Sede Vacante

The light is on but no one is home.

The Meaning of Torture


I know what torture is. It’s a long-ass ride home in horrendous traffic, in a cab where the driver insists on playing his Air Supply CD, in an eternal loop.

Here I Am. Even the Nights are Better. Two Less Lonely People in the World. Now and Forever. Making Love Out of Nothing at All. Every Woman in the World. All Out of Love. They should have written one last mega-hit entitled “Please Kill Me Now Before I Gouge My Ears Out With A Car Door Lock Knob.”

It’s utter anguish. Not because Air Supply sucks. On the contrary, I know of few people who can resist singing along after overcoming the initial wave of nausea.

It’s just that after a few bars of “Every Woman in the World”, the faces of all my exes have flashed before my eyes and I realize just how much I still love them all so…

I panic. I pull out my ipod. Must escape. I put the buds in my ears and hit “shuffle”.

I get Clair Marlo’s “Till They Take My Love Away”.

Like I said… I know what torture is.

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