Blog — Half Mystic

Lake Song

When night came, we were shepherded inside. Too many animals. Too many hungry trees.

Music, Personal EssayDanie ShokoohiSeptember 17, 2017

Home is a City in Your Mind

I stopped writing. Okay. Yes. But say instead, the world ended. Say instead, lobotomy.

Music, Personal EssayDanie ShokoohiSeptember 2, 2017

A Sonatina for King

When I think of my piano, I always picture an open lid, the keys collecting a shallow pool of the yellow light.

Homecoming (a selection, a remembering)

My two weeks of solid travel begin at 5 AM on the train platform to Chicago.

The first time I ever watched a movie in black & white was on invitation from Isabella.

Nocturne is a drive home from the airport. It’s transition. It’s an indescribable ache.

III: Nocturne | Silver-Tipped Swallow: "Qi"

The year I first fell in love with a girl was the year I stopped playing the piano.

Even now I can wear night like a comfort, even if remembering hurts sometimes. The moments still feel magical.

I can explain it so well. The night soft-nosed and sprawling. This air is heavy on my teeth, but I can trust it for now.

I find nocturne in the buffering of the wind against my car windows as I speed down the freeway at nine o’clock in the evening.