The ghosts that whisper behind my eyes are echoes from some collective dream. Their constant urgings for contrary pursuits buffet my will to a stand still. I saw a Tenniel girl with a disembodied bunny. I saw a corseted puppet dangling from a cardboard cross. In the quiet haven of sentimentality that has replaced the tempest of clashing emotions, I sought refuge by refusing to age with trashy determination. Though I don’t believe in an inevitable fate, I give in to easy virtues, as if I were controlled by some invisible hand. Even though I stop myself from pursuing just any soft, fuzzy prey, I end up having the taste of game on my laboured breath.
Will you be my Liddell darling tonight?
spiral scratch
tempted .. . { squeeze, east side story }
fight the power .. . { public enemy, fear of a black planet }
hands of god .. . { mahalia jackson, for collectors only }
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