Am I dead and just don't know it yet? Like anyone with an imagination or someone who has watched a few Twilight Zone episodes, I've asked myself that question over the years, usually when I'm high*. And while I usually don't ponder for long even the most bizarre of coincidences, today I'm left thinking hard about the question which opened this paragraph.
Something's weird. Let me explain.
My fear of flying + my fear of dying + the duality of living abroad and feeling between worlds both at home and away + the Lost finale** + getting carded at thirty-two + malaise + the two most-recent Arcade Fire singles, titled Suburbs and Month of May = spooky.
That, to quote Mos Def, is Mathematics. And math don't lie.
Or maybe I'm not dead; maybe I'm just bored.
Same same.
* That's a lie. I don't get high. I get low.
** Which, the more I think about it, was godawful, more the bi-product of network interference/budget than a creative statement. Not to be crude, but Lost is the network television equivalent of blue balls on many levels. Level One: the island never took its clothes off. Level Two:
*** A great, great song. I loved it better when it was called "Wolf Like Me" by TV on the Radio, though.
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