There’s a little black book with my cds in it. Actually it’s rather large and over sized. There are pin holes in my cds. There are scratches and scraps on most of them. They skip like my memories. There is mold on some of the pages and there is sand in between others. Again, just like my faded memories.

I raced through traffic, through the summer night’s construction. Just to get food. Just because I know I’m suppose to eat. There is a blonde junkie on the tee vee and she reminds me of her. She reminds me of me. But I’m a special junkie because I’m high on life. Whatever.

But I remember that trailer. I remember that long ago place called the 90’s. I remember a flurry of blonde hair and bare shoulders and hot moist kisses. Right there on that couch, in that same spot some 12 or 13 years ago. And then I remember last month. On a new couch, in the same spot. This time she was 20 instead of 16, and I was 30 instead of 18. Only this time we didn’t end up fucking on the bathroom floor.

This time is different. This here and now. The trailer was the same, but it was in a different park. Just like this America. But it never really was any different; me, America, or any other goddamn thing. It’s just a matter of perspective. Waking up to reality, with it’s ever shifting fucking side-winding quality.

So what if I turn a trick or two, I do it for you. Just because I don’t even know who I am any more doesn’t mean any less. Doesn’t mean I’m lost.

Labels: Blondes

Posted by Ahenobarbus on Thursday, August 23, 2007 at 8:05 PM | Permalink