liars

I was completely unaware but eventually found myself nodding my head in a beautiful rhythm as his fingers cyclically strummed the same four chords for four minutes and forty-four seconds. I was lost in his music, lost in the relief I felt when he opened his mouth. Have you noticed, I hum a lot. Most of the time I am completely unaware, quickly made aware, slowly learning to stop myself. Are you humming? It’s a bad habit. I am forming a wishlist, so far it includes a typewriter and a bichon frise. I would be perfectly content with just the first, my ability to care for a puppy is quite questionable. I find myself thinking about the numerous possibilities that accompany the interior decoration of an old castle with high ceilings and extravagant windows, mostly in the long hours that precede my return to a room that is painfully cluttered and helpless. The notion of pattern formation is abstractly seductive but the darkness around my eyes and sluggish brain both hold me back. Industrial tape, an empty perfume bottle, oblong violet pills, cold coffee that has been swimming in stone for fourteen hours, large silver hoops that draw blood from my bruised earlobes, the remanents of a three-hundred calorie meal, hairspray, curling iron all in a tiny space meant for a box of tissues and the seminal words of Freud, at most. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. My poster [block, rapid, patrol lube, donut, vcr, loss, color, aid, 25cents, etcetera] is about to throw itself upon my pillow again. Perhaps that.