Tuesday, August 25, 2009

born with a weak heart. guess i must be having fun.

it is two a and i am still on the island, listening to the little dog breath while i am sketching fall clothes and reading _breakfast at tiffany's_. my boyfriend is sleeping soundlessly in the bedroom, and in absolute truth, it takes everything in me not to run in, jump on the bed naked, and make him wake to talk and laugh and kiss. but he has serious things to do in like, three hours, so i cant. it is sort of strange, this serious sort of way. it's not exactly logical or structured its like a labyrinth or some wonderfully bright room in some enormously gloomy castle.

well it was two a and i was on the island, but i left that entry a week ago, to arrange flowers or something, and i never returned. now i am back in the jewel box with the big gate, back to my charts and graphs and premonitions and ideas on how to hustle everything i have. and everything feels like its in this suspended state-- not that it is not moving, but that everything is moving so fast it appears as if it isnt moving at all. like everything is a silent picture, all the actress in big hair and silk and staring with those wonderfully vacant faces-- its all for something, i suppose. today i am reading fashion magazines and painting my nails, listening to new order on my record player and wishing i had it together like this when i was nineteen so i could have that castle somewhere now, and i could stand in that room in that sequin dress with bat wings on my eyes and the greatest style ever a cigarette just because there is nothing to do and for all that perfection, all that suspended reality to be so boring, all those beautiful boys and terrible gardens. even a lagoon. even all that. even the birds. thinking, what a bore the world can be. and not to feel the need to connect to it at all because i have no need for anything because its all there and its all the same and its all disposable, and even if it isnt. its all myth. its all a room and an act, a stage a lantern, its all some box where slowly everyone in it sinks below the earth, at arms length. all in pretty clothes. all pretty vacant indeed.

No comments: