All you turkeys

It becomes more impossible to pin anything down the longer past and present embrace like wet transparencies - the eternal Then stamped into photographs, typeface running the same line over and over again, jumbling the meaning, and dreams that pull through filiments of lives you have no business waking. A song you thought you knew gives your heart a brand new pair of concrete shoes and pushes it overboard - that waterlogged ticker you lost last summer still trite except now you know too. Everything fits together so suddenly, sweetly and painfully, as it pushes you from the frame to complete its circle.

Croatia's turned down the sheet, put out the lights; it sleeps in a twinkling shoebox beneath the bed. Bojana, BoJANA, BoYana, however you get it wrong, she belongs here. She chews food pensively, shakes her head in slow-motion, smiles disbelievingly - could food possibly taste this good? Every morsel of her native land rolls over her tongue with that same allegiance.

All eyes are on me all the time: yours and hers and theirs and theirs too. Everyone that ever lived and knew us is watching, their furtive glances eating up hours of our film and it's not my best angle. So many boxes in disperate basements to lift the lids off of, so many angles to shake the dust from and try on again.

I don't know how long this thread pays out, if it's even the same thread, or if all threads are pulled from a single dream coat that is never quite finished. Or something else entirely.

Regardless

This weekend we went to see Control except the guy sold us tickets to see The Kingdom and we didn't figure it out until we were already crazy glued to our seats and the film had started. I'd have never gone to see it otherwise, and I'd have been right.

Other little things here and there. Happy Thanksgiving, Canada.