lateedge

Hey.

How are you?

Really? That's sweet.

Sorry? Oh, things have been pretty much the same. You know.

No, not for a while. I have been meaning to call him, but I always remember too late to call.

Pretty strange. I don't know. There's this something....this surreal aspect to my life...this dreamlike quality that I can't put my finger on...

I don't know...it's like I'm my own wil o'wisp. I'm sitting here on a Friday watching the Pixies on PBS.

The fucking Pixies.

Yeah, the band.

Why? It's weird because I would be seeing them in a small club or in some weird part of a college when I was younger and here I am watching them on PB fucking S. I don't know how to process my developmental years becoming a film project. I can picture someone pledging $20 for a fucking tote bag because they watched something that I had to fight to see as a kid.

Who knows? Maybe mainstreaming nostalgizes passion. Why doesn't anyone give a fuck that George Bush is pretty much ensuring that we will repeat the unlearned historic Rome but without seeing a single fucking gladiator?

I'm not in a bad mood, I'm just paying attention.