Pat Gunn (dachte) wrote,
Pat Gunn

Spicy Star Belt

o/~ Goin down to cowtown.. cow's a friend to me
Lives beneath the ocean, and that's where I will be o/~
-- They Might Be Giants, _Cowtown_

Three hours in a car ... and depending on what I do, threehours back. Fortunately, before departure, I burned aCD with some new music... I'd list tracks, but then people doingweb searches, trying to find the tracks, would end up beingfrustrated seeing the titles listed here. Let's just say thatit's yet another strange, strange mix, with music from Bad Religion,70s-style stuff, russian red army choir stuff, and some musicals, amongother things.

What to do? So many places I could visit...And now, another gob of .. stuff.

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The red cushion.. like a veggie in a can, tempts me. Sleep, it calls.An odd time for a visit, odder still for an audience. Someday, willall my secrets be up for display? My feelings mix, and logic tries topry apart the meanings in that. Emotions are for now, rough guides, notlong-term clothes. But what of X? Well, I don't know. Remember all thethings you said you'd never do? And you did them? Remember all the thingsyou said, and you changed your mind? And you changed your mind? You learnedto forget the old things you said. Even now, dancing on the dried lava isnot entirely safe. Life behind the shield only protects you from otherpeoples' swords, and the net result of all those little cuts you giveyourself will do you in someday. Drop your sword, or get a band-aid.Again, I dissipate -- I know I'm not real to you, I'm not the real me,just a fabrication of memory stirred by a few strands of fabric and thewhispers of the wind. When you stopped believing in your imaginary friend,you entered a cold world. And me? Imaginary friends have imaginary friendsthat are even more imaginary. I've retrieved mine, they sit by the window.I am all the richer for it, as I tiptoe back through the unwelcome corridorsof your mind, to my room, in a place you won't let yourself go. The screamshere are loud, the laughter, the feeling of continual movement, crisis andcalm, all the bubbling beneath the surface. I regret you won't let mecalm you anymore. But maybe your reality is a better salve anyway.

Last night, I spent several hours chatting with a friend I met over theinternet. We dug through all the bizarre pages at,chatting on the phone while browsing the same site, thousands of miles apart,IMing each other particularly amusing things we found. It was, without a doubt,one of the strangest experiences I've ever had..

It's funny how a single stick of incense burned can create a smell in anapartment that lasts such a long time.. It's a nice smell...

Tags: friends, poetry

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