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And now, at the special demand of no one, a conversation consisting solely of questions answered with other questions, between an imaginary stoner couple and made up entirely of song titles from my CD collection. Please do enjoy. "How're you doing?" "What's the word?" "Baby, are you hiding from me?" "Why?" "What if..." "What are you here for?" "Do you wanna hit it?" "What in the world...?!?" "Why don't we do it in the road?" "You wanna what?!?" "What would it be like?" "Don't you know?" "Wouldn't it be nice?" "How do you do it?" "Do you know how it feels?" "Is this...desire?" "What about it?" "Whattyawant?" "Do I have to spell it out?" "What can I say?" "Do you wanna fuck, or what?" "Who do you think I am?" "Are you ready?" "What gives, my son?" "What does a man require?" "How would you know?" "What's it gonna be?" "Is it wicked not to care?" "Are you getting tired of me?" "You wanna battle me?" "Why can't he be you?" "Who? Tell me, who?!?" "How can I face tomorrow?" "What are we?" "What am I?" "What happened to you?" "Where you gonna go?" "Where would I be?" "Won't you please come home?" "Will you find me?" "What's the number?" "Could we start again, please?" |
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| TODAY'S DRIFTWOOD: "When poets write about food, it is usually celebratory. Food as the thing-in-itself, but also the thoughtful preparation of meals, the serving of meals, meal communally shared: a sense of the sacred in the profane." (Joyce Carol Oates) |