Monday, December 19, 2005

Since K Got Over Me-The Clientele

Picture two giants of the internet world, mirror images, yet distinct, both reflecting upon the same woman, a woman having broken each of their hearts in turn. How are the two men different? One, I imagine uncomfortably reclining in a mohair so-called easy chair, dressed in an unflappable blue with orange-trim dessing gown, something mistakenly called Pajamas in certain circles, absent-mindely stroking his probably evil yet similarly inscrutable pussy. His surroundings include a large, hardwood bookshelf filled with Lovecraft volumes and several purported real yet most certainly fabricated Necromomicons, and one possibly real yet poor translation. A half-filled brandy snifter reflects the embers of an untended fire, and a portrait. A velvety, feline portrait of K...

The other nurses a different poison, self-doubt. Doubt whether he did enough to nurture the caged tiger, K. Did he? Sadly, no. The doubt suffuses the unpredictable ways of a struggling heroic Saab parked in the driveway and the smoking, blank computer screen, a screen that only recently reflected K. The very same velvety, feline K. as above, only in a different guise, a red, white and blue and...orange one.

Various Germs records litter the cigarette-stained shag, a half-finished 1:64 scale model of some obscure never-successfully-flown test-pilot-bane Messerschmidt idly sits on a lonely, cluttered desk. Reverb-soaked, urbane images of K...K...indelibly etched in the brains of two men. Are they different? Perhaps not as they are both completed by her....spoken of only in hushed, whispered, broken tones as...K.

This song is dedicated to G. M. and t. Es, you know who you are, and of course, who K. is.