Cat’s eye glasses, commonly associated with librarians. Black-and-white polka dot dress. Believing in the afterlife is easier than believing she’ll never be real. Milk is crown. I saw someone once say to me that it felt wrong to say it in a song because then other people would see it. And, I suppose, it felt pathetic. Like the song would steal the moment and become more real than the self-involved confession of a man with a name to maintain.
“This is just like the movies.”
Feel sorry for me, people say. Yes, it’s not okay to be weak. But then perhaps weakness is more about the way you express it, right? There’s the element of honesty like Weezer’s Pinkerton. Yes, one must not fall to fashionable excuses – the fans eat it up. Your supposedly personal drama becomes their supposedly political engagement. Maybe there’s a comfort in letting the reference overtake the referent. Maybe there’s a comfort in letting the real slide into the background. The alternative – that Galatea depicted in Magritte’s Attempting the Impossible (1928) walking amongst those ignorant masses obsessed with their promised land that has been mapped out but refuses to become a territory – is too much to bear. I fell out of my mirror into the sky today. Yes, someone could say something. The experience was not holy or inviolable but describing it would be giving too much credit. Let it fade. Let it be. Milk is crown.