something from the girl

Devon, graciously, agreed to provide my flashes for today, and she did her best to make them as tricky as possible. She’s good like that. So, from the girl:

flashes for my baby:
1)”I only listen to the blues while hand washing my delicates”
2) Late night infomercials, whiskey and a cheap blond wig
3) The desperation and debauchery of trust fund teenagers on the Upper East side

Midnight, the city that never sleeps, or so they tell me. I wouldn’t know – I sleep often enough, or so it seems. The lights from the outside were flickering through the hazy blinds, not thick enough to keep out the florescence. Sun, yes…artificial, flashing, blinking lights, apparently not. I wanted to tell myself that it was too early to have a hangover, but I couldn’t form the words. Hangovers are supposed to come the next day, not the same night, aren’t they? Aren’t you supposed to sleep first? Had I slept first? I couldn’t remember. Seems like the blinds weren’t the only things hazy. I had stayed up with the company of late night infomercials, whiskey and a cheap blond wig. Well…it was more than a wig to be fair, but I couldn’t remember her name anyway and it’s not like she was especially bright. Unlike the lights. Damnit they looked like strobes. Felt like it too, pounding in my head like a tribal drumbeat and making my eyes water. maybe the watering was the whiskey. Who could say? I understood now that money couldn’t buy happiness, if it couldn’t even buy curtains/blinds that blocked out the neon lights of a city that wasn’t supposed to be sleeping anyway – so why was that all I seemed to want to do. The tv clicked off. I looked around in the sudden semi darkness, moderately incensed that the wig…er…girl would turn off something as pressingly important as a fantasmo-mop, or whatever the hell the latest and greatest contraption was. She was nowhere near the remote. I had set the sleep timer, apparently and time had run out. Too bad it was all the way across the room, and my desire for ambient noise was overcome by my desire to not move. I reached over and flipped on the stereo instead. Rock – hell no. Oldies, preferably not – r&b, that part of the evening was over with, and I’m not sure I could manage again. Techno? Fuck not. I settled on blues. Smooth sounds and mournful wails of colored sound, something I couldn’t relate to but enjoyed regardless. The chick leaned across my lap, pulling the plug and plunging the room once more into silence – if you can call the whizzing of traffic on the boulevard outside silent.

“I only listen to the blues while hand washing my delicates” she said, before returning to her sprawled out position on my bed.

“wish you would have been listening to them before you came over tonight then” I muttered. That was probably rude, but I had no patience for explanations or platitudes, and it was far too late to care.

“why do you have to be so mean?” Her mouth turned down into a pout, a sulky expression of malcontent. I shrugged it off.

“it’s the desperation” I said, still shrugging. “brings out the bad in you”

I lit another joint, the sharp intake of air colliding with the whiskey remnants and making my head spin.

I think I had too much time on my hands. The night was just beginning, but I wanted nothing but solitude and noise – the abrasion of the happenstance that seems to bring this world together – as long as I was all alone. I could make some kind of political statement on the nature of my ilk, but who cared? nothing that hadn’t been heard before, on loop like a record player stuck on a scratch. Pointless. Get over it.

Beam me up scotty, there must be more to this, but I’m fucked if it requires the energy to find it.