|"This belongs to Kage. Don't fucking touch."|
If I ran away today
Will you pull me back tomorrow?
Took some time to arrange
Your connections hard to swallow
I know you're somewhere, I'm Insane
It's your needs on my brain
Smack me out, Our eyes exchange
To have the strength to stake my claim
Have you placed it?
I can't taste it
Will I waste it?
Can't trace it
Time to face it
Now gonna go away
~ Dinosaur Jr
Henry Rollins woke me up in bed last night, whispering in my ear.
No, not my computer, Henry Rollins. The REAL Henry Rollins nudged me awake last night, whispering sweet nothings in my ear of his undying love and lust for me.
“Dinosaur Jr onstage now. Completely ripping it up!!! Best show yet!!!” (It’s our secret lover’s code, shut up.)
“Yes, baby,” I murmured back, snuggling into him. “I know.”
I drifted back into my dream, where Henry was a medieval knight and I was a wanton, buxom serving wench, but my delicious punk star was too excited to let me sleep.
“Dinosaur Jr onstage now. Completely ripping it up!!! Best show yet!!!”
“Okay,” I moaned, and sat up to take off my top. “But I really should brush my teeth first. My mouth tastes like a Dinosaur Jr pooped in it.”
I lay back with a smile and waited for Henry’s skilled hands to trail over my body. A few seconds passed but Henry still wasn’t nibbling my belly button, so I opened my eyes and looked around my room in the gloom of early evening.
“Henry?” I asked into the darkness. “Baby?”
“Dinosaur Jr onstage now. Completely ripping it up!!! Best show yet!!!” he crowed from the floor beside my bed, where I had knocked him over in my haste to be felt up.
Oh, right, I thought sleepily, Henry isn’t in my bed; he’s in Philly with Dinosaur Jr.
I picked up my iPhone from the floor and smiled indulgently at Henry’s message flashing across my screen. I love it when he makes the effort to stay in touch while he’s on the road, I thought dreamily. What a poppet.
He disguises his personal messages to me as posts for his followers on Twatter, but whatever, I know they’re really just for me. He hasn’t used that thing since 2008, what else could it possibly mean?
I cuddled my phone to my face and lay back down in bed to wait for Henry’s next message, but it wasn’t long before I was dreaming again.
Henry was James T. Kirk, and I was a green alien woman with three boobs.
If that doesn't spell true love, then my name's not Henrietta Collins!
|If I were in Dinosaur Jr, I'd only do the |
interview if I could sit in Henry's lap.