Secret Pop

Jul 1, 2005

Take my love in real small doses.

I'm gonna pull you in close. I'm gonna wrap you up tight. I'm gonna play with the braids that you came here with tonight.

I like the sound of car doors. I like the sound of them opening and closing. I like the sound of the handle being pulled. Someone's arriving. Someone's going home. People are going places. I like hearing it in movies, even. I don't know why. I don't get all giddy when I'm getting into my own car, though. For some reason, that is an exempt experience.

I have been unable to put words together. Unable to breathe at times. I have been getting a substantial taste of a breakneck pace. And in so many ways, I can't feel it or figure it out. I can't feel my fingerbones moving inside my hands. I can't cry in public. I can't write neatly. I can't stop wanting both more and less. I can't stop.

If there was just one thing to do, maybe...But I am doing four jobs and being five people and dreaming six dreams. And there is so little space in-between that I don't even have time to look forward. Plenty of good times. Plenty of them. But all in that blurry mode. The way I set my camera. The slow shutter. Light trails. Double vision. Everything gets all mushy.

It's funny. When I get like this. I don't even feel like telling the truth. About anything.

Jersey Girl is an embarrassingly awful movie. I am embarrassed for Kevin Smith. I am embarrassed for Ben Affleck. I am embarrassed for Liv Tyler. A scene from Sweeney Todd? This film is about as enjoyable as a kidney stone. I am embarrassed for me for telling anyone that I watched even five minutes of it. In fairness, I've only watched about ten minutes of it, but that's nine minutes too many.

I will stand by all this drinking if it helps me through these days.

No comments: