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Field Report Live — The Back Room at Colectivo

by Field Report

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the places that I’ve been and may never see again: I won’t say haunted, but I get visited It follows me around, wherever I go So all things being equal, lately I just stay at home and listen to the refrigerator hum and quietly hum along and wait for it to come begin to begin to begin to begin I swear, dog knows it first-- I can see it in her eyes when she seeks me out, checks in, curls up and and resigns It’s like she heard music from the other room that she recognized-- some theme song from a rerun on the air all the time She don’t like it, she don’t hate it, she just knows that it’s on and that means there won’t be conversation until the show is done that’s when I zone out and disappear and it has begun my darkness comes in darkness and it stays til it is done begin to begin to begin to begin blinding light trip and fall I’m a bat trapped in the house clicking for the walls cause I don’t cry out no more-- I just tiptoe down the hall baby, keep on sleeping I get out the house and it’s just before last call caramel brown bottles, Packers shit is on the wall suck it down, check the clock, beg another round bartender says, “your idea of fun always feels like a breakdown” text my therapist two four six am “hey it’s chris it’s been a while it’s happening again I’ll take the first hour you can get me in” begin to begin to begin to begin
I am red in tooth and claw God's favorite child's been bloodied from the brawl and this bitterness was killing me all along I am not waiting anymore I've been blowing through time like nickel slots in a windowless room on a credit card Flash it like a semaphore - a vague drafty metaphor - I am not waiting anymore I've been a doe-eyed observer of movements of concentric parts of bodies of bones and breasts, and unmapped chambers of hearts Sand in hand has been turned to glass like a Jeroboam filled with a life that's passed Toss it off the balcony and listen for the crash I am not waiting anymore I spent eight long years, mucking up my screenplay it's a teen movie with young actresses that plays to the middle-aged I have read between the lines, I have been wrong every time I'm burning on the altar, and I feel fine I am not waiting anymore
now the morning was gilded around the edges with the shavings from bones that were pressed and glued against the corners and carved like soapstone it was gloriously grey- the sun a radiant underlay fighting, fading, winning, waning purring behind milk and cloud and snow now the blinds are up a foot from the bottom i make out outlines of ankles, legs and asses and a fresh set sends blood to my ears as the memories flood the levy of my boredom and the final sinewy strand has been cut clean through- there is a pop, a crack, and a thud and you are free and I am free now to extricate ourselves from the mud so you practiced your name in the margins of pages of a hundred thousand rough drafts i heard they roughed you up pretty bad you got to climb up the mountaintop and scream out loud and chip your teeth on a bottletop and do me proud when I held your hands in my bloodfree hands i swear they were the cleanest ones in town take your time and let the tide pull you out to sea take your time and let the tide pull you away from me
we parked by the reservoir a little drunk comparing scars and the volume of a river’s love broke the barrier into the car it pushes through hear it off the service road getting louder deeper we go now through the trees, sucking smoke and the heavy smell of creosote it pushes through pulling me in pulling me closer to you I’ve been fighting it like a martyr waiving off a rescue search the shore for wood and clay dam it, block it, try to tame you were laughing at my vein array a river’s love will find a way it pushes through shaking like the witness stand you said “take your shame and rip it up” I wasn’t ready for your hand startled by a river’s love it pushes through pulling me pulling me closer to you I’ve been fighting it like a martyr waiving off a rescue promenade, push and shove scraping knuckles, handful of love settle on my like a dove I can't stop the river's love it pushes through fumbling and falling down overwhelmed around above can’t you see I’m gonna drown drowning in a river’s love it pushes through pulling me in pulling me closer to you I’ve been fighting it like a martyr waving off a rescue pulling me in pulling me closer to you I’ve been fighting it …
We did a lot in the name of preservation holding hearts in hooks for hands after the accident metal on skin, cool to the touch in the absence phantom sinews flashing undetected dots and dashes I wasn’t sure if you were ready to be bold You regrow your hair and I will cut mine closecropped to the skull we’ll keep the ones turned grey by the blindwhite blast of a bitter cold as a badge to a bad winter of a long year that really took hold had to cut away the parts the claws would not release, then we kept going you and me, we are not evergreen you and me, we were not built to be
(Good Shoes) 01:57
The sunset seemed excessive two hours out of town The great expanse of freedom bound our wrists by all accounts Who was walking on the wire and who was on the ground? We were watching one another, gasping out loud Moving air as the tightrope trembled like a tumbler topped off for a toast So full you can’t move it anywhere Every time Last night I had a dream: there was tartar on your teeth And you had me gently, with a knife, loosening it free And then spread it all around like sunscreen at the beach We were laying there for hours, your head resting on my knee While the late-season ice was sneering from the shade I’m gonna keep you under glass and key trapped in amber memory A secret anniversary of a first day Every time There is someone where I go now who reminds me of how you looked That morning in the sunlight when I saw how you looked under glass How many first days do we have the nerve to wait for? I see you every time I go Every time I think of home Every time I feel alone Every time I feel my phone Every time my cover’s blown Every time a plane flies low Every time I think of home Every time I feel alone Every time a plane flies low Every time my cover’s blown I see you every time
she said “Why don’t you try summertime songs?” Gold and warm, soft like the setting sun not hot and sharp like a hornet swarm or the warning blast from a tornado horn or june bugs hissing July in half, “I love you in the low ebb baby, but let’s dance.” “I don’t know.” You didn’t have to stop babe but I could never hang the good days come in waves: they crest and crash See I’ve been running hot babe, somethings gonna give I’ve been sleeping not babe, dreaming about the kid I’ve been hearing shots babe I know they’re in my head I’ve been feeling ghosts babe moving in the wind and if I should disappear sometime before this child is born well, what is recovery really but cover up your tracks again? In the neighbor’s window across the street you can see the tv through the fitted red sheet and the other night I heard them screaming I turned off our lights and called the police and hid on the corner of the front porch waiting and, as quiet as a gas leak, I slowed my breathing singing summertime songs
This is the one in which I miraculously pulled out of a freefall dive over Fergus Falls, Minnesota This is the one like ten years ago I told you about where my wings iced up in the fall as it gets colder I was concealing his kid under his crewneck stateschool sweatshirt while he grinned off in the distance behind prescription shades they were blocking out the clouded out sun while he was hoping against a daughter and no one saw my banners, my bruises, my flares, my flags. I could have been an artist if I had the tools I could have been a preacher if I suffered fools When I move into the city I know I will have to pay my dues and my respects to his sister and his mother too
cold snapped like a coiled spring you can feel the frost coming on we are marigolden- dropping orange and umber, just barely holding on and now the downtown's dolled up with tinsel and angels seasons sneak up like haircuts, teased apart and tangled we were fraying for awhile, but we took it all down like garland hanging off traffic signals leave the lights on cause it might be nighttime when i get there but I'm on my way home putting on old clothes in a new way putting on a pose in a new stage waking up everyday just a little bit changed while it breaks over us like waves long live beauty; short live pain Lust for wander and hunger pangs face your fear, not your shame: it doesn't end, it just wears away leave the lights on cause it might be nighttime when i get there but I'm on my way home i’ve been clawing away at what's underneath: closer than solid ground beneath your feet closer, even now, than lips and teeth closer now than out of reach and the body remembers what the mind forgets: archives every heartbreak, every cigarette these reset bones? they might not hold but they might yet leave the lights on cause it might be nighttime when i get there but I'm on my way home
I dreamed we were shoulder to shoulder in the backseat wearing puffy coats being driven over a bridge to a funeral for one of our dream-friends’ folks You kept leaning in to face me and you grabbed for my hand in your gloves My heart begs to be light but my mind gets dark Can’t push us into love When we were living right off of the on ramp the highway would lull you to sleep It started to feel like the ocean, brake light red tide pulled you to dreams I just heard cars and waves crash in the break wall, sirens around and above My heart begs to be light but my mind gets dark Can’t push us into love There’s a ribbon of white and a ribbon of red tying up the highway under helicopter prayers My phone’s blowing up from a number I don’t know texting over and over “are you there?” I’m guessing it’s you; I heard that you moved— your friends keep me filled in enough My heart begs to be light but my mind gets dark Can’t push us into love


released March 17, 2020

Field Report Live — The Back Room at Colectivo

Recorded live on December 14, 2019 at The Back Room at Colectivo by Ian Olvera
Front of house assistance from Davey Roberts
Mixed by Daniel Holter at Wire & Vice (Milwaukee, WI)
Mastered by Mystery Room Mastering

all songs written and performed by Christopher Porterfield
published by Rough Trade Songs (BMI) administered by Rough Trade Publishing

Images by Ojeda Photography


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Field Report Milwaukee, Wisconsin

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