Prologue:
Why now? Why here? Why THE INTERNET? Why is your room a mess? Why Modest Mouse? Why Joan Didion? Why toothpaste, why cigarettes, scissors, the words 'yes' and 'no', why frayed ragamuffin 'chic', why snacks -- so many snacks, specifically -- why make-up? Round your lips and try to taste the flatness in the universe's most useless word: wuh-huh-ayyyyyy. Why don't you look up how to say 'why' in other languages, buddy? That might be more inclusive. Undoubtedly more poignant, somehow.
The movie Notting Hill and a Joan Didion essay on Hollywood and people wearing shoes bound up in plastic bags on the subway have got me thinking about every single one of you, which is to say, myself. What's everyone doing when they're zoning out or into something, regarding objects passing? I have never run into anyone subconsciously. I also don't read UsWeekly, but that's probably because I'm too poor to buy magazines. How many therapists per capita? I know we can't see the same things. There's no way. But if I am all of this, what might you be?
Where else would I live but inside of my head?
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