And When it Goes

Friends from out of town: beers, dancing, cigarettes again. So many little stories. I feel like my organs are made of glass and every time I hear a rattle I get scared. I've hurt my stomach again. Tonight I'm going to sing at the show in Brooklyn. I feel weird. Too many things touch off too many other things. My whole body feels like it's full of nerve endings.

For when it hurts:
You know, but then again: I've been scared before. I've felt my jaw drop and I've lost my appetite. Woken up in the middle of the night, feverish, and mortified to be next to another person. I figure this way: I'm not really so scared anymore. And this new found (let's call it) courage is, apparently, horrifying. Do you think I am going to yell at you? Embarrass you? Do you think that because I am no longer afraid of being alive that I am going to do something horrible or make you think about how scared you are? Do you think I am going to hit you? Do you think I am going to fuck your old college pal and talk about you the entire time? Do you think I am a genius? Am I being mean or am I being bored and is there a difference? Does this have anything to do with: astrology, you, history, my heart, or micro nutrients?

Or, Corin:

"Do you think I am an animal? Am I not? Do you like fur?
Do you want to come over? Are we captive only for a short time?
Is there splendor? I'm not ashamed."

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