http://whateverwednesday.blogspot.sg

Love/Stores (Or, But You Will Get Used to It)

FIVE

"Lights up on a table at a café. A man and a woman sit across from each other. They sit in silence for a moment. They are not looking at one another. [Pause.] but it's an avoidance borne not of unfamiliarity but more of something like the opposite, something like too much familiarity, or uncertainty about what, exactly, at this moment, their familiarity means, and so there is awkwardness between them, a tension.
[Pause.]
There is clearly history here, is the point. The specifics or details or exact particulars are not of course entirely clear from this opening image, but that those particulars exist is unmistakable, and their importance, the weight, or, maybe more accurately, the almost unbearable meaning of the particulars hangs over the table. Like a dense fog. 

Which, while, okay, admittedly, being a pretty unremarkable not to say obvious simile to choose is on the either hand not an inappropriate one because what's most painful here, for both of them, is their inability to see inside each other, to know for sure whether all or even any of the aforementioned particulars which are of such importance to each of them individually are of some or even any importance to the person across the table, if they even care. Such that he might be thinking, "I remember the time we went for breakfast near my place and I was upset," This, just to interject into his thought, this being shortly after it all started, the beginning of what is now their shared history, a history which ended, like nearly all such histories, in a series of ambiguous encounters of entirely unclear parameters that became increasingly uncomfortable until they absolutely need to stop, rendering their story, such as it is, one of those with a beginning, and then basically no middle, and then an ending, followed by a lengthy silence, which is, presumably at this very moment, about to be broken."



I interrupt this stream of whining to bring some post-modern goodness to your lives.
Itamar Moses has the biggest collection of Dinosaur art in the world (possibly).
This is an excerpt from his interview with NYMAG(?)

Who is your mortal enemy?  

And give them a heads-up? Please. They will never see me coming.

And he is also the author of the collection of plays called "Love/Stories (Or, But You Will Get Used to It)" and it's amazing and I cannot fathom my feels.

Whatever Wednesday

More whine whine wine wine

I keep refreshing all these stupid social networks hoping something will pop out, jump out at me and tell me you matter. Someone needs to talk to you. Someone was thinking about you at 12:31am. 

whine whine whine wine

Look at all these people trying to be beautiful

muse

shower

1. holds the promise of rejuvenation, that somehow - things become as clear as the tiny soap bubbles which don't disappear fast enough
2. but when I turn on the tap, the water just hits the bottom of my feet, the thousands of nerves there are screaming for me to move
3. and I tell myself I should stay on because the coldness in the air is going to disappear once the heater gets going
4. it just leaves me shivering, more conscious than ever, lacking any clarity and cold

Pillars

There are too many things that are happening at once and I despise this

1. Did you just call me a feely, whiny bitch- I'm really disappointed in you and it's me we're talking about so that means that you've really screwed up
2. I'm sorry I am a kill joy
3. No fuck you - l e a v e
4. Back the fuck off, really
5. Thank you for throwing a lovely party