This is Bigger Than Us

I don’t know who shut off the volume, or when, but all I can hear is the static of the silence, as I watch this thing between us play out like a picture show before the invention of the talkie. Clara Bow’s heyday, here, before my eyes, and I play the helpless ingenue, though not quite as helpless as I enjoy making myself seem.

I don’t know who shut off the volume, but there are no subtitles to this picture. The only words are the ones half-remembered or half-imagined in some half-crazed, erotic stupor. Always half, but never full. Until your mouth is full of my blood. Continue reading