A bitter heart that bides its time and bites.

i had a dream about you.

is that non-specific enough, for whoever you are, person of the day to feel good about yourself? you can fill in the blanks with whatever you need today, it's mutual, all the names we call each other. there's not a word for abuse, you take what i give and get angry later, i take what you have, and say it wasn't enough. but chances are, next week we're doing the same, and behind all the feelings we're really quite content with this non-specific person of the moment, with a replaceable name, and why can't i quite remember your face?

what day was that again? when we did that thing? there's a reason why some people can't recall dates and times, it's because all of those special things that the other person remembers with such touching, glowing, disgusting gushing warmth has already happened in my life. so sorry. didn't you ever wonder why everyone is nostalgic and that people are full of stories? it's because you can't come close. you can't even come second. you're the ghost of tomorrow trying to haunt my past. it just won't work that way, but i still love you, whoever you are. the person of the moment.

there isn't a word for whore. lets call you a well-read script, that we all take parts in. tomorrow, who knows, maybe i'll be in your play for today. don't take that to mean you are special, because for the moment, you're reading my script quite well, and you have a penchant for drama and that's the genre most people shuffle my review into.

i'm sorry - was all tomorrow's parties not what you were expecting?

let me put it this way. try to figure out which vinegar taster you are, it's still the same shit, no matter who's living it, but how you feel doesn't make you any more special.

if you're confused, i'll sidestep for a moment and fill that empty brain that must of been sleeping through life.

there's these three people gathered around a vat of vinegar, each putting their finger in it and letting us know what's up. it's a simple allegory of three eastern ways of thinking (sorry there's no jesus or replaceable male of the moment here, we all know what a bitter apple that is). the three guys gathered around are K'ung Fu-tse (Confucius), Buddha, and Lao-tse. Confucious said this is sour stuff. Buddha said, like, wow this is some bitter stuff, man. Lao-tse said, "It's all good.".

i had a dream about you. is that specific enough? what were you expecting that day you cried and thought you were special?

The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.
The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
in the preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde