I Guess I Only Claim to be Nice

Indulging in basic sensory pleasures has the complete opposite effect on me once the feelings are gone. Like my body is seeking balance. In my life there is no balance though. We just end up on a topsy-turvy perpetually wobbling carousel. It's like the Tilt-A-Whirl. Maybe that's why I always liked that ride so much. It felt like home.

I just watched "Southland Tales" and Richard Kelly totally fucked with my head once again. Except this time, I didn't understand a word of it. I think he seriously lost his mind this time. It was kind of frightening how he got so many celebrities to come along with him on it, too.

I think by now I've turned into one of those wind-flag-balloon-people that stand in front of gas stations and car dealerships, waving bonelessly in fake wind. You see me here, in some sort of motion. Perpetually standing and giving my all to celebrate the puny life I have. But the air that moves me is manufactured and auto-piloted. You don't get to see me when I'm actually happy, because you don't see me anymore except in passing. And even then, you're only watching me undulate in the breeze through a little window, little box.

Someday I'll be a real girl, someday.