Perhaps it's because it's Valentine's Day, perhaps because we're far from each other (again), perhaps because I have sex on the brain (again). Maybe I have murderous thoughts. Or maybe I genuinely fear that monsters from outer space are going to destroy the earth with small red lasers they fire out of their gigantic members.
Is it a feeling of helplessness? After all, in the 1950s people truly began to feel helpless. I think it was a product of loneliness: as suburbs boomed and cars took over, suddenly people were left alone in wastelands of new communities, women left to the sound of air being release from Tupperware containers as they sealed, intelligent people who five years earlier worked in munitions factories and suddenly found themselves stranded on manicured lawns, no longer minutes from the nearest shop, but miles from humanity.
Communication broke down, mistrust blossomed, fear increased, paranoia reigned, the environment began to buckle under the weight of our aspirations, and love became a subversive thought.
Out here in the suburbs I feel this same sense of dread and reckoning. It's calm, quiet, the day only interrupted by mowers, angle grinders, electric garage doors and the distant drone of the motorway. Hence the proliferation of novels that satisfied our burgeoning xenophobia (aliens/commies taking over our homes/businesses) and tried to stem our rampant horniness.
I will attempt to turn my thoughts from pulp to cheese, and throw my arms around you in an embrace worthy of the front cover.
No comments:
Post a Comment