OLD FRIENDS
Do you ever wake up in your own room, seein' your own beige background roses wallpaper, with your own jeans and sweaters thrown onto the dresser on top of the alarm clock, and feel the kind of surprised panic of the sort you would feel if you had just run over your own cat in the road (this is why I don't have a cat, at least not a mortal one)? Do you put your hands on your head and say Nonononononononoooo! (breath) Nononononononooo! Yes, I need to see a shrink about this. But it isn't about me any more, so I need to shut up and forage for breakfast for Lita.
Freddy has a tuba for a nose that carries into the night.
I picked up Franny and Zooey to reread since the author died. Rarely do I read or watch or listen to anything more than once because, I'll be egotistical about it, I have both a good memory and a short attention span. Most of the lonely hours, especially with music, I am trying to get that shit out of my head, not reintroduce it. Like all the scary people coming out on Facebook. People I never wanted to be in touch with are now touching. It's too much. I only have like 30 friends, and two of them are dead, but it's still too much. (I still love you Bl.W. in case you're reading.) I loved Franny and Zooey thirteen years ago and now I don't. Do you see why he's all that, this Salinger? Or can one only love him as a fifteen-year-old? As I loved Sammy Ripple, who took me to a school dance and told me I was going to go to hell because I didn't believe in Jesus, and is now my balding friend on Facebook. It says in his profile his favorite read is Rumi, so maybe I saved him.
Mrs. Glass is for real, but Zooey and Franny are spoiled and need real jobs. I liked this book when I was spoiled and didn't have a real job. What's with the writing? Wilted salad with no dressing.
I turn over to spray Freddy with this little sprayer of facial toner by the bed side. It both moisturises his face and startles him out of snoring temporarily. He won't remember this or the kicking or when I pinch his nostrils together and count how long it takes for his body to realize the air is not forthcoming. He has tried these rubber nose-horns, like shoe-horns that stretch open the airways, but he must just snort them in because they disappear by morning.
Do you ever wake up in your own room, seein' your own beige background roses wallpaper, with your own jeans and sweaters thrown onto the dresser on top of the alarm clock, and feel the kind of surprised panic of the sort you would feel if you had just run over your own cat in the road (this is why I don't have a cat, at least not a mortal one)? Do you put your hands on your head and say Nonononononononoooo! (breath) Nononononononooo! Yes, I need to see a shrink about this. But it isn't about me any more, so I need to shut up and forage for breakfast for Lita.
Freddy has a tuba for a nose that carries into the night.
I picked up Franny and Zooey to reread since the author died. Rarely do I read or watch or listen to anything more than once because, I'll be egotistical about it, I have both a good memory and a short attention span. Most of the lonely hours, especially with music, I am trying to get that shit out of my head, not reintroduce it. Like all the scary people coming out on Facebook. People I never wanted to be in touch with are now touching. It's too much. I only have like 30 friends, and two of them are dead, but it's still too much. (I still love you Bl.W. in case you're reading.) I loved Franny and Zooey thirteen years ago and now I don't. Do you see why he's all that, this Salinger? Or can one only love him as a fifteen-year-old? As I loved Sammy Ripple, who took me to a school dance and told me I was going to go to hell because I didn't believe in Jesus, and is now my balding friend on Facebook. It says in his profile his favorite read is Rumi, so maybe I saved him.
Mrs. Glass is for real, but Zooey and Franny are spoiled and need real jobs. I liked this book when I was spoiled and didn't have a real job. What's with the writing? Wilted salad with no dressing.
I turn over to spray Freddy with this little sprayer of facial toner by the bed side. It both moisturises his face and startles him out of snoring temporarily. He won't remember this or the kicking or when I pinch his nostrils together and count how long it takes for his body to realize the air is not forthcoming. He has tried these rubber nose-horns, like shoe-horns that stretch open the airways, but he must just snort them in because they disappear by morning.
