2005-08-02 - 12:09 p.m. Fake: There are words I can not say, unless to large groups of strange people. I'll buy billboards and post messages there, secrets I should have told years ago, truths that have always remain slightly hidden. "Rick, I slept with your girlfriend. It was bad." Will be one. "Not fat so much as chubby." Will be another. With you, in bed, there are no words. We argue, you talk, there is a space between us large enough for your smelly, noisy dog. If I gave you everything, all the words and fears and secrets, if I gave you all of that and you left, what would I have? The same, I guess. Same words would still be inside of me, waiting for the next beautiful girl to scratch my head and say, "what is it? Why don't you talk?" Here's a billboard: "It's because of the other women." Or: "I'm afraid of giving too much." I could line 65 with billboards, one after the other, like Burma Shave. You would miss your exit for driving to see the next one, the next confession, the next "Jill, you tasted funny." previous - next