| dewy decimal |
2003-09-03 - 6:10 a.m.
Every so often I will walk into my hallway, home after a long day. I hear a remote buzzing coming from the hallway closet. The "Operation" game , which no one has played in a decade, is dully buzzing again. Shit is so out of the blue, y'know? Silverfish malpractice? I don't know. And how are those batteries still alive!? They are so old, they are probably illegal because either they're painted with lead or is made of a dated alkaline, the acidic cousin of asbestos.
It's funny how the past comes back to revisit us. Sometimes in the most subtle ways. Like checks and balances, inventories and time lines. Memories reissued by buzzing board games that are stacked under stuffed animals you couldn't bear to part with. Giving you your past back, frame by blurry frame, reminding you that you had a life that is somehow no longer your own.
I have to lie down now. My doctor took a lot of blood and I smoked a lot of weed. It's reading time in baby blue pajamas, rows of 1/2 inch trains on cotton.
Oh yeah, that and a mix tape EP that goes a lil sumfin like this:
Beauty Pill-Cigarette Girl From the Future
The Smiths-The Hand That Rocks the Cradle
Blonde Redhead-A Cure
Xiu Xiu-Fast Car
David Bowie-Sound and Vision
(stretch)