Wires

7-31-07:

She’s got her wires crossed. Can’t get a handle on the situation. What did he say? She’s hearing things. She would like to unplug herself from the situation. Some of the pictures are pretty, however, and she’d miss the electronic hum—that fizz of power we all live in and don’t even notice anymore. She tries to tune in to the truth. Where are her sockets? Maybe it’s that there are too many Goddamn options. She wants to just stop. And. Stare. At one thing. For a long long time. Get a handle on it, know its curvature and angles and assess its weight, know how it responds or provokes. Know it, listen to it. What are the words? What is actually being said? She could sit for hours this way and observe. Instead they’re asking her to dissect her heart and throw it in a bucket. This piece here, that piece there. Then you’ll have a fragmented narrative. She’ll be buzzing and shocked and quivering on the ground, but you’ll have your Goddamned fragmented narrative

of love.