Today I bought The Beach Boys Pet Sounds on vinyl from The Record Exchange. I'm listening to side two over and over again while sitting at St.'s white kitchen table. I'm staring out the window trying to think about what's wrong in my life without getting overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed. I stopped reading poetry in May. I'm nervous everyday. “Sometimes I feel very sad” is a line that should be repeated like this. “I guess I just wasn't made for these times” is another. I bought a french butter dish. I bought new dresses. I got a new job. I've made new friends. I woken up with a man's love. I've woken up without it.
Lately I've talked a lot about David Byrne's film True Stories. John Goodman is in it, and he's kinda thin. There's a scene where the whole city is in a bar and they sing a song together. I want to live in that kind of moment; one pressured into uniformity, one faced on a stage under lights and behind a microphone stand. What is it about a song that makes memory want it? I can still smell every love with my memory.
I made a new friend a few days ago. E, M's friend from Utah, is pretty sad. Sitting on M's couch, I told him about masturbating with barbie dolls as a child. We talked a lot about innocence and sexuality, how women aren't supposed to have it, how we can grow into want for another human being. I never mentioned Breton, which is unlike me. I mentioned the Greek film Dogtooth. E mentioned growing up Mormon. I think I want to move to LA and be around A. I think I want to become a person like M; one old friends come to visit.
I'm an excellent host,