"you have to maintain *some* level of decency..."

i snapped off a hank of pickled string bean... hugh grant droned in the background with pink, turned up lips and tweed suit. me loving a full head of hair. i thought about grabbing it with my fingers. oh sweet merchant and ivory dvd... i certainly felt it money well spent even though i found it tenuously flawed compared to the book. the bean left an burning imprint on my lip from the spices that had been fermenting in a jar for a year.
"maurice" had often been propped up in front of my face from age 16 onwards. it mattered little that it was the only e.m. forster book i had bothered to read... nor did it strike me as odd that my day dreams were of me as clive incarnate forever leaning against a knee hoping for a pet... a rough hand through the curls... the breathless wait for a cue to make a move.
all this was painfully anchored to the way i pined for a replica of myself but wound up crashing into the lives of gob-struck simpletons. oh i TRIED the whole taoism stuff... the stuck up coward in me fanned my face in disdain one minute but feasted on a sense of having the smart-ass upper hand. always propelled face first into the chest of some lunk... some "good, blundering creature"... someone who kept me near when i fussed in silence wanting more out of the time spent together.
it's always pleasing to have an introspective movie night.