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Narcissi had spent $143 today to try and distract her on this chosen day off
"... with no hope of ever being seen...."
She was now blasting American Music Club, but she had been blasting in her fifty thousand year old (but it's paid for) ford car ... "Sullivan Street" by the counting crows.
It was the only CD she really played unless she had a rare passenger
her mother.
and she was off today
she read a cool book by Deborah levy
and wrote in her cool new journal from Italian artisans
and drank Guinness in a facsimile of an Irish pub
knowing it would be
catnip to
any
him
hymn
but it wasn't enough.
he left her.
he's trying for new fish.
it
fucking
annoyed her
she knew she wasn't something to be
dismissed, but she also knew
holding two ideas simultaneously
that she was a bit broken
"I could see you try - I could see you try and put me in my place."
she drank today
in the day
she did Guinness
then honeymeade
she then went to the library that her beloved grandmother
the only one who was true love in her entire childhood
used to take her two daughters (my aunt and mother)
to
the ones who grew up into narcissists
because she was so critical? or because of my father?
and they would dip their feet in the pools and have a picnic
in Washington park
she had shown him all of it.
wanting him to
fucking
care.
Leon had given no shits about any of it
he didn't want
any
exposition
at the library,
Narcissi had gotten quickly some books by Hemingway and Fitzgerald and an impulse checkout about humanity.
why not get some fellow drunks.
some drunks who loved? women.
now "videotape" by Radiohead was playing
she recalled being in Atlanta working for that fucking weird
dot com
and going to Radiohead concert by herself
and seeing the light box on stage
and wondering
wondering
wondering
if anyone would ever see her
"this is my way of saying goodbye... because I can't do it face to face."
x
she used to listen to this song every day on the way from Virginia highlands to peach tree street to go to work and she would cry and secretly smoke organic American spirit cigarettes and spray herself with perfume and mouthwash...
and it
... well, she put her hands up and her beautiful and so fucking smart skull rested in them like a bolt and a screw and she fucking sobbed....over you....the loss of you...someone please understand.... could she possibly be someone who wrote things to help other people understand....god god god god god
"you are my center when I spin away. Out of control on videotape..."
She kept driving to get more fuel for her angst.
a six pack - blasting "... she's almost everything I need. I'm almost drowning in her..."
she had been born here, but she acted like everyone here was a fucking dork. fuck their stupid asses. But, she was in the 98% of measured intellectual pissing - so it was rare to find a soul...fuck me. she was a hypocrite of course
"...today has been the most perfect day I've ever seen..."
after this,
"I'm closer to the golden dawn...I'm living in a silent film...I'm frightened by the total goal drawing to the ragged hole..."
and no one
cared.
but
her soul.
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