Broke Down and Busted

I think it's worth your while to deconstruct the artists, musicians, actors, actresses, and talented folks from whom you derive an especial emotional response. How powerfully memory comes attached to melody.

Sometimes, though not as often as I once did, I wonder what it would be like to be famous. And in doing so, I wonder through what lens the world would view me. I see myself in interviews, feeling awkward and put on the spot, never looking at the interviewer, instead looking intensely focused and meditative when delivering my response. Would they out there understand, really?

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And do you, dear readers, dare see the parts of them in you? Do you, do you dare?

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And was I this way then? And what did I romanticize and what was I really? If you asked around, what would they say? Was I misunderstood or mostly isolated? Was it mostly me in the end?



And in middle school did you secretly lust after the tomboy? She tried so hard to be tough.

Did you find her anger a secret, private aphrodisiac? And have you since divined this as fatal attraction personified?
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For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?