Ashen clouds have scabbed over the sky. There is surf music on the clock radio. Last night I dreamt that this house was made out of the same kind of glass that the proverbial “they” use to make one-way mirrors, like the ones that make up the walls of those big office buildings on Hempstead Turnpike. The only difference was that the glass was inverted, so that the world could see what was going on inside the house, while I remained ignorant to the outside, surrounded by perpetual reflection.
This song reminds me of sperm swimming up stream... of a fetus being formed in a belly...of an accident inheriting several lifetimes....of a disgraced sitcom actresses vomiting in front of a never-was, who is not so much applying lipstick as she is plastering it over and around her mouth, creating the illusion of crimson pillows at the bottom of her face, pushed together in the shape of a heart with a horizontal slash across the middle, separating the bottom and top. I check my reflection in the window for a possible Chelsea Grin.