Watching "Pecker" makes me nostalgic for my former life. The time in Baltimore, the art show in New York and the Greyhound from New York to Baltimore, when the bus pulls in down the alley and parks under the underhang...
We flew to Baltimore to see his sister and took the bus up to New York for a few days. A Yankees game in the old stadium, $5 seats in the bleachers, when the Blue Jays destroyed the Yankees and the drunk fans lost their shit and we slinked out after the 7th inning stretch because we worried they'd hear my lack of a New York accent and bust my lip. The trip to Tribeca and Soho, a stop at the Knitting Factory for the Bis/Ladybug Transistor show, negotiations for one to buy the $6 beers and the other to pick up pizza once we got back to the Carlton Arms. Sitting in Washington Square after a day of walking, walking, walking, over 100 blocks and never getting where we meant to go, being held in the crook of his neck as he calmed me. Eating eggplant sandwiches with a shared Cherry Coke in Times Square, avoiding the crackheads down the counter who were looking for a fight. Pictures, pictures, always something more to catch in silver halide crystals.
During that time in my life I used to be fun and funny and adventurous and creative and thoughtful and sweet and smart without trying. I was happy. I can't imagine being that happy again. There are glimpses of it, sure, but there's something missing.
Last night I stumbled upon postcards and emails and pictures from that time and the sadness hit me hard. I can't imagine being loved like I was then. No one has even come close to making an effort since. I want to hide my heart in a shadow to stop it from being punched up more; I'm tired of piecing it back together after another person says he doesn't love me.
"I hate modern photography!"
Edward Furlong is a terrible actor. Brutally bad. He overacts in the worst possible way, even for a John Waters film.
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