Shane stayed over last night, the way his head rested on my body made me aware of my collarbones. We have a strange friendship, he and I. When we are together in a room, we pair off, we pool our attentions. I am continually The One Who Got Away While Standing in The Same Room and he is That Man Who Speaks Like a God Creating but Likes Me Anyway. Dawn painted light onto my ceiling and I watched it, the sun sparking off the gold sequins attached to the cloth that hangs over my bed bright enough for my blind eyes to see, and considered why I didn’t blush when I finally read to him his poem. He’s just back from the Edinburgh book festival, where he was on a panel with John Saul, Salman Rushdie and Margaret Atwood, (his book’s been released already in the UK), and here I am, a girl in a bar with funny hair and a lopsided smile, for a moment attempting to be literary, reading to him, the man who won the world slam three years running, about how I don’t love him as much as he loves me. If it were two years ago, I would have laughed at my inestimable gall, but now, somehow, it’s alright. In my own way, I’m on par.
A little bit that’s scary.
Broken Flowers was artfully ingenious, by the way, before I forget to say ecetera. Jim Jarmusch catching intelligently how lonely our memories are, and ending it with such implied emotion that it went past being clever and landed squarely in the masterful category. Bill Murray plays a similar role to the one he did with Lost In Translation, but twists it slightly, resulting in a more black and white character, one more inclined to allowing for dry assumptions. I really liked it, the humour was provocative and cheerfully nasty, as it tends to be with Jim Jarmusch, but I don’t know if it’s going to catch on the way Coffee & Cigarettes did. One can hope, certainly.
Today the majority are over at Playland, shouting on rides and watching animals snuffle about in pens. I’m caught still clinging to the internet petticoats, wandering the flooding catacomb of New Orleans and am wondering if I’ll make it out at all. Ray should be calling, confirming if we’re going to go rollercoaster or not. I hope he does it soon, as Reine called recently and I’m feeling bad that I haven’t been able to ring her back yet.