Secret Pop

Apr 2, 2004

A brief bout

It rained for a bit today. Torrentially, it sounded. But by the time I had to go out, it was just a memory. A vague scent still in the air. And shiny streets. Beset by strange and sometimes gross dreams, I found the waking hours to be only slightly more tolerable than the sleeping ones. Although I did have a nice dinner and milk tea with my math-savvy friend Paul. I didn't know to look forward to it until I was actually out. Further proof that I need to trust my calendar rather than my whim. If I allowed my periodic reclusiveness to reign, I would probably never see anyone.

The activist in me has been stirred recently. I have volunteered my services and opened up my home and made good on pledges and gotten out the vote and posted essayed retorts to misguided rhetoric. It feels good but foreign, in a way. A reminder that I have been far too inactive for far too long. Like the pinprick in the foot they give paralyzed people. Something you want so much to feel, but once you feel it, you kind of want it to stop. Just because you used to be paralyzed doesn't mean that as soon as you get the feeling in your legs back you want to be clubbed in the knees over and over again just to savor the sensation. At least, I'm imagining that's the case. When Superman is able to walk again, I doubt he'll celebrate by slamming his foot in a car door.

I like the rain. Especially from the safety of the indoors. My dreams involved a downpour. But it wasn't rain. It was birdshit. And I couldn't find my car. And Jerry Seinfeld had gone ahead, leaving me stumbling through the hideous torrent. That's what you get for going to dinner with a comedian in Rhode Island.

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