Epistle. To: Berlin Film Actress

  I wonder how much that we have to play with in this life is spent rushing for sensations? Why is it, do you think, that we're not satisfied? Why is it, the grass always rises up greener somewhere else? Yea. I think I understand the expression you're wearing at the moment, and so, go on and have a laugh on me.  There's a quality to have. And I know how you often feel remarkable about it - you read a script and you slip into roles and afterwards you  call a taxi or hop a bus and that's the end of it.
  Anyway, I was standing on the back porch watching a storm develop from the west. Heavy thunder and crazy lightning and tree bending winds flying like the end of the world across the rooftops. The display threw me perfectly, like I was suddenly on a kind of holiday. I wanted  to be as near inside it as possible. But I'm not in the movies. Maybe I've always wanted to be. And maybe thinking that way has  always been a step away from all that heart thumping stuff that I want. So. Somehow real life figures to be a disappointment?
  The rain crashed into the sides of buildings in waves enough to feel like a tide. The wind tore up the plants like some angry blind hand throwing them aside against the fucked up rain. Sirens began calling out upon a static thick air, one that tasted like bad electricity filled with the metals from old explosions. A real ancient storm brewing above a desirable south end real estate locale where the mortgage company just handed me a decent rate last month. And I thought of you. Other than the appeal and the safety of illusions, what more do I have? A fierce wind rattles my bones?
   Maybe the appeal is simply passive, like a hand job in a porn film. You can always say, oh yea I saw that. Whatever happens in our heads and all that later on down the line...
   Large dark clouds piled up like so much material up above it seemed that the sky could not hold onto them and so became the chaos of weather... and if you can't trust the sky then shouldn't you be afraid enough to run away?... and then let loose in lightning streaks that scared the clouds like a knife fight across a face... all the difference in pressure and air temperatures and the combustion between hot and cold the way thunder slaps you ears down on earth and instinctively you shrink away... but  where's the move? The sky roiling above the ground like a sea driven from nowhere and about to dump a swamp upon your head.    
  Don't get lost might really be the application.
  Don't get lost enough to explode the little phone in your hands.
  Don't get lost - as the wind - my face - my thoughts of you - fly against one another.