I read a bloop entry the other day where someone was gathering photographs of everyone they had ever kissed to use in making a collage. An old friend made a list of names of everyone she had kissed and was trying to pull her list up to 1,000. I started a list but know I am forgetting many.
Are there one hundred? Are there one thousand? There are artists and poets, painters and musicians, dream eaters and gold hunters and princesses privileged and abused in a billions ways. There are one psychotic cheerleader and a dozen insomniacs. There are Jetts and Jacksons and first name onlies. Mulattos, latinos, albinos, and acid queens. One had 3 nipples. Two have found suicide and their stories have ended. One went missing in Hawaii and was never seen again. One died in a car accident five years ago. One is in Detroit, which is almost as bad. I loved ever one, and cracked into every brain to see what stories would spill out.
Their memories fade like overplayed analogue tape, lipstick ghosts on the highway of memory. I saw you on the balcony but never said a word. Do you ever feel haunted by eyes you have only looked into once?
Memorable bar conversation of the week -
Josh: Hey, where do I know you from?
Girl: You took my virginity.
Josh: Oh.
Ouch. I hope your day brings you kisses and connections and you feel for just a few stolen moments like you belong.
"Beauty is a French phonetic corruption of a short cloth neck ornament currently in resurgence." - Frank Zappa |
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