sometimes, you walk to the

sometimes, you walk to the movie by yourself at night, and the man at the theater lets you in for free because the computer is broken. you thank him. your day has been filled with the neverending chaos of your financial woes. the air is cold, and you wish you had worn your hat. full moon casting its pale glow on quiet city streets. you wish it were raining. the film about Frida Kahlo makes you feel sad. her life, wrought with such pain and anguish, reminds you of being sick as a child. how such things never really leave the consciousness and drift downstream; rather they stay and pool up, causing you to wade through their murky waters from time to time. and it made you sad as it magnifies the knife of solitude. how fucking lonely it can be inside of your art. you walk home slowly smelling the brisk air. the onset of dew. sleep.

Posted by at November 21, 2002 12:17 AM

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