Laura Goldstein (Chicago, USA): from "primetime static"

We’re all having problems with our joints, Hamlet. Either they’re out of sync with some movements or we just need some time to set it right. What is this “second sight”? Multi-tasking in the dark night as sparks of life reach out of the set of all things. Oh to be alone, though. Oh, that head bone. Tossed around in the midst of missed connections, shrunken to the size of a tugboat, love finds a real place to start over instead of having to replenish its members every episode. One large hum of the evening channel in the interstitial zone, new huge muse makes a home a home, that’s the real news.

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Why have a favorite pair of underwear? It must be because so many girls have sex in their bras. Could be the story of their own morning before they met up to disclose. It’s a small round window out onto our own lives, right? When are you going to stop reading those terrible novels, Emma? They’ve led you to want things that you don’t deserve. Your poison, dear? Not in the ear, not where you think. But to give you your own sick as ink in place of where you don’t speak. Your room is imbued with deep shit in the spring before spring even starts happening.

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Consider: mixed signals might be more meaningful than ones meted out under control:
a rose is a rose is a rose I suppose but what if it smells like shit? A record of how all activities on board attract each member, couples disengage as multiples intertwine, combine with time, preserve a natural self, in this case mine. Then there’s this other show that creates a character that eventually creates the show again. A scene re-enacted a few seasons ahead of where it first aired, when it was really happening. And at the same time, others are called to a bench I’d much rather sit here and watch, obviously.

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But is trash on TV that knows it’s trash on TV still trash on TV or is it a social service deep in spring these things help to spread the love around. Bring all the love by boat to another continent. Pack the love in tight. If there’s too much love it might have to be thrown overboard. There’s a great show about that, a show about a hero so it just goes to show we’re really on our way if we can at least say that, ok?

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Raw footage before it’s deciphered for viewers: think of it as a river that’s entering your home. A river in the middle of the ocean, warmer, a tide that sweeps attention across a shore. Watching a trio test out their charms is a warning that sits in the back of a mind on a couch somewhere in the city. In the middle of the night orifices swell to circles the size of eyes, charred heart and hushed chorus of the lonely house of a wife suddenly on the outside. We’re involved until the end of the episode thinking it could be:

Stomach flu
Some food
Sadness
Spring

Should she just suck it up? She screams, “well, what’s making me sick, Kierkegaard?"



© Laura Goldstein 2008