maybe the most indisputable fact about progressive life, maybe i mean experience, is that it enlivens rigorous comparison. evaluation. and in the light of my living room. the electric blanket. and false-lemonade, last night. i could never quite resolve how in any particular circumstance of my life. i might have had want to love a man so vapid of expression. someone who so blatantly wasn't put off by obvious soft lyrics. who'd mistake the sounds of anger and pain for soul. you're no damien rice. i howled at the glowering screen. no sam cooke. either.