Ring Around the RosyBack to the Blogsy
...some people are just smarter, and it's always the Brown kids, the Jews, the experimental art-geek musicians on MySpace. Sometimes you wished you just bumped into one on the corner of 4th Ave, and so will perhaps ensue a fictional account of your friendship/dalliance with the dilettante, in which, mind you, you are the dilettante. As such, I think I'm fine, I think I'm perfectly okay with my little head falling over and trying to catch up on my feet. As such, I think it might be a problem that I live in a world where a friend asks: do you even know what Ring Around the Rosy is about?
I'm grinning helpless like a cat while chiming "BLACK DEAAATHHHH..." but in my head I'm hearing "BLACK BUSHHHH" all over again. These days, I can do no more than grin helplessly.
Clairvoyant's first love is second. A second past. Five months down to nowhere. All I need is to throw myself somewhere. It starts here. It starts with all the movies I haven't seen and all the books I should be reading. I know I'm making up for lost time, but through the window on the fourth floor of the Fellows building, the world looks like a German village. Geng said, "what? didn't you know?" As if it were all my own undoing? Yet in a way, I know he's right (even if he didn't mean it that way). I know that everything starts here, and where else is better than Germany, her fairytales, and my own dreams confessed?