fork in your neck, oh child, oh child

One January I went to the Sundance film festival with a bunch of chums. There were six of us in a little '98 mustang. We took turns having one of us lay across the others' laps in the back seat. In Park City we wandered up and down the streets, my best friend SVo and I crossing our fingers that we'd see Adrien Brody and Nicole Kidman. It was cold and none of us knew what we were doing so we wandered the afternoon away with pink noses and hands, hiding our fingertips from frosty air in pockets and gloves. I would stare at the creaky beautifully painted houses that sat all over the twisty roads and tried to ignore the snow seeping into my boots. We found a shop and the owner told us stories of how P Diddy shopped at her furniture store. We walked up a long road through wooded woods back to the car that night. The sky was clear (the air was clear!) and there were twinkly stars abroad. Our love-birded friends were up the road (slowly), their silhouettes being outlined by a passing car's headlights. We were about to drive to Salt Lake to see the film we had tickets for. It was my turn to lay across everyone's laps and I looked up at everyones' chins tinged with starlight. It was like living one of those cinema magic moments that are sung out by Nick Drake or Sigur Ros or something other ethereal.

We're young and alive.
ba-dum-dum-dum.

I love religious art. If I were to get a tattoo it might be of the Virgin Mary.


A(n) [Old English] poem by anonymous called "Jesus Comforts his Mother"