June 19, 2012

Too Much

Start here...hit play:

It's 1987, 88? I am in grade seven or eight. Alone in a room. A record crackles. I'm lost in its jacket-- contemplating madness. Seems so appealing. Exotic. A free exit if it ever gets to be too much.

It's my dad's record. It was, but it's mine now. I've absorbed it from him and all the baggage it carries. Not sure who I am singing it to, but it feels necessary....like a hobo in the snow. Who have I let down in so many ways? I glimpse a future. There's a mirror, some makeup, a smile, some emptiness.

My old heart is still a mess...

Are you gonna love the man, when the man gets home....

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