When people repeatedly try to pull my strings and realize I cut them off. Is it enjoyable to pick a person apart based on a few assumptions from their blog? I think you find it easier to look at everyone else so you don’t have to look at yourself. When you poke at others’ insecurities pay more attention and you may find that they talk about them now because they’re no longer an issue. Can you say the same for yourself? Being a puppetmaster means first learning how to not be a puppet. You can’t have drama with a person if you refuse to play their game. I’m glad I learned that.
I kind of want to be a librarian if only to spend my time where people shut the fuck up. I know libraries are louder these days than they were in the time of rotary phones and index cards. There’s a reading room and an internet room and a crazy homeless person picking their teeth in the art book aisle. But libraries are still a place of solace. You can still check out anything you want on astrophysics even if you don’t understand it and stare at the ceiling for an hour without being questioned. I’d rather a library than a church. They don’t even ask for money and more reading material. And if you want to ask forgiveness for your sins you can do it to shakespeare rather than a god you don’t believe in. The best libraries have a million little corners with comfortable chairs. In these corners is dappled sunlight and a view of pedestrians and rose bushes. Is there any other place where no one invades your space even with noise pollution? If they carried martinis and bottles of whiskey in between the stacks they’d be near perfect. Maybe a pile of pillows in the rare books room on the top floor.
L.A. seems like the kind of place you want to move if your silicone isn’t getting enough attention. I don’t mean to pester my friends in LA. Many bright and talented people live there, and a few of them will read this. I adore you guys. But let’s face it. That’s where all of the fake boobed jaded single ladies go to find meaning in their lives. Is it meaning you want or someone to appreciate your silicone implants and mediocre jokes?
I blame Ernest Hemingway for all of my drinking problems. Have you ever read Hemingway? 90% liquor menus and 10% heartbreak. He was a man’s man because every bearded twenty year old reblogs him in a fishing boat but was he though? He spoke about depression and heartache and killed himself in his sixties because the weight of the world was too much. You want to glorify his manly appraisal of exploration and alcoholism go right ahead, but I love him for his bleeding heart and sensitive eye and I think frankly that’s why you do too, little fawn.
Clou le Fou
In conjunction with my photography exploring negative space, I have also been writing in that silent time between midnight and 4am, and here I have gathered memories and words from that space between dreams and reality.