Start Fiona apple dating

Fiona apple dating

Swaying like the Holy Ghost had descended upon me, I closed my eyes till the battle cry ended, chill bumps dotting my arms as her fury turned the song into a howling tempest — and then again when, just like that, she tamed it, banging out such blissed-out piano chords that tears wet my cheeks.

It was a particular form of hell, to feel everything in my life so intensely through the void of this person I would never know. Two Fiona Apple posters were pinned to the walls: one of Fiona Apple in her underwear from the “Criminal” video and the other a giant poster of Fiona Apple gripping a microphone. Throughout this time of obsession, I would casually mention Fiona Apple many times throughout the day as if I knew her, as if we were best friends. Every time I pack up my things, I consider throwing it away. I had brought a plastic bag of weed with me, mostly shake.

I was adult enough to admit that from far away the microphone looked like a penis. It makes me think of abject despair and isolation and my teenage bedroom. He loved Tori Amos, which I thought was weird for a man. I remembered that in 1999, Fiona Apple stayed at the Hyatt downtown.

He brought a few rolls of paper towels and a bottle of Windex and he helped me clean my piece-of-shit apartment.

On a shelf there was a bag of weed and a glass bowl. He lifted up my combo and carried it out to the car.

She had never been obsessed with anything in her life, not even a man.

It makes me think of my life with my brother, watching games in his dark cocoon of a room, avoiding the rest of our family. I don’t know how I knew this, but seven years after I had first acquired that knowledge, I decided to ride my bike there after her show.

I imagined we would go onto her tour bus and smoke up together. Our interaction ended when she took my shitty bag of weed onto the bus. * It was difficult to talk about my obsessions with my brother, but I think he understood.