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You, Me and Morrissey by Nasseri & Starr
You, Me and Morrissey
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  • Paperback
  • Sep.01.2007
  • 9780979919404
  • Subculture Books

Nasseri gives an overview of the book:

You, Me and Morrissey is a collection of autobiographical short stories capturing snapshots of love, loss, bigotry, violence, artistic birth, and mental illness. Each story is set to the soundtrack of a Smiths or Morrissey title or lyric, and documents the trials of youth and adulthood, and how the music and the ever-present specter of Morrissey influenced and altered the paths of the authors forever. From 1980's humdrum Texas towns, to a San Francisco meeting with Morrissey himself, the stories revolve around the ups and downs of balancing an art-driven life with the insanities of day to day living in the "real world."
Read full overview »

You, Me and Morrissey is a collection of autobiographical short stories capturing snapshots of love, loss, bigotry, violence, artistic birth, and mental illness. Each story is set to the soundtrack of a Smiths or Morrissey title or lyric, and documents the trials of youth and adulthood, and how the music and the ever-present specter of Morrissey influenced and altered the paths of the authors forever. From 1980's humdrum Texas towns, to a San Francisco meeting with Morrissey himself, the stories revolve around the ups and downs of balancing an art-driven life with the insanities of day to day living in the "real world."

Read an excerpt »




"How You Took a Child, And You Made Him Old"

by Sean Starr

The sounds of a San Francisco Bay Area Rapid Transit train rattles away in the distance, distracting me from my canvas. I am not sure what I want my next painting to become. Seeking inspiration, I dig out the first Smiths album from my well-worn collection. As the first notes of a heart-like drumbeat fill my studio, I find myself both miles and years away. Back in Texas. Another time. Another life.

I was fourteen years old. She was thirty two.

There are women when you are a teenage boy that represent everything that embodies sexuality and excitement. In our world her name was Melanie. She was dangerous, sexy, and every woman around envied her. The teenage boys would get silent when she would walk by. She was pure sex, she was sin, she was the devil.

Melanie was a thirty two year old divorcée who was constantly getting herself into trouble. She was Marilyn Monroe, Madonna and Jessica Rabbit all wrapped up in one woman. She had a beautiful body that she accentuated with skin tight skirts and blouses that held her huge breasts snugly together. She was every teenage boys dream, and every parent's nightmare. She was worldly wise, experienced, and oozed badness from every pore.

That summer my brother started dating the girl that would become his first wife, Claire. Claire's mother was Melanie. The first time I ever got near Melanie was when we all went with my brother and Claire to get pizza late one night. Melanie had such a presence. It was more than just her appearance. She was larger than life. She was witty, and had a charisma that everyone in the room would stop to soak in.

We all sat in a booth talking and laughing when Melanie reached under the table and grabbed my thigh. My eyes darted to hers and she talked and laughed with my brother and her daughter like nothing was happening. She ran her hands up and down my leg as I tried to absorb what was going on. It was exciting and terrible at the same time. This

was a woman that, as much as I lusted after her in my teenage heart, was in the same category as my parents in my mind.

My brother and I became a regular fixture at Claire and Melanie's house. My brother and Claire would disappear for hours at a time, leaving me alone with Melanie. I enjoyed the time we spent together. She was so intelligent and funny.

I had become proud of my body. I was starting to fill out, and was beginning to build some of my father's muscle tone. My attraction to girls was a newfound power. My years as the younger, goofy looking brother were starting to fade, and I enjoyed the attention I was starting to get.

One night Melanie and I were alone in her house. We were on the couch watching a movie, and the lights were all out. Sterling and Claire had gone for a walk. Melanie started to tell me that some of the girls were noticing me. I shrugged it off and told her I didn't think so. She leaned over and put her hand on my stomach. My breath became short. She slowly moved up to my chest and started to compliment me. Her hand dropped to my pants as she caressed me. I was fully aroused.

At this point in my life, I had barely experienced the innocence of a first kiss. The racing beat of your heart as you lean in to press against lips as eager to kiss your own. Melanie's kiss was nothing like that. It was exciting, but I felt I had already crossed a dozen boundaries I wasn't ready to cross. There was no cat and mouse, there was no romance or gentleness. I was uncomfortable, but felt empowered at the same time. This was the woman my friends and I would talk about at sleepovers. And she wanted me, and I wouldn't even have to work for it; it was all done.

My brother and Claire were walking up the sidewalk, and Melanie shifted back immediately and was convincingly innocent, complete with a fake yawning gesture and motherly concern of why they had taken so long. She had pulled it off. Neither of them suspected a thing.

My brother and I drove home that night listening to cassette tapes and singing along. I was amazed he didn't sense anything, and somehow I felt older than him that night. There was a secret, a big secret, that I knew and he didn't. I looked out the window as the streetlights raced by and allowed myself to think about the night's events for a brief moment before I erased it from my mind.

I found myself caring about Melanie in a way I never experienced with a girl before. We talked so much, and I realized how troubled she was. I wanted to help her. Sometimes we would go over to her house, and she would start talking about how she wanted to die. I would plead with her that she shouldn't talk that way. She showed me the scars on her wrist that she kept covered with a thick bracelet and wept as she told me how she deserved to die for all of the bad things she had done. It broke my heart. She would drink until she lost contact with everything around her, and I would try to comfort her.

I started to feel that she needed someone on her side for once, so I became more and more defensive of her. My brother would express his frustration with the way she acted, and I would bravely stand up in her defense and tell him he didn't understand her. Every time I saw her she stole an opportunity for some intimate contact. We had something special and secret that existed only to the two of us.

She would call my house and let it ring once to signal that I needed to call her back. Every time the phone rang, I would sit up to hear if there were more rings. If there was only one I would anxiously wait for everyone to leave so I could rush to the phone and call her.

She would write me love letters soaked in her perfume that I would read late at night by trembling flashlight.

The phone rang once one morning. I walked out from my bedroom so happy that no one was home. I called her back, and she told me that she wanted to come by and pick me up. I figured that I could go for a few hours and be back before anyone else got home.

Twenty minutes later I heard a horn out front, and jumped into her car. She leaned over and kissed me. She had a glass of scotch in her hand. As we pulled away, she handed it to me and told me to drink up. I gulped down everything in the glass.

We arrived at her place and went inside. She lived behind her parents in a small house.

The house had lit candles all over, and as she closed the door, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. My heart raced with the full knowledge of what she intended for us to do. She went into the kitchen and poured more scotch. She held the glass to my lips and smiled as she tilted it into my mouth. She placed her face in my neck, and my body filled with a sensation I had never felt before.

She started to kiss me and walked me to the bed and pushed me down to the mattress. She pulled off my shirt and rubbed her hands across my stomach and chest. I was amazed at how good it felt. She took off the rest of my clothes, as well as her own, and climbed on top of me. I was fixated on her perfect breasts and had to remind myself repeatedly to breathe.

She placed me inside of her and started rapidly from the beginning. I begged her to slow down.

It didn't seem right. This was supposed to be different. This was supposed to be special. I only lasted a minute or two before I lost control, but she kept going. I begged her to stop, but she was

When she finished, she laid her head on my chest and we stayed in bed a while. I enjoyed that moment, but not anything that led up to it.

There was a loud banging on the door.

"Mel! Mel! I know you're in there, who do you have in there?" yelled
her father, Doyle.

Doyle was a tall Texan with a strong drawl. He drove a Cadillac that should have had cattle horns on the grill. He was screaming louder and louder, and Melanie signaled me into the bathroom. She opened the door in a bathrobe as I peeked through the crack of the door.

I saw them arguing, and her trying to make jokes until she made him smile. He walked away and Melanie opened the bathroom door and said it was no problem. My heart was racing.

We got back into bed and made love (or at least Melanie's approximation of "love") again.

As we laid there in bed, she told me we should go for a ride. We were both drunk, so I said we shouldn't. She pulled me out of the bed and we got dressed. We walked to the driveway and got into her car. As we pulled out she backed into her father's Cadillac and put a huge dent into the door. She laughed like a madman. I started to laugh too. She told me she couldn't drive and told me to take the wheel. I told her I didn't drive, that I was fourteen, which made us both laugh even harder.

All of a sudden there was a banging on the hood as Doyle stood in front of the car in his boxer shorts screaming about the dents in his Cadillac. We both started laughing harder and out of control. Melanie climbed over the front seat and fell into the back laughing, leaving me in the front with the car running. Doyle was screaming.

I put the car in reverse and hit the gas. The car leapt backward and scraped the entire side of his Cadillac as we shot out of the driveway.

After a few blocks I got the hang of the car, and Melanie climbed back into the front seat and sat at my side. We felt like Bonnie and Clyde.

She told me we needed some money. I had been working that summer cleaning windows for my friend Neiman. I told her he owed me a paycheck. We drove about a half hour away to Boerne, Texas as the sun

was starting to set. I pulled in front of Neiman's mobile home and told Melanie to wait in the car.

I knocked on the door and Neiman answered it with a beer in his hand and several kids running around him. I told him I needed my paycheck from the last week of work. He looked over his shoulder and recognized the notorious Melanie instantly.

"What the hell are you doing with her, Sean?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it, Neiman. Can I get paid for last week or what?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Ok, ok, let me see how much cash I have, and don't be so touchy. Wow, you and Melanie, tsk tsk tsk."

"C'mon Neiman, leave it alone," I begged.

He handed me the cash with a big smile and told me:

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

I hopped in the car and showed Melanie the two hundred dollars. We went to the gas station and filled up and bought cigarettes and beer.

"Where now?" she asked.

I told her I knew of a lake nearby that Neiman and I would play hooky from work and fish at once a week. We showed up at Boerne Lake and it was pitch black outside. We stopped at the boat launch and walked out to the end of the pier. The moon was full and cast a glow all over the lake.

We sat on the pier smoking cigarettes and drinking the beer. Melanie started to cry. I sat there confused and not knowing what to do. I asked her what was wrong, and put my arm around her.

"I want to die!" she yelled.

She stood up and started tearing off her clothes. She stood naked in front of me on the pier in the moonlight and told me she was going to drown herself. I went into a panic and grabbed her in my arms and tried to calm her down. She started pulling to the edge of the pier, and the realization hit me that she may just leap off the edge. I pulled and tugged and begged. She screamed at me and screamed at the moon. I felt out-matched in every sense.

I dragged her to the car and pushed her into the front seat as she wept, and I ran to the other side and got in. I pulled away and we were off.

As she sat silently, I drove quietly, thinking of all of the great memories I had had at that lake. All of the big bass that Neiman and I pulled out on our afternoons there. The conversations Neiman and I had that helped me understand the importance of handling things like a man. The warm sun in my face as our boat drifted across the lake.

All of those memories seemed cheap and jaded now. This was not a place I could ever return to again.

We drove through every small town we could think of. We smoked cigarettes and weed and drank and had sex every chance we could get. The sun rose and fell and it seemed as if nothing ended or started anymore; like there was no day or night, no boundaries of time. We drove to all of the favorite places that I had visited with friends over the years of my adolescence and we defiled them all, one by one.

We stopped to get a bite to eat and ran into my friend Randy. He pulled me aside and told me that everyone was looking for us. I didn't understand him at first until I thought about the fact that we had been gone for a couple of days now.

"Dude, everyone is calling everyone else, looking for you guys. They're

talking about calling the police," he said.

We left immediately and headed back out into the countryside carrying on like it would never end.

A few days later we ran out of money, and I told Melanie that I needed to head back home. She dropped me off in front of my house and sped away.

I walked into a living room full of tension. My father was so mad he walked out immediately, which probably saved me a terrible beating. My mother hugged me and asked me if I was ok, and when I answered yes, looked like she wanted to beat me herself.

My sister and her husband were there and she walked right up in my face and yelled at me "Where is she? I am going to tear her eyes out of her head!"

I stood in silence.

I walked to my room, closed the door, locked it, and laid down on my bed.

A few nights passed and the tension in the house started to lift. Every time someone mentioned prosecuting Melanie and calling the law, I protested. They never did do it.

A few nights later I was awakened by a tap on my bedroom window. It was Melanie. I opened the window, and she smiled and whispered hello. I got up and locked my bedroom door, and by the time I turned around she was already standing in my room, undressing.

She came by every week or so, and would climb through my open window and into my bed. We would make love, then a few hours later she would leave.

Nobody ever found out.

Over time, the emptiness of the relationship began to wear on my heart. I finally decided to call it quits and told Melanie we couldn't see each other anymore.

Months went by, and I would re-read her love letters and smell the perfume on them and want to call her. But I stuck to the straight and narrow. It was over.

My friend Paul was intrigued with my affair with Melanie. It didn't matter that Paul was gay, he was enamored with the whole thing. It completely fascinated him.

Paul had introduced my brother and I to bands like Velvet Underground, David Bowie, and Queen when we were all around ten years old. How he got his hands on that stuff at that age, I still don't know.

One morning, we drove around in his Plymouth Valiant doing what we always did: drinking screwdrivers and listening to David Bowie and The Psychedelic Furs. Paul had grown up with braces on his legs. The metal hinges would squeak whenever he accelerated or pushed down on the brakes.

He told me we should go see Melanie. I told him I didn't think it was a good idea, but he kept it up. He told me he heard she was living nearby, which I had heard as well, but denied knowing. We headed to Melanie's side of town and I drank as rapidly as I could.

We showed up around noon at her apartment complex and found her car parked in front of her unit. We knocked on the door. Melanie immediately put her arms around my neck and kissed me. It felt nice.

We went inside and Paul sat, uncomfortable and excited, chuckling to himself on the couch. Melanie asked us if we wanted to smoke some weed. She walked out the front door and came back a few minutes later with a bag she got from her neighbor and said it was laced with

"something special."

She rolled a couple of joints and we started to smoke as we passed a bottle of Scotch. Paul laid on the floor giggling and stayed there the rest of the afternoon. Melanie grabbed my hand and pulled me into her room.

She disappeared into the bathroom and came back out in a robe and undressed me. We made love all afternoon. She laid her head on my chest like the first time, and I never wanted the moment to end. At first. She dozed off in my arms and I stared at the ceiling.

I felt used.

None of it seemed fair. I wanted love. I wanted a girlfriend. I wanted a family. This woman could give me none of those things.

She was in it for the party, and I realized for the first time that there had probably been a dozen or more before me, and there would be a dozen more after me.

I felt sick to my stomach and it wasn't the booze and weed responsible for my sickness. I had lost something I would never get back, and I started to resent it. I didn't like the way she felt in my arms now. It was all a big joke. I was now fifteen, and I had experienced things that stripped my soul clean. I wanted to die. I wanted her to die.

I crept out of bed quietly as she slept.

I kicked Paul angrily as he dozed on the living room floor and told him it was time to leave. We drove away that night, and I never spoke to Melanie again.

A few weeks later I told my father that I was moving to Florida. I had to get away from Melanie. I had to get my head clear. My father said nothing.

Everybody wants to be loved. Everybody wants something special and wonderful to happen to them. When you wake up and realize that something wasn't love, or special, or wonderful, your heart breaks.

And sometimes you find a place that's safe to run to. A place that can't hurt you, where love is real and grows continually. A place that gives you that safe feeling lovers experience when laying in each other's arms.

That place for me ended up being the beautiful expanse of a white, pure, and untouched canvas with the lyrics that have described my life playing in the background as Morrissey sings them.

Probably the most irritating legacy that Morrissey has left is the way that his lyrics have become an integral part of our everyday language.

As I stand in my studio, brush in hand, a line from "Reel Around The Fountain" sticks in my mind, forever tied to memories of Melanie and those tiny Texas towns:

"It's time the tale were told
of how you took a child
and you made him old.."

I can't get that out of my head sometimes.



"This Night Has Opened My Eyes"

by Colin Nasseri

we were always falling apart, m and i.

breaking up, getting back together, fighting, reuniting, ad infinitum. when she called me, the timing was terrible. we were in a weird phase, on the verge of another break. she had to see me. it was important.

m smiled at me worriedly. i kept joking around, barely looking her in the eye. i waited with her in the seating area, thumbing through magazines without registering any of the articles whatsoever.

i began to nervously pull out the subscription postcards from a pile of magazines i had accumulated that still had them intact. i built a neat stack, aligning the corners so that the "postage free" bar code markings made a zebra pattern if you looked at it from a certain angle.

"god, it's hot in here," i complained. the room was sweltering.

m said that it was quite cool and it was only because of a combination of nerves and the fact that i was still wearing my favorite heavy wool oxblood jacket that i was so uncomfortable.

"stop being ridiculous and take it off. besides, you're starting to sweat."

i relented and took off the jacket, clutching it tightly in both hands.

"miss..?" it was a nurse's voice. "we'll see you now."

m went inside and for twenty-five minutes i alternately smoothed the lines out of my jacket, paced the orange carpet, pretended to read, and moved from seat to seat attempting to get comfortable. i listened to the hum of the fluorescent lights, the various pages on the medical center's loudspeakers. i looked from person to person, examining faces..wondering what each was thinking.

i imagined myself as an inmate asking the person in the next cell: "so, what're you in for?"

an older woman who was waiting for her daughter tried to make polite

conversation with me but my mind was ever-elsewhere, making my responses to such simple questions as "where are you from?" take concerted effort to answer. i excused myself when i saw m return to the front counter.

"well," she said. "i was right."

her face was almost blank; unreadable.

the clerk smiled at me brightly as she handed m her paperwork, saying cheerily, "congratulations."

i forgot my beloved jacket in the waiting room, only realizing it when we were in the car. i thought how only moments before it had mattered so much to me, and now everything had been so trivialized by the endless train of thought careening wildly through my mind.


at first, i wasn't sure how i felt. we spent the afternoon in stunned silence. i noticed we had been keeping each other at arm's length all day and it filled me with anxiety. i asked her to lay with me a while before i took her home. i was exhausted, and i needed her to want to be with me. she held my arm and lay with me, her forehead resting on my shoulder. nothing much was said.

we kissed for a few moments and i found calmness there. i moved down and laid my head on her stomach and told myself, "i can. i can do this."

m scratched my head the way she always did and i looked up at her, saw her smile, and i felt that 'this was it'. this was how it was meant to happen.

later that night, i lay in the darkness listening to music. i knew that sleep would not come that night or for many nights to follow.

"i've seen this happen in other people's lives and now it's happening in mine."

so simply stated. so true.


things changed soon afterward. the onset of fear, the influence of friends, the shakiness of our union. all factors.

"you know what i'm going to do," m said calmly. firmly. her expression was slightly apologetic.

"no, i don't know."

"yes. you do. i just can't, you know? not like this."

i felt a surge of panic. i held the steering wheel of the car in both hands. i had to hold something, crush something, and at that moment it couldn't be her.

"you don't have to, m. you don't. i mean, i have a good job. i can make a future out of it..we can.."

she cut me off--

"no, listen. it just can't happen right now. i'm not in any place in my life to deal with this. what am i going to do? i just...god, i don't want to talk about this right now. i can't, ok? i just need to sleep."

we kissed goodnight and she went inside. i watched her legs disappear out of view up the stairwell as i always did and replayed her words in my mind, looking for something, some small sign of hope, and, finding none, turned to prayer--something i had not tried in three years.

i felt unworthy, guilty that it was only when i needed or wanted something that i go crawling back to god. i wondered what that would feel like..being god, but only hearing requests. i likened it to being a dj who just wanted to hear someone say, "wow, you play really good stuff" and instead getting "hey, play this," or "i want to hear such and such."

i disgusted myself; didn't finish the prayer and finally fell asleep in the early morning.


the next day, we didn't speak much about it at all.

i enjoyed watching m eat and noticed she'd done away with her one vice: a single, nightly cigarette. this filled me with thoughts of hope and i couldn't believe that this was happening..that some small part of me was forming within her.

the subject couldn't be avoided any longer and finally i asked how she thought her parents would react.

she was ethnically chinese and contrary to the popular notion of "the quiet asian-americans" her parents were hot-tempered people .

"are you kidding?! my father would disown me. he wouldn't even approve of you dating me let alone anything like this. there's no way in hell i'm telling anyone but my sister."

"great," i said. "she's not exactly my biggest supporter."

i had met m's sister for a dinner once. m thought it had gone very well and i was glowing when i left, but later she told me her sister had said i was completely wrong for her and that she had only pretended to like me for civility's sake. i was crushed utterly. and now m was going to confide in her. i knew the 'support' she would get from her sister.

"well, i need to talk it over with someone. and i'm not telling my mother."

again, the flood waters of panic swelled inside me.

"well..m, is it really such a bad thing? just think it over. for yourself. it's not so bad...is it?"

"it's not bad. it's just..i don't know how it could work. i wanted to go back to school. i wanted to see what happened with me and you. i mean, we're always falling apart."

my insides churned. i think i knew what her decision was going to be

already. and so did she.


i drove her to her first appointment. everyone was friendly and kind. all smiles. all the reassurance that what she was doing was the right thing...that any decision she made was a good one; the best one.

it wasn't what i wanted to hear. i wanted someone besides myself to tell her something positive; that we could do this. but no one, her sister, the few friends she eventually told, would say anything to m that i wanted her to think about.

later, she held my hand in the car. i had taken some pamphlets on other options. i put them next to her on the seat so she could read them.

she was in a good mood and hungry.

we had lunch together and i watched her eating. the sight was lovely, especially when she had devoured her food and started to pick at my plate as well. i loved her thoroughly then and knew that i could do this for years. i knew i wanted to see this through to the end.

i dropped her off at home later that night. she kissed me warmly, and i held her a while. i smiled to myself when she scaled the stairs to her building.

the smile faded when i saw she hadn't touched the pamphlets i'd brought for her.


"it's a peanut. no, smaller, even. a jellybean. it's barely there."

we were speaking outside the doctor's office.

"so because it's small it's supposed to make this easier to do?"

i was snapping at her.

"please be nice. you have been ideal through all of this. and i love you. i do. but...you know what my decision is."

"tell me something. did you actually give any thought to the other options? any?"

"of course i did. and i know it's not for me. not like this and not right now."

she scratched my head, trying to soothe me.

i could say nothing. i felt that if i spoke a single word in that instant that i would collapse into uncontrolled sobbing.

"look, they told me that there are going to be protesters there. i do not want to go in alone."

i said nothing.

"i understand if you don't want to come with me."

"of course i'll go with you. i have to go." i was speaking on auto-pilot.

i would be chauffeuring a part of myself to its doom, and here i was volunteering for service. it was against what my mind and guts bellowed inside: "NO."

later, i flopped onto my bed, trying to tune out my own heartbeat from pounding in my head. the smiths played in the background:

"is there any point
ever having children,
no, i don't know...
what i do know
is we're here and it's now..."

but the here and now was the last place i wanted to be. i spent another sleepless night in rumination.


it wasn't like it is often depicted in the movies--they weren't screaming or chanting or getting in our faces. they had leaflets and books and said hello as we passed.

one girl said, "if you haven't had a chance to look over any other options, feel free to talk to us."

m said, "no, thank you. that's ok," politely, while i smiled weakly behind her.

the elevator ride seemed to take one second. everything was moving at lightning pace then. i wanted time to freeze, trapping m with me so i could plead for her to reconsider.

instead i only had time to blurt out, "you don't have to do this. you know that. i will do anything it takes..if.."

"i know, " she said. "and i love you."

after she went inside i couldn't sit still. i needed air--to be anywhere but in that waiting room, with its pinned up posters seemingly mocking me.

i stepped outside. the protesters were still there.

"whoa. you don't look so good. do you want some water?" it was the girl who spoke to us earlier.

"no, i'm ok. thanks, though. i just needed some air."

"you look really worried. is your girlfriend having..."

i didn't want to hear the word.

"oh, she's my friend," i lied. "i'm just here to..she didn't have anyone else who could come."

why did i lie?

"well, you're a good friend. it would be awful for her to go through it all


"yeah. yeah, i know. i didn't want her to do this. but..i felt i should come with her, you know?"

"are you going to be ok? it's stressful on the guys too, you know. i have some info on what to do if you're feeling strange about it later, if you'd like to have it."

"i would. yes. maybe i can give it to her boyfriend too."

she gave me a pamphlet.

"we'll pray for you," she said.

"you don't have to, really...me and god haven't..well. thanks. it's been a while."

"well, all the more reason for someone else to break the ice, right? if you'd like. what's your name?"

i gave her my first, middle and last names. i guess i wanted to let god know exactly who was being prayed for. in case of any confusion.


two hours later, m was ready to leave and everything inside me had changed.

i held her for the rest of the night and went home in the morning, unable to think or cry or feel much of anything--a numbness throughout body and soul. i turned to where i always go when i need peace. i turned to music.

"she could have been a poet, or she could have been a fool," morrissey intoned.

i thought of all that potential...lost before it could even begin. i turned to words. i took out a sheet of paper and scribbled out the lines:

"july song"
i am never going
to see you
i am never going
to meet you
but you must believe--
i tried to save you
these are the only lines
and this is
the only time
i will ever write
for you
because i still
can't feel a thing
and i even pray for pain
a bullet in my brain
for you
i've numbed myself
for this
because i'll never
know your kiss
and i'll never see
the ghost of me
in you
and you--
barely beginning
and me--
feigning, pretending:
"it is not true"
the universe that sings
its multitude of things
of truth and god and trust
there'll be no time for us
to speak
of colors,
blue and jade
you were wonderfully made

and true
you don't know
what you're missing
i held held her to me
for signs of you.


m and i broke up a few months later. we didn't speak for some time, until the month when she would have become a mother.

she had changed much. we spoke of what could have been, and even reunited for a few months, only to return to our old patterns again.

things changed. we fell apart for the final time.

we were always falling apart, m and i.


nasseri-starr's picture

"Obsessive" Entertainment Weekly
"2 Thumbs Up" Girl in a Coma
"Poignant & thought-provoking. The doomed romantics of the world have a spokesperson." Rhonda Bridges
"Truly Moving" G. Moore
"Just finished it...I breezed through it in one sitting. I think that means I LOVED it!" J. Grant

"Words can't describe how much I love your book... I have read it, and re-read it." Ms. Noir

About Nasseri

Nasseri & Starr met over 20 years ago in the south Texas city of San Antonio where they both attended Longfellow Junior High School and shared a love for 80's alternative music and culture. Starr worked for fifteen years as a graphic designer and marketing director before...

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