June 2010
3 posts
home, again, too early for a summer night. there is some owl outside my bedroom window, which i can’t appreciate as kitschy or cool, and it is hooting too loudly, too closely, every 20 or so seconds and it just reminds me that i want to be out right now, even as my esophagus burns with the displeasure of being bombarded with more alcohol and grease. i have distant, unrealistic fantasies...
stuff like shutter island or into the woods, a book i’m reading, give me a sense of how maleable memory is. i’ve never dreamt real memories so no matter how vivid my nightmares, i can’t fully believe they’re evidence of some forgotten actual event. and then even the memories i do have i can’t trust or fully grasp. they’re always just out of my reach, like the...
