Modern Priscilla
Well. Jesus, Mareh and Joseph, what are we doing today? Nothing. We're dancing on broken promises, feeling the glass enter our feet, those soft and tender arches, but there's no way back. No, sinner-girl, there's just the road you made by casting your bottles ahead of you and refusing to just turn around.
Wiseness, wiseass. You have to be careful. You have to misconstrue. But you still have to encode the words with meaning. Imbue them like a goddess of the dawn imbues the morning with her blessing, her fingers digging into everything, everyone, eschewing privacy and dark surrender for an assigned and true bliss. But I do not question, despite my tone, I do not question the way the goddesses and their light move.
I am going on a trip. And I do not know where. I'm being put some place and it is the puttedness that makes me happiest of all. I will go and I will see, understanding that in this case, darling, our wills align. You were just the one to make the spark, the engine start. I can follow anything if it'll let me on its train.
Do you suppose Australia? Do you suppose France? South Africa? Canada and some spy missions in Vancouver? New Zealand? Italy? I would love to have some real margherita pizza. A venetian gondoleer. A prussian...prussian. Some real tequila, not that I walk around questioning the validity of tequilas.
I want to take pictures. Oh, of everything. I want to take you in my heart with me as I go. That's the one place I can't lose you in. Can't forget and leave behind. I'll have to embroider you there with blue and purple veins. They'll find that, and the echoey EVP-laced message on the black box, when we crash en route or in return. Then, the surgeons who try to save me will read it there, hear it in the death rattle and they'll know that I was someone who loved you. When they develop the pictures, you'll appear like a green shadow around my body.
I worry. But I'm going anyway, if only for that shadow's sake.
I never would have believed they'd understand the importance of this. Happenstance and fate. Our wills aligned. I'm listening for any sign. I don't know what is going to happen to me anymore. It's not ten steps to the grave. It could be anything. The disco ball in my head could be flicked on.
I could...you know...run off.
Wouldn't that be just the biggest bit of comedy since Blazing Saddles? Some shore. Me. The whipping winds and the waves cresting just so. It's very romantic.
But, nah, not until we see the end of Supernatural. Then, the whole proposition might have to be reconsidered.
I still miss you.
