I kind of get the feeling my depressing narratives are merging into one. Sure individual songs, poems, and artworks are about specific situations but there seems to be one big depressing thread that pulls them altogether. Sometimes I think all we really have are our narratives, our stories, our memories. At times (say after a relationship breakup) I think to myself, “Well I’ve got this song and maybe it’s not a great consolation in the scheme of things, but nobody can take that away from me.”
At any rate something gnawed on an exposed nerve and I found myself tending to old wounds as though they were still fresh, recounting happy and sad moments 140 characters (or less) at a time.
# Gosh I miss you, like I missed you.
But I guess that was always the problem
– you didn’t miss me. Infact you pretended not to know me.
# And now Twitter wants me to follow Tom Cho
like it knows about that reading we went to
that one time at Grey Stone bar…
# The next time I’d venture to that bar
it would be like you were meeting me
for the first time…
# … and I died inside so many times,
I thought I would spontaneously combust.
# I wanted to run
but I feared my legs wouldn’t carry me.
But then I disappeared into the night.
# I watched Pan’s Labyrinth in my hotel room
and felt like such a fool.
# And I’ve not returned to your city since.
Perhaps I never will.