Why does history control the present? What's the effect of knowing as I do? How do I break in a new way and make it look easy? Let's get living like it's longer ago, making more happen between the hours as they strike on down by the streetcar line.
I didn't used to write in didactic self-diatribe. If the lines on magazines covers start to sound like what you'd write to yourself, then enrich your visual vocabulary. What you can do a lot more, it's hidden just under the glossies. You've just been internalized by this poor world, so learn it/write it/make it to fight it out.
Mmm, step back. There's value in height, seeing the land lying below. And the lights with your halo rings! —and the stars all agleam! —puts me on an even level with your TV screens. It happens to every light, everywhere. You're walking and your cloth is just with the wind, but the pressure turns and rain brings the tears. Why does the veneer go as soon as I'm alone? These are just spring breakdowns, rainshowered and stormy. I can't wait to go home, to wait for tornados in the unearthly beautiful purple sky.
Lou Reed in Baton Rouge, hey boy, excuse me, why so vi-cious? The speed of light, the ether will wait; swoop me up in all your sunken-chested monologue and privilege and we'll be wildly soft and liquid physical, hair falling in our faces and nails on skin. But listen, Mystery Katie, does me writing the words and intending you mean you know them, somehow? This next thin year maybe I'll really break free, and march on through the Vogue frieze into real art.