I Do Dumb Stuff, Like

These Are Very Confusing Times. For The First Time In History A Woman Is Expected To Combine: Intelligence With A Sharp Hairdo, A Raised Consciousness With High Heels, And An Open, Nonsexist Relationship With A Tan Guy Who Has A Great Bod.

This Ability To Exist In Pieces Is What Some Adults Call Resilience. And I Suppose In Some Way It Is A Kind Of Resilience, A Horrible Resilience That Makes Adults Believe Children Forget Trauma.

The Radio Was On And That Was The First Time I Heard That Song, The One I Hate. Whenever I Hear It All I Can Think Of Is That Very Day Riding In The Front Seat With Lucy Leaning Against Me And The Smell Of Juicy Fruit Making Me Want To Throw Up. How Can A Song Do That? Be Like A Net That Catches A Whole Entire Day, Even A Day Whose Guts You Hate? You Hear It And All Of A Sudden Everything Comes Hanging Back In Front Of You, All Tangled Up In That Music.

A Man Who Has Been Dead For A Week In A Hot Trailer Looks More Like A Man Than You Would First Expect.

I Think Of Images As An Immune System And A Transit System.