Music

Half Mystic Radio, Season I, Episode III: Some Quiet Shipwreck

Welcome to Episode III of Season I of Half Mystic Radio! I’m thrilled to share that HMR is now available on all of your favourite podcast platforms: Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Overcast, Stitcher, & Soundcloud. You can subscribe to the podcast for free, & stream all episodes on those platforms now. Please also leave a rating & review if you enjoy Half Mystic’s work, so that we can reach more listeners!

If you prefer to listen in here, Episode III: Some Quiet Shipwreck is out now—

This episode features Catilyn Siehl's poems "By the Water", "To the Bone", & "Flower Boy", & Jonathan Meur's song "Cities & Seas".

Caitlyn Siehl is primarily interested in healing. Growing up in a small town in New Jersey, she began writing poetry three years ago with the intention of bringing pain to the surface, of clawing through the dirt and excavating it before singing it to sleep. She tries to be gentle with what hurts, and it has helped. Currently a student at Rutgers University, Caitlyn is studying film and journalism in the hopes of becoming a screenwriter. Jonathan Meur is a Paris-based French-Mauritian singer-songwriter addicted to the creative process. A fusion of folk, pop, rock and classical, his music has drawn comparisons to the likes of Sufjan Stevens, Kings of Convenience and Regina Spektor.

If you enjoyed this snippet of light & are looking forward to more episodes of Half Mystic Radio: don’t go yet! Please do share your thoughts on Episode III with us using the hashtag #halfmysticspeaks. Or, you can @ us directly on social media—@wearehalfmystic on all platforms.

Want to get involved? We are now open to submissions from both writers & musicians for inclusion in the podcast! Send us your symphony. We promise we won’t flinch. & if you would like to support Half Mystic financially, the best way to do so is by purchasing one of our books or journal issues, right here.

Thanks to popular demand from listeners, I’m excited to tell you that we’re also sharing the full text of the poems in each episode from now on. Here we are…

By the Water

My 13th summer was

Cold water and sand
on my pink dress

Your hands on my girl-hips
pressing hard until you found
bone

Crushing them into
gun powder then
shooting me with them 

Do you know what it’s like
to bleed out for ten years

To not even know it’s happening
until someone touches you
and you can’t stop screaming 

To make a girl a dying thing 

I wonder if you remember
the way
I had to pry your fingers off
like leeches

The way the water pushed me
back towards the shore
after
like the lone survivor
of some quiet shipwreck

Now I love whatever 
floats in me

Whatever is left
of the girl you couldn’t

kill

To the Bone

I slice grief
down to the bone

pull the meat off 
with my bare hands
until I can’t wash it
away

Will you let me 
hold your head
in my hands
fingers still dripping?

Will you
kiss the funeral 
of my body

each weeping chair
catching rain
on the grass?

I slice grief
down to the bone
then grind the bone
into powder

Are you hungry for
the marrow of me?

Can you touch me and
come away

still clean?

Flower Boy

A vision of you watering the 
nasturtiums in the backyard. 
The nozzle of the hose 
looks nothing like a gun, and 
you are not trying to hurt 
anyone. 

I used to wonder what the point of 
daydreaming about you was if it wasn't frantic, 
if I didn't want you even when you 
were scary. 
When I think about the kiss, 
I remember that it didn't hurt, 
that your bed was softer 
than any floor I'd ever dreamed 
of getting thrown on. 

I don't think that love is what I grew up 
pretending it was. 
It's not angry. 
It's not up against a wall all the time. 
It's soft. It laughs.

It Is Always Heavier Than You Thought / Songs for November

We’re nearing the end of the year once more, which makes me at once thrilled for 2019 & afraid of what’s to come. My November so far has been rather lovely, & I can’t wait to share with you all of the traditional year-end things next month—my 2018 love list, the Shadows of Cats reader survey, notes to self for 2019, & more.

Most importantly this month, though: if you are American, please vote in the midterm elections tomorrow. It will take twenty minutes, maximum, & has a real, tangible impact on the future of our country & world. I’m not able to vote this year—I’m old enough for the first time but I don’t have a U.S. address just yet—so I & millions of others are counting on those who are able to vote to propel the future into equality & justice & liberty & science, not division & hatred & gaslighting & fear.

In the mean time—enjoy the November mixtape, friends. I love you as always. xx

Half Mystic Radio, Season I, Episode II: Figs-and-Honey Sweet

Welcome to Episode II of Season I of Half Mystic Radio! I’m thrilled to share that HMR is now available to stream on all of your favourite podcast platforms: Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Overcast, Stitcher. You can subscribe to the podcast for free, & stream all available episodes on those platforms now. Please also leave a rating & review if you enjoy Half Mystic’s work, so that we can reach more listeners!

If you prefer to listen in here, Episode II: Figs-and-Honey Sweet is available now—

This episode features Stefan Y's poems "MLVLNT" & "Darling Amphibian", & ÊMIA's song "Routines". Stefan Y lives in the Midwestern United States. He loves good tea & rooms full of books. ÊMIA is the electro-pop project of singer/songwriter & producer, Anh Le. Her covers, songwriting tutorials, & music videos have amassed over 16,000 subscribers & 3 million views on YouTube. She has been featured on online publications such as MTV Europe, Pilerats, Aviencloud, ENM, Purple Melon, PopJustice, & TrapStyle. She is currently releasing monthly singles, carving an exciting trajectory for herself in the music industry.

If you enjoyed this snippet of light & are looking forward to more episodes of Half Mystic Radio: don’t go yet! Please do share your thoughts on Episode II with me & the team using the hashtag #halfmysticspeaks. Or, you can @ us directly on social media—@wearehalfmystic on all platforms.

Want to get involved? We are now open to submissions from both writers & musicians for inclusion in the podcast! Send us your symphony. We promise we won’t flinch. & if you would like to support Half Mystic financially, the best way to do so is by purchasing one of our books or journal issues, right here.

This one's a beauty, my friends, & I hope you enjoy listening to it as much as we did bringing it to you! As always, thank you so much for being here. You are full of the tenderest light.

Finally, one more thing: thanks to popular demand from listeners, I’m so excited to tell you that we’re also sharing the full text of the poems in each episode from now on. Here we are…

MLVLNT

You hated me on our drive home through the mountains 
I thought you might take that hammer to my skull 
once and for all 
Leave me forever like your brothers did 

Instead you let me live long enough to cut you off completely 
Like a cat I watched you 
watching me, my feline stare, your father-like 
hate, and oh God, others must have seen, watched curiously 
from the safety of their own cars—
our abandoned hearts! 

Ahead the road curved and dipped for miles 
and songs we both loved played on the radio 
If something like mercy sprouted between us 
I burned it straight away 

When we passed through our state border 
you seemed to soften quite a bit—
then more still when we entered our county 

Then I reminded you

Darling Amphibian

 i.

Younger me was salamander-slick; claws
and fur came later, after my marriage
failed to fail. At age 12 we’d perch on trees
keeping on the lookout for a deep blue
Challenger—howling hard when we saw it—
because that was a serial killer
car, a serial killer in car form.

Nobody does that anymore. No one
after adopting quiet life thinks to.

ii.

We sit in the amber light on the porch
while the twins wrestle on the grass. It was
twins, I remember it now, it was twins
the serial killer gobbled up first.
As this thought occurs to me, my wife shifts
as if she’s read my mind; she was there, too,
we were 12 together, watching T.V.
and each other, and the open window.

Come inside! she calls, her thin voice wrestling
to be figs-and-honey sweet, like before.

iii.

I tuck the boys in and sing them a song
from another time. They hate it so much.
They sing back with better voices, and life
from before—all that horror—is nothing.
It’s as if a snake charmer has bent his
forces on the Devil himself, pushing
him into the bowels of the great tree
until next time. The boys finish with pride.
Quite uninterested in things that kill.