MOSS BAILEY AND DANIEL BEIRNE *WRITER FOR THIS POST AND THE MUSIC BLOG, SAID THE  GRAMOPHONE,
                                                                      ALSO FIND DAN IN THE POIGNANT COMEDY WEBSERIES THE BITTER END

SIDE A: devoted vs.
I Do Believe: The Duke Spirit
Jesus Christ: Atlas Strategic
Funky Kingston: Toots & the Maytals
Day At The Shrine: The Barbaras
I'll Believe In Anything: Wolf Parade
i believe: Simian Mobile Disco

As a child, my father was a diplomat, and we foundourselves often in the sky. I was familiar with airplanes at a veryyoung age. Flights between Lisbon and London, Paris and Rome, Moscowand Dublin, West Berlin and Toronto, New York and Seattle. I rememberwhen we would pass the clouds, I would be sitting with my face pressedagainst the window and my father would lean in and say, "See theangels?" He explained that hidden in the clouds, the puffiest andwhitest clouds, were angels. He said only those who really believedwould see them. I strained, squinted, tilted my head, even stared,glared, trying to force my eyes to form a perception of them, but neversaw an angel. Eventually I started to question what it was I lookingfor; was it a child-like creature in a white gown with a golden glowinghalo? was it a hovering naked human ghost with an unearthly expression?was it a being of pure light, moving faster than any human invention?Once I began to have dreams that I had seen an angel in the clouds, itbecame difficult to distinguish between reality and fiction. I told myfather I had seen one and he said, "Excellent." I remember feeling thenlike I deserved to eat my snack, my peanuts and pop, and I drew on anapkin with a felt marker; a see-through cube.

SIDE B: loyal
United States Of Whatever: Liam Lynch
Nobody's Listening: Brazos
Gods, earths and 85ers: Poor Righteous Teachers
Badonka Donkey: Born Ruffians
Who Put the Skylight In Heaven: ((Sounder))
Murembo: Hallelujah Chicken Run Band

"These are garbage," I said aloud, not looking as Iemptied a shoebox full of notes, papers, valentines, hand-made cardsand letters into the trash. As if they were rotting vegetables, I heldmy face away, as to not breathe in their smell, any stray memories thatmight waft up from their falling. I closed the bag tight, immediately,not full, but time to seal it up. I put it outside the front door, letthe night cats get it if they want it, but they won't want it, nobodywants that. Nobody wants to hear about how I'm the best, or I'm theonly one who ever was or how I keep feet on the ground, how I inspirehope and dreams and with the flick of my grin I make hearts flutter andlungs light with shortened breath. Nobody could ever care about "Sawyou were out, left the key in the slot, love you lots" or "In theshower!" or "I cried after I hung up, I'm sorry, let's talk tonight".It's the most boring life-mortar, the kind that sticks to your fingersand you think is important, but is just meant for gluing the thingstogether that really matter. Like school and work and money and banksand parents and sisters and friends and anything that isn't horriblytemporary and fleeting and disgustingly fragile. The worst thing aboutdating God is that you never think that you'll be the one who does thedumping. You think God is one thing, at first charming as hell, andseems to know a lot, but is really just a shivering and quiveringlovelorn weakling at the core, like us all. I suppose it was the fallfrom on high that made me so unsatisfied, ultimately, which I know isunfair. It only makes sense that God just wants to be loved, but I knewas soon as I saw Him looking back at me when I caught Him going to thebathroom with the door open, when I saw that fear and shame andself-doubt, I knew I couldn't bear to see that ever again. He has noidea that not only do I have to go through the hardship of deleting Hisnumber from my phone, I have to overcome the idea that my creator andthe creator of everything I've ever seen or touched or loved is readingmy facebook profile every day, waiting for me to change my status to'single'. He speaks every language ever spoken, so sometimes I havetrouble understanding His voice messages. But amidst the garbage, thegibberish, the caveman speak and high french, I hear "I'll love youforever," and I have to press 7 to delete. I have to, my therapist saysI have to erase everything, otherwise it won't heal.