Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Mood Lights in a Haunted House

You inspire in me a persona. A persona which is not my own. A recklessly oblivious character. You talk of troubles. Of lost jobs, botched days. And I respond with blissful irrelevance. I need to find a recipe. I overslept and no one cared. Where might I find such a scarf?

Your tribulations release me. Free me. Instead of concern for your well-being- which anyone else would get- you're served musings on the banal. I'd almost call this persona an ass. But it's not cruel. It's not self-obsessive. It's not vain. It is a little scared- how far am I from an unceasing string of calamity?- but not in flight.

It's wholly inappropriate. Yet there is no shame. No regret. No impulse to reform.

This irrelevance is met with kindly sighs. Does it lift us both? I do hope so.


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