this is a brief and personal prologue, but i need to spit this out. i'm sick of acting like someone, something i am not. i think this blog post reflects change and reality. i feel like i've been wearing this mask for years and i can finally take it off.
i've been fascinated with the colour white lately.
at the moment, i stare into the faces of six white roses. in two weeks a fresh pot, giving the room a godly aroma.
i wish i could walk outside and say the same, but then i turn to my left and watch the planes take off,one by one, into never ending blue. sometimes i wish i could fly with the metal that suspends by force, the missiles of black, the roars of the lions. i would rise to the windows and whisper"let me in"and they would, and their eyes would swell with lies and truths, and they wouldn't know what to believe anymore.
like superman i'd take them away with the speed of light, and we'd see our lives flash before our eyes, and within a minute we would land and they thanked me, because now they knew the truth, and the truth never lies.
my father bought biographies of famous artists and i'm eating them up like poundcakes, savoring every little bit of information i read. i've been most recently reading about Salvador Dali, and i love love love his portrait of Mae West, titled the obvious "face of Mae West". there is just something so odd but sexy about it. i don't know if i should be creeped out or turned on.
i haven't taken any pictures of my outfits recently, out of sheer laziness. i did take a picture of one when i came home one night, but i was still drunk i think and the flash was being a slut. the belt is from the goodwill, as always, and i simply adore it, reminds me of an eccentric Indian tribe.