March 7, 2006

• Take me to Las Vegas.

  Fly me over the strip when the sun has gone down and the streets light
  up like a million jealous jewels. Fly me over the desert with the
  lights out and we’re floating in the dark like zygotes in the womb and
  flip off the sound of the engine and whisper in my ear that all I can
  see is mine and that all I can feel at that moment, at that singular
  blissful moment of solitude, is real. And I wouldn’t mind it at all,
  being alone, pretending I was alone, and wondering if that would be
  what it’s like to be dead, and maybe then I’d stop wondering all the
  time – what it would be like to be dead, because then I’d know that
  just because you can’t see or hear or feel anything it doesn’t mean
  that you’re alone. Because you’d still be right there beside me, and
  you’d still be my friend.

  And I’d like to see what it’s like to be in a casino. To have my senses
  assaulted on all sides until it becomes sharp and unbearable and to
  feel like what it feels to be alive in the middle of hope and chaos.

  And I’d like to see a show, eat at one of their famous all-you-can-eat
  buffets, take a ride down the road or walk down the walk in a ball gown
  pretending I’m a princess  -and it would be the most natural thing
  on earth – to be strange and an outsider in a town full of strange
  outsiders. And then maybe you could be there to toast Beau and I when
  we decide to get married by an Elvis impersonator in a drive-through
  chapel just because it would be such a great way to get married, in my
  humble opinion.

  I love sleeping in hotel rooms.

  • 1:24 pm
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