Fruck Friction
For a while I thought my inability to read fiction was limited to certain books, but it’s become a universal constant. I can no longer read fiction.
The coyness gets boring and I just can’t talk to fiction. My mind wanders listening to its problems. It’s not that my love wasn’t real.
Fiction needs therapy.
In tangentially related problems, music I find listenable has been reduced to the first handful of songs from the Avenue Q soundtrack, and the entire Buffy The Vampire Slayer musical episode. The only bridge here is I can repeatedly listen to one piece of fiction, a short story downloaded to my iPod that almost sounds like poetry and a nonfiction fairytale. It feels enough like zany post Soviet Russian surrealism that I’m comfortable walking around with it.
How is that even slightly ok?
I am writing the song that Glen Danzig would have written about the TV show Heroes.
In the spirit of getting back to what’s great about reality, I’m going on vacation to go see my mom, stepdad and grandparents in Naples, Florida on Thursday. Next weekend it’s a romantic and relaxing vacation to Puerto Rico. Thank the gods, not a moment too soon!
so glad you are getting some time - you deserve it. Mad love from all of us at Inertia.
Paww thanks Paul! i sure need it bad.
smootch the baby for me, and say hi to everyone!
Next entry: Born Identity
Previous entry: Blinky, Pinky, Inky and Clyde
