graphictimes

oh, oh,
what a wonderful, exquisite, painful, delicious, frightening thing it is, to come back to life
again.

Oh I am afraid to lose it. I am afraid to lose him. I mustn't grasp and claw but my emotions are so strong that i cannot just kiss them and let them be in case it means they are fleeting, teasing me with promises of longevity. Was i sleeping before? how did i forget, how to live.

You know what's an over rated but actually mind numbingly boring job? catwalk modelling. You stand in the cold, and dark and are ignored and bored for hours and hours and hours, wearing shoes that dont fit with insane makeup that you know is corroding your skin, with only bitchy vain girls for company.

I know i shouldn't moan, i have free short hair etc
but working 10am until 10pm? for free? for a haircut and a goodie bag?
even for money...

You are only worth the sum of your parts. No one remembers your name.
Just walk, hands, legs, face, hair. Walk, walk, walk, pose, walk.

Also it enflamed that part of myself that says "if you lost just a bit more weight, everything would be perfect, everything would be better and brighter and happier"... and i don't need that.

i want my job to be sitting in the park while its sunny, reading poetry to myself. I would do that for free.

Last night i dreamt that Kant and I were teenagers in love. I had been a child model, with long curly hair. Only i was from the wrong side of the tracks, and his father didnt like me. So, when out on a hunting expedition in a field, he shot me 5 times with a bow and arrow. One of the arrows went through my nose, and the nurses at hospital were trying to rip it out the wrong way

you see, even my dreams are dorky
"wait george washington let me help you!"