Sunday, March 13, 2011

rickroll

These men. They learned to do it in a notebook. I learned to do it whispering to another girl in the dark. I need a girl and a cabin.

In my imagination people somewhere say, "rickroll," instead of, "I love you."
Meaning, "I trick you into listening to my romantic declaration?" Leave it.

This is a throwback to a made for TV movie about the Kennedys where Jackie calls after her husband and he replies, "Likewise!" My mother said he was an asshole but what he really seemed was succinct. Rickroll.

My jaw hurts.
Have you ever been having a piece of wine or a gentle lady's drink around some character you realized was probably trying to lock you up in his villa? Flash forward to Sherlock Holmes and his crew stumbling upon your crazy red-haired self, flopping around in the autumn leaves.
"Good god, he got her drunk at a party and now she's crazy in this pit."

I know, when I was telling Nick this story he thought it was a depressing story too.

I just wanted to say that's how my jaw is behaving this week. Tons of work. Tons of remaining cool under pressure. Anemic. Carrying furniture in high heels. Vitamin C capsules and grown women tearing up. Baby girl. Here come the marches of molars inside my mouth. Like those South Dakotan buffalo when I was a young girl, already aware of the speech of prairie dogs. I was trying to get these animals to adopt me. And lone on that yellow plane, my striped self and those distant creatures, falling down the slope towards me. That's what is going on in my mouth.

Body, I need you to support me during the, "tough times." But I say that with all the selfishness and immaturity of my heart.

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