Moths circle porch lights because they think it’s the moon. They fly in a straight line by keeping the moon in a fixed position to one side of their vision, so, if they get close enough to a light bulb, their desire to fly straight results in a spiral that eventually fries them to death. I know, from a lifetime of observation, that I am capable of spirals and frying, unless I keep something big and glowing to the side of my vision. So just stay where you are and let me talk to you once in a while, and everything will turn out for the best. The good news for me being, it’s not like you have a choice, because you don’t really exist. I have chosen my moon wisely. Shut up and glow. Have some craters or something, I don’t care.
My girlfriend hugged me goodbye at the Channel 101 screening on Saturday night, and when she hugged me, her body trembled, and filled me with shame. Or stirred my sedentary shame into an honest suspension.
I don’t like myself very much. I need to say that on some kind of record and then I’m fine for hours or days. You can’t say it to a real person, they’ll just say, “that’s okay,” or “you should” or “you shouldn’t,” they’ll react, they’ll move, they’ll strategize, they’ll try to adjust me or they’ll run away. I don’t want it refuted or debated or therapeutically massaged. It’s not a projection or a misdirection or a distortion. It’s just a statement about how I feel. Just shut up and listen to me, you big dumb moon. I don’t like myself. And I don’t want to for a long, long time.
And I never want to feel that kind of tremble again. And I put that on a separate line so that it feels profound. And now I’m undercutting that so I feel clever. And now I’m saying that so I feel normal. I don’t want to get away with anything ever again. I don’t want to trick anyone into thinking I’m a hero ever again.
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