Aug 3, 2007

Man Was Not Meant to Live on Loneliness Alone.

I've married an inconvenient lifestyle, I have. I pull my clothes on and off in the case of circular logic-- they pile up in sweaty masses like food wrappers and half full drink s in the backseat of a car. If Caroline Meeber and I were speaking in person at the moment, i would tell her I had fallen out of love with her. I would let her cry on my shoulder, like a good man should and then I would make my designs on Jennifer Gerhardt.

Perhaps, I could be radical enough for Mary French. Hers was as lonely and stricken a bed as mine, and we believe in the unmitigated failure of humanity as our guide. At a perty we could both attend, I could grasp at the back of her tattered dress until it slipped to the floor as gracefully as a nimble ocelot toeing toward a shaking bush.

Narrow are the halls of conceit, but even tighter quarters are drawn by the nonstop cataclysms of insanity. I would run my hands up walls or tear the faces off of mini-cds if I found my mock-violence worthy. Instead, I construe different meandering ideas. My hands flow about like porchlights turned off and on by children unaware that flicking switches are fire-causing.

I understand you, April Wheeler. I know what you wanted all along. And you too, Kate. Your last name escapes me for now, but in the morning it will flood over me like a longer blanket I so desperately need. I will sleep hungry for you, Kate.

The manics and missives, the morose and moribund-- they delight me like a caged snake yet scare me like a free one. Onward, then, goes the search for a snake that could care less to bite, but moreso live in the same vicinity without violence of mind or spirit. Onward.

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