But I Won't

I could tell you someone else's story about their roommate's immense porn collection which apparently contained a tape of amateurish, black and white and quite raunchy gay porn inside a straight porn cover which had been found accidentally...

Or I could tell you about the flash of a movie scene that came to me this morning: A man crosses a freeway overpass as monstrous squid tentacles begin to wrap over the safety railing from below. A young woman who had been walking about twenty yards ahead, suddenly turns, clutching what appears to be a box of Hostess Ding Dongs to her chest. She throws out the sort of snarl one would imagine a cornered mother badger would, clutches the box tighter to her chest, turns and runs. There has been a sort of aural mix of Angelo Badalamenti score and seedy bar, honky-tonk piano through this, but now a distortion heavy guitar picks up. The man looks over to his left to see a fairly conventional looking rock band playing on a makeshift stage made of plastic milk crates. The crowd surrounding them dance in a pagan frenzy, somehow setting concrete pillars on fire...

Or I could tell you about the odd, calm, but melancholy feeling I have after the raging frustration that had built with the man period I had been experiencing the last couple of days, and how it feels made and built by the odd combination of things; excitement for the unknown and being tired of looking for things to be angry at, the inane chatter around and the lonely wail of the train whistle outside...

Or I could tell you that I really want to be at home on this rainy and cold day, wrapped up and watching a movie, drinking coffee and eating a chicken pot pie...