"This was back in '92. She was like, 'Do I look sexy?' And I was like, 'Well yeah, you're fucking hot." -Renegade announcer over megaphone.

If you stop haunting me, I'll stop writing these damn things. But we only ever come close. "It's not optimism," she said, "it's self-preservation." 'Displacement' is the ability to talk about something not currently present. As I'm displaced by you? In honor of Aristotle then!, and On Marvelous Things Heard: tonight we heard some marvelous things indeed. Nothing like a poetry slam in a cramped one-room bar!:

Sincerity comes reluctantly with explanations in it's mouth, in this, the wake of secrecy.
Your hands tend to the unspoken for, their touch, an intrusion upon shame.
With a voice descending the depths of disillusionment,
still your hands return, having never learned the difference.

Such a thing not even read, though it's just as well. Beautiful words, formulated for to break predictions into tiny pieces, move me to the point of an absent smile that lasts the night, which might carry me to sleep in peace. But they run the risk of addiction too--not sleeping when I lay my head down, but bound to the books that come close. "Great Scott!" (But not quite that yet either, hey? And anyway...)

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (3/2/09)