it's 3:45 am, on August 25, 2001 - reminiscing about prison love.
~
Tonight I'm feeling shifty, I don't know why.
Not the kind of shifty that relates to the shifts and means I'll be writing about jean, no. The kind of shifty that means, I'm sitting and I'm sitting and I'm wondering, will I ever be the kind of person people will read a biography about.
I have an intense love for biographies. I think that's why I like myths. You link people up, and you research their names, and you find out that everyone in the whole universe really is the same person, and though you knew it all along, finally, you have proof.
Yeah, um.
Something I forgot to mention. I know I'd forgotten something from the Barenaked Ladies concert ravings I did a few days ago, and I kept remembering at the wrong time to tell y'all.
But what the fuck. I call myself a slasher and I forgot to say: They kissed on stage!!!
Yes. that was three exclamation points.
Yeah. I know. I'm such a whore.
Anyway. Now that that's out of my system.
I saw the new episode of OZ today. Like, the first one in season 4.2? With Keller and Beecher saying they sing in the choir together.
Sweet jesus.
I want to sing but I cannot hold a tune. I want a prison lover, only, only.
Maybe I have one, or had one at least, and this is the after-glow; I can feel the glass right now, I can feel the heat. Beecher and Keller get so precious few minutes. They get stretched all out of proportion. Time does that when people put weight on things they don't understand.
I understand prison love, it's selfish.
Al has this quote that she says I said, only I don't know if it was really me. Anyway. It goes, 'Anyone who shows a little kindness in a vicious universe becomes the perfect lover.'
Today, I keep going back to this n-sync story (shut the fuck up) and this one line that goes, 'When they turned their backs to the audience, Lance looked at the screen at the back of the stage and watched himself dancing. His arms and legs moved through the steps, and his face and neck shone with sweat. He put his hand out and bounced up and down, and the image on the screen jumped too. '
And, I keep going back to that. 'He put his hand out and bounced up and down, and the image on the screen jumped too'.
I didn't mention that I think I understand a little bit of the arrogance and selfishness it takes to want to bounce on screen, did I. Well, that's a given; what the fuck else am I doing here?
Charisma Carpenter's fine ass is my desktop wallpaper.
I bounce up and down, and wait impatiently for the world to say something about it, since I don't have a camera.
~*~
Something completely unrelated. I forgot to tape Roswell today, so I missed an episode and it's really pissing me off. It also means that, come Monday, I'm going to have to start a new tape because I want to get all of these bloody episodes properly and in order, and it'll make me really really mad if only *one* episode is out of place.
I'm incredibly anal-retentive sometimes.
Right now, I have two full boxes of clothing that I wear, and I wonder, am I really that vain?
And then I don't have to wonder.
~*~
See, I'm not, down, really. I'm more, angry. I watched OZ, and the prison air soaked in, and I'm angry and I'm ready to lash out. Don't want me, bitch? Fine, I'll fuck someone else. Move to London, Cass? Whatever, I'm strutting around. Move out, move on, resent? I can resent twice as hard as you, I bet, and I don't forget stuff. I hold grudges. I'm good at it.
I can shift all my relationships into terms of prison love. Even myself.
The question is, what will it get me tonight? If I am in prison, what have I done. --that's right. I remember. So what's my redemption? What do I have to do to be saved?
This is why I like Tom Fontana. He basically says 'fuck, man, you're hooped. You keep trying though, buddy, because if you don't your karma's fucked up anyway, and instead of death being relatively quick, you'll find out your prison lover ain't lovin' you any more, and really, they're off fucking around with someone else's head.'
Head games. Head names. Don't fuck around with'em because you're likely to regret it.
--hey. I haven't been in a Poet mood in a while.
I saw Poet naked today. He has my admiration. That and a fine ass.
~*~
I don't know why I'm reminiscing about prison love right now. I suppose it's because I'm really very stubborn and I can't let go of certain things easily; I like to make things hard because otherwise I get bored. Also, we've gone over the selfish issue.
There's this story, where Chris misses lance because he misses how Lance makes him feel? I think we've gone over that, but it bore repeating anyway.
And should I be resentful because Keller and Toby don't get along? Hell no. --but I am, and that's another failing I'm going to have to deal with.
Prison love. Prison hate. Neither of them can let go, in that case.
I feel the glass.
~
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