кошмары

Well it's been a while since the damage was done
I was a fool, just kissing shadows shaped like anyone
And I've been sleeping alone
And dreaming out loud
The colors grow brighter and the screaming gets louder
And it sounds just like:

I love you love you love you love you

Just like the RINGING IN MY EARS
RINGINGS IN MY EARS
RINGING IN MY EARS
the ringing in my ears sounds just like

I love you love you love you

I had a collapse, like a lump in my throat
The couple below me won't leave me alone
And I've been sleeping alone
Not sleeping at all
The lovers downstairs they SCREAM and they CALL
And they whisper...
And it sounds just like

I love you love you love you love you

Like the RINGING in my ears
the RINGING IN MY EARS
THE RINGING IN MY EARS
the RINGING. in my EARS.
Sounds just like

I love you....

X-RATED: I'm doing this to provoke you, my pretty.

Somebody needs to $%@& me. 

I'm like a nun, or a monk, or a devout, single, Evangelist teenager.

I just took a hot pill and I'm about to take a hot bath with a hot curling iron.  

If you don't like it, close your eyes. 

I've been cooped up in the studio just fucking the piano.  Brandon seems to think I'm like, the whore of Babylon or something.  If only he knew.  All he does is ask questions and all I do is deflect.  I'm sick of questions.  He says it's like pulling teeth. 

I'd rather he pull my teeth.

At least that would feel, like something.

I think he's been following me.  He wonders what I'm up to.  I see him in his car all the time.  He never sees me.  His eyes are always straight on the road.  Or he's on the phone or something.  I'm watching him watch me, pretending not to watch me, and unaware that I'm watching him.  Actually.  He wouldn't go to the trouble. 

He's wearing dark glasses and a party hat.  And I look like a flasher in my trenchcoat and barelegs.

Together we're like Chinatown.  Together we're film noir. 

Except I really am a black widow.  I killed my lover, and now I'm haunted by him.

My daughter.  My sister.  My daughter.  My sister. 

Slap me already Jake.  Give it to me hard this time.

My unchanging, doll's face.  How ridiculous.  I think everyone is looking at me, and I'm only seeing myself. 

Cry us a river.

Now
You say you're lonely
You cried the whole night through

Well you can cry me a river
Cry me a river
I cried a river over you

Now
You say you're sorry
For being so untrue

Well you can cry me a river
Cry me a river
I cried a river over you

You drove me
Nearly drove me out of my head
While you never shed
A tear

Remember?
I remember, all that you said
Told me love was too plebeian
Told me you were through with me and

Now
You say you love me
Well just to prove you do

Come on and cry me a river
Cry me a river
I cried a river over you

WILD IS...

Wild is the wind tonight, is it not?

Commandment III: Get Yourself an Office

Everyone needs a workspace.  Not everyone has the money.

How to get an office in Nashville for no money and free perks: 

Clearly what I mean here is some privacy and internet.  I tried the library at first but there was something sterile and depressing about it... And I couldn't go on certain websites.  No I don't mean porn.  Who would look at porn in a library.

Now I've found it.  A dully named and service-light but ambience-heavy coffeeshop, with filthy coffee, and cute servers that never charge me for coffee anymore.  I get to sit here and enjoy the free wi-fi and the free coffee for hours and I am nothing but welcome.  I could sit here all day.  I could never leave.

Swear by it; live by it; get your work done. 

SAT I: Math Section C: 3

If this neighborhood of Nashville has 20 grocery stores, 5 of which are especially close to my street, and I go to the grocery store twice a week, and I'm 90% most one of the 5, and I work every day til 8 pm, from 10 am, Mon through Friday, and I'm only 5% likely to go before work, go and come back so it's not sitting in the car all day, and I'm about 33% as likely to go on a weekend, because it's a chore, and I usually spend about 20 minutes there, and my neighbor who I never see but whose schedule is 90% similar to mine, has the the same proclivities as I do:  How likely are we to run into each other at the supermarket every year?

Loveletter to a Spy

Spies are sexy
They won't tell you they're spies
You wanna be like Hey- you can tell me... it turns me on... I only know because it takes one to know one you know?
But you forget.  They're protecting secrets for other people too, and so are you. 

And it is not I the spy who crept inside and penetrated [your cool blue-gray glass] boundaries.  It is vice versa.  You, my flickering box of light, your mundane but erotically charged private life, have become my-- our-- own interior.