2005-05-11 - 1:10 a.m.
fil mish-mish
Having your flattery stroked
by letters from a screen.
Specifically designed? Some dramatic publicity stunt?
Not a good feeling.
She had her suspicions
Vague love letters. No prank involved?
(Add your own assumptions:)
Cat's got your tongue. Misunderstanding love.
"It's not what I meant. That's not what I meant."
Huge rolling assumptions pile up against one another.
The incident. An instance of interpretation gone bad.
What to do next. Getting a little bored.
Stenciled figures have been laid on the sidewalk.
She had her suspicions again.
Digging for gold through electricity. Accusations met denial.
It took a while to explain.
"Where are you coming from?" -
"My cars down the street. I don't know the address."
They don't like the story. It's already coming apart.
"Where have you been? Start coming clean." -
"I've been out stenciling."
Unmarked car. Turns the heat on. The whole neighborhood is lit up
with flashing lights.
They have assembled a collage. Passing it around.
She got all done up. Took a series of photos.
A whole new level is developing.
My passport is old and incriminating.
Flipping through it you'd be suspicious for sure.
Ushered in to the interrogation room.
He's good to go. Opens his notebook, crosses his legs.
"You look disheveled. Did you drive all night just to meet me?" -
Woke up to the sound of pounds at my door.
Badge to the window. You're being questioned.
"What do you know about him, really? Does he use the computer alone?" -
"I don't know, I know know." I say.
"You might think to protect yourself. It's no good to date a terrorist."
But I believed in his claim he needs distance.
So distance it is. Another week in fly-by.
I walk around to ignore the wait. I search my files for words worth saying.
Someone asks what brought on your interest in me?
I said "you misspelled something".
So the intrigue began to disintegrate.
But I believed in his claim to need distance.
and the red stage sung 'fil mish-mish', 'fil mish-mish'.
