Idols

how can you bear to hold a mirror to yourself, your life, when the only emotions you have that seem in any way worth having come to you artificially--manufactured, vicarious--through 'reality' television or, occasionally, in a voice stuttering electronically to you down a bad connection? how can you say these things provide you with an equal measure of comfort? how can you admit that and still feel honest, whole, substantial?

for you it must be wearisome; for myself, i find i need to say it everyday, hoping i can make it all, myself, my life, somehow seem more real.

i tell myself: make this all worth it.

Over the rooftops a plane in the sky
Beat of a bass drum cars passing me by
Under a bridge dark then back into light
A river of raincoats and a forest of faces
Still for a moment then red into green
Slow shuffling shoes whisper sight unseen
Row upon row of houses return an empty stare
Let me daydream for a little while longer

Hope Ill never wake
When Im thinking about you

-The Sundays, When I'm Thinking About You