uncommoncold

It's listening to Ed Shepp when you're too high and too seventeen to grasp any of what he's saying.

It's not being able to love someone the way you want to because it's too much for right now.

It's feeling honest and whole at that moment of orgasm. It's believing that fierce, uncontrived sexuality can actually change the world for the better. It's refusing to settle for less.

It's wishing, sometimes, that the past tense doesn't exist.

It's sitting on the floor of the shower, wanting to cry but not quite remembering how. It's getting soap in your eyes. It's missing being a little kid.

It's re-programming the way you think. It's learning to dance instead of standing on the sidelines. It's reading with my head against yours.

It's recognizing bulimia by the stringy, dull hair, the somewhat blotchy skin, the tired, half-crazed eyes, the way she carries herself, and what she buys. It's wishing you could say something to make it better. It's knowing.

It's day-old muffins wrapped in plastic, midnight phone calls from somewhere too far away for comfort, and reaching for her while you sleep.

It's watching the city blink awake with light after dusk.

"There isn't any particular relationship between all the messages, except that the author has chosen them carefully, so that, when seen all at once, they produce an image of life that is beautiful and surprising and deep. There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time."

But (perhaps most importantly!), it's this:

The image is too large to fit here, so clickety click. Taken from the Indie Tits site- check it out, even though it's hit and miss.

I can't tell you what any of this means. If you have a better idea than I do, feel free to let me know. I'll be reading Lolita in the meantime.