|in which i talk about television.
||[Apr. 28th, 2004|12:21 am]
|||||cmk feat. p. mcgoohan- be seeing you||]|
the umbrella & big wheel bicycle reality of The Villiage is pretty fucking alluring. schizoid man is my favorite prisoner episode to date for being the most genuinely mind-fucking, though i'd respond quite diffrently if presented with my doppleganger. the first thing i'd tell him was my password, & if he was a brother, he'd tell me his. we m's have to stick together in a world of cold clay. are we not spirits of smokeless fire, of air & darkness? number 2 & number 2 & number 2. because thats the thing. i'd be happy to take the position of number two. as far as i see it, keeping your secrets in The Villiage requires becoming number 2.
my plans of coming home & being adorable pretty much failed, though more through quirks of chemical circumstance than any action. jenny was in her fussy, unnatural anxiety mood, & after watching the gilmore girls she'd taped for me, she took a shower & went into the bedroom to read. usual fare for when she's feeling down like this. i don't know what to do with her, & anything i suggest just causes her to snap at me. i'm not resentful, i'm just telling it like it is. she needs her space so i give it to her.
personally? i could use a drink. i could go to the deli & buy a 40oz, but what i really want is something stiff. if i hadn't wasted all that becherovka on romanticizing it, i could drink that. healing waters of the river lethe, or some such. my brain is all a-cauldron from this mornings coffee consumption, & i don't know what to do with it. to drink enough beer to get me to sleep would turn me into a drunken ass stumbling snoring to bed. classy, sure, but not my speed tonight.
what i really need is a droid who understands the binary language of moisture 'vaporators. what i really need is a few stern shots of something that doesn't taste like cough syrup.