I have been rolling around on the carpets of Denver, the closest I can get to functioning properly while everyone wears their name badges pompously around their necks with notebooks and pens and plastic cups of water that never empty. You’re over one thousand miles away and all I want to do is put my hand in your mouth while you yawn. And you tell me you would walk here if it were practical, but what is sensible in these circumstances? When my stomach folds in, reminding me of when I slept away from my mother for the first time and didn't understand yearning. I distract myself by trying to find analogies that involve food to justify my aching for you. You think about me every other second, and I sit in a convention room thinking about how your teeth seem to keep getting whiter ever since you went to the dentist. The poet says I should get to know these people now because we will all be dead soon, but your love is criminal, and the repercussion is my uncompromising indifference for strangers. I am going to send you a picture of the view from the 18th floor while everyone makes way downstairs to the lobby bar. The ten dollar vodka sodas spill on their name badges and everything you do belongs in a song.
(From current BA show).
at 4:33 PM