Breakfast Club

[Cita]

I used to love the movie Breakfast Club, that epitome of what the 80s seemed all about at the time, the iconoclastic movie with everyone in it.

So when I saw it in the Safeway check-out line for $9.99, the 25th anniversary edition dvd (can that be possible?), I opted for an evening's worth of nostalgia.

Maybe I've been too immersed in the real world, the ultimate sex metaphor, for the prom queen doing the psycho-case's hair to affect me the way it did back then.

Maybe the copulation-ovulation-gestation-elimination-transition-to-entropy metaphor is too big, to ohgodhowincrediblefeelssofuckingtrueandreal that lip gloss and taping someone's buns together and obvious Coke-corporation-advertising and having to get stoned to understand each other gets buried in oak leaf detriutus.

Isn't teenage angst just a small slice of a necessary process that means something?

The screen flickered off and I slept in the simple dark, dreamed of things that fly and scream and burrow.