Kisses

Well, at least you hear me Anton. You understand the agony of this awful silence.
You said it yourself, if not in so many words. How did that go again... a stream to a river to an ocean, to evaporate as vapor and then fall again as rain. It was something like that. And what was it you called it... this incomprehensible, aimless jest.
This treat or that. A milkshake or a absent lover. The function is the same. The heart jumps or then it falls. The thoughts flood in and then flood out. We shiver or shudder or quake with anticipation. Its all just consumption of one sort or another.
But I see how we differ and wonder if you're right. Maybe I am too cynical about the whole affair, placing blame on our treats and scolding myself for being deceived by them. I suspect that you would rather welcome them, be pleased to take whatever they can offer, make as your only expectation that they leave you a tad richer in the experience of it all.
Is it better to enjoy the ball then to spend the night at home in a brazen melancholy? Or does it matter at all?
After all, the glamour of the ball and the solitude of these pallid yellow walls, they both end up as nothing more then landfill in the end. To be forgotten, or at best remembered intermittently, vaguely, probably incorrectly. And both will someday disappear completely along with everything else.
So what does it matter? What does it matter if I drink my shake or climb my ladder or kiss my woman? What does it matter?
Its all just landfill.
Maybe it was for none the worse that R~ stayed home in the end.
- posted by Sigurd3/31/2005 10:22:00 PM