Friday, August 31, 2007

The Hurt I Suffered nor All the Pain I Rise Above


Can you imagine this naked? Can you imagine living a life where you can't not imagine this naked?
I was on the subway, and an old fat lady looking not unlike Pee Wee's Big Adventure's Large Marge with a cane and lots of perfume sat next to me, and she began reading her mail. I'm a nosy bastard, so I read it, too. The first letter that she began to read
Dear Josie,

Thank you for the photos, and especially for the nudes. Who wouldn't want to see a beautiful woman naked?
I threw up a little in my mouth, and in fact, there is still a piece of the semi-vomit stuck to my uvula, and it reminds me of how truly weak we are.

There's a lyric in "Idiot Wind" by Bob Dylan that goes:
You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor all the pain I rise above
And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness, or your kind of love,
And it makes me feel so sorry

If ever I were to say those words to another person, the "hurt I suffered" would include this very experience on the subway. It may be the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

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