I’d want the last song I ever heard to be—just, you know, in case the plane went down. And I realized I would still want it to be “Swallow.” But “Swallow” isn’t my favorite song (that would be “If You See the Man” by Astrid Williamson, thankyouverymuch)—I’m not even sure it’s my favorite My Bloody Valentine song (I think I like “Honey Power” better). So what’s the deal?



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