Somewhere in the world today is crawling with catastrophe. People are dying, there are gunshots and soft pools of pain I’ve never seen in person. I’m wrapped in a blanket, purple hair and an obscure band T-shirt with TV On The Radio written on it in curlicue script, thinking about this, and insulated in my first world country.
The children in chat are few today, it being easter, they being american, their country becoming run by faith. I wonder if Italy shuts down the same way or the South Americas. Are the streets silent today under the giant statue with out-stretched arms?
I can see birds flying in the sky on the other side of the window, gliding on air currents like a road to utterly nowhere. They look the same as the seagulls that live south of here and east. I remember looking out the windshield of The Truck when I was little and I knew it was spring because my dad would buy me Cadbury Cream Eggs behind my mothers back. I would try and eat the chocolate before the gooey inside and get sticky sugar all over me and my pink jacket. I remember the white crystallizing in my hair and being unable to get the foil off my hands without industrial effort. Now Cadbury is doing things like trademarking the colour purple.
When you were little, did you used to lay with your head back, maybe upside down on the stairs, and imagine what it would be like to walk on the ceiling? I would all the time. In every hotel room, I would picture all the little details of stepping over doorsills and maneuvering around light fixtures. These guys have created a room that channels the fantasy nicely. It’s somehow satisfying.