9/23/1999
Phoenix Has No Exit
The moon in Phoenix, Arizona is never blue. Billie Holliday will never wake to a lover's bed or a gloomy Sunday morning beneath the impersonal desert sun. In this cracked dustscape of high schools and nursing homes it is inevitable that one's thoughts be recycled. I imagine a vast shuffling sigh of disappointment when Armageddon fails to arrive, like guests at a never-ending dinner party to which the guest of honor fails to ever make his much postponed dramatic entrance. Is growing up always this disappointing?
