The Movie Story

this story begins before the credits with the number of times my mood changed this morning, between the time the alarm first went off and the time the train finally arrived.

meanwhile, across town, near the covered bridge, georgina and hank, in the midst of their deepest depression yet, had an epiphany: hey we both want someone to put us up against that fucking wall. that was when they knew. they looked into each other’s eyes, sort of.

an aside to the girl in the theatre who will NOT SHUT THE FUCK UP: oh is it in fact complex?? thank you for that. i swear to god. people are idiots, and nemeses come from the wierdest places. like ARIZONA, for fuck’s sake.

i think i’m trying to peel back all the skin off my fingers. they hurt all the time. but that’s what they get if they don’t do a better job.

where. yes.

they are trying very hard to remain positive and focused on the soon. but let’s face it.

please, the thin stranger said, clutching his chest and gasping for his last breath: tell them i’m sorry. give my regrets to the following: susanna hoffs, holly hunter, lindsey mckeon, trina mcgee-davis, and Anastasia Sogorsky. tell them I wish things were different, but the fact remains that i think katherine towne is my new favorite.

and then he was dead.

sometimes I wonder (out of the theatER, into the light) if people in china have AIM. hmmmmm, i go; i wonder.

our car is parked very very very very very very far away.

Secret Antiques

This town is monochromatic in a way it didn’t seem when we first decided to live here. But the problem was that most towns did look they same anyway.

and yes well it’s definitely not the way you think it issss

Ask the right people too many questions and you will find them asking you too many questions in return, and that is never a good thing. You will soon find yourself without anything to ask about.

mmmmm dear heart you are quiet like humming in the next room

look you are so tiny to me

I watched her from outside, through the window, wondering why they don’t dust in antique stores. No dust would probably ruin something about what all these things meant.

i can’t go on like this, but it’s all i have i cried whenever everyone laughs

Later I will

Later I will tell you a story about ghosts.

You won’t be the last person to die in this house, after all.

I need to fix it so you walk more quickly past mirrors, and think twice about opening your eyes in the middle of the night.

Don’t tell me there are no sounds you wonder about. Tonight you will see what quiet can be like, and we will find out what you think about that, when the whisper lets you hear the things you couldn’t before.

The walls are not going to leave you alone, and neither will I.

I’m behind you. Above you.

It is important that I do this to you. A story about ghosts is not the same as a ghost story.

Flowers for X

I was buying flowers for Rosalie last night. There’s a place down the street from my office that’s pretty good, nice people, interesting arrangements. It’s not the best, the best is on Centre St. in JP. There’s also a place near my office that employs some of the surliest, most abrasive flower-sellers ever. I don’t go there anymore.

Anyway, I went to the place down the street and pick out a pretty good arrangement from out in front of the store. I like going to the florists in the fall the best. First of all because the flowers tend to not lend themselves to being bundled with a bunch of baby’s breath, which is ugly and hated by everyone, but also because the bouquets tend to include not just flowers but other, prickly things, blue alien things, berry-laden things. It’s more interesting to me. I can’t actually name any flowers by site. Except snapdragons and belles of ireland.

I took my bouquet to the register. There was one guy ahead of me, who was carry a more traditional type of bouquet, probably tulips or something. Just he hands it to the girl behind the counter –who must be a new employee, I’ve never seen her before, she’s probably a student from Northeastern– his cell phone rings.

  1. He’s in front of me, therefore holding me up. Preventing me from the rest of my life.
  2. His bouquet, which he’s getting wrapped up all fancy, obviously for his girlfriend, is not as nice as mine. He is an amateur at buying flowers, or his girlfriend has lousy taste.
  3. Cell phone.

So the girl was wrapping the flowers up all nice, and this guy seemed to be getting the brunt of his conversation delivered to him. Lots of silence, breaths & half-utterances of disbelief, Yes I dids, No I did nots, I do not understands, Where is this coming froms, Buts.
He got hung up on. He stuck the cell phone back in his jacket just as the girl finished wrapping the flowers.

There was another person in line behind me at this point, and I was wondering if there might be someone else in the back room who could open another register or something and move this process along a little quicker. She handed him the flowers, and started pressing register buttons. HE was looking at the ribbon bow on the flowers as she said “Fourteen fifty.”

He put the bouquet down, took out a ten and a five, picked up the flowers, took the change she was holding out to him, then said: “Here. These are for you now.” He held out the flowers to her.

She looked a little stunned. It was a surprising thing. It seemed like an odd gesture to me. She probably got all the free flowers she wanted, working there. But she probably didn’t know what to do, because she took the flowers from him without saying anything. He turned and was out the door, turning left, heading up Mass Ave.

“He should have kept them for himself,” the woman behind me said, and I agreed. I guess he had suddenly decided to do make a stab at something sort of bittersweet, which, incidentally, is a word I’ve never liked.

Many Girls Laughing

1. Did you watch 7th Heaven last night???
The fucking olsentwins are going to be on next week.

lastnight?The

What did I tell you about those troubleGirls?

I really like that sweater.

2. Take it to the bridge.

I saw a girl all alone on a bridge last night.

Alienation, unbelonging, somewhere between girl and woman, set apart, loneliness, no one understands, trying to be something I’m not sure I am. Don’t you see these are all common themes.

Come on what.

3. I practice the way I dress.

I pretend I don’t care

But my invisibility on the sidewalk as you pass by is carefully conceived.

You think I’m joking when I say you would not recognize me on the street. Sure I would you say.

You are lying to yourself like girls acting their age + 10. But don’t feel bad I wouldn’t recognize you on the street eyether.

7th Heaven was good

it’s the sound of a large group of girls, perhaps a dozen, laughing