If I were a widow I would have a vinyard and make the most perfect champagne
I thought for a while that I was dissolving again. But somehow I have grown more solid these days. Mostly I feel like a letter being written and unwritten and rewritten. All the ink and meaning and weighted words on a piece of paper.
I am feeling the bohemian lifestyle. Mostly cause I have red danish alter tapers stuck in a pair of Billecart-Salmon bottles. Except champagne that nice is not so very bohemian.
There is a finger sized girl living on my dresser. She sleeps in my music box on the brown velvet, next to pearls and gold. I'm not too sure if she believes in me. And it's such a funny thing, for something so fantastical not to believe in the realness of me. Unless of course I did dissolve somewhere between here and the otherwhere.
I wouldn't mind being a divine red haired woman with passion. I wouldn't mind the name Louise and I certainly wouldn't mind loving a sexually ambiguous person. But I wouldn't look good with red hair and I don't have that kind of majestic beauty or immense passion. And I don't really care for recycle shorts or affairs. But that is just how life, goes isn't it?
I would like to include an excerpt from an email Gregory sent me. Feel free not to be amused.
Haven't seen you in a while. How are you surviving? Did you bath? Did
you get a cat? Did you bath a cat? Are you sleeping on your bed yet?
Are you sleeping on a cat bed? Have you ever been in a turkish prison?
Why do we drive down parkway and park in the drive way?
I wonder what a turkish prison is like
I had a wonderful plan. It went something like this. If I can keep the petunia Ruth gave me alive I would get a verbena plant. I would only get the verbena plant if I lost some weight. So the verbena plant is an incentive to loose weight but I need to keep the petunia alive so I know I can keep the verbena alive cause I don't really want to buy a verbena just to kill it. The problem is the petunia isn't looking so happy.
poo poo
I am feeling the bohemian lifestyle. Mostly cause I have red danish alter tapers stuck in a pair of Billecart-Salmon bottles. Except champagne that nice is not so very bohemian.
There is a finger sized girl living on my dresser. She sleeps in my music box on the brown velvet, next to pearls and gold. I'm not too sure if she believes in me. And it's such a funny thing, for something so fantastical not to believe in the realness of me. Unless of course I did dissolve somewhere between here and the otherwhere.
I wouldn't mind being a divine red haired woman with passion. I wouldn't mind the name Louise and I certainly wouldn't mind loving a sexually ambiguous person. But I wouldn't look good with red hair and I don't have that kind of majestic beauty or immense passion. And I don't really care for recycle shorts or affairs. But that is just how life, goes isn't it?
I would like to include an excerpt from an email Gregory sent me. Feel free not to be amused.
Haven't seen you in a while. How are you surviving? Did you bath? Did
you get a cat? Did you bath a cat? Are you sleeping on your bed yet?
Are you sleeping on a cat bed? Have you ever been in a turkish prison?
Why do we drive down parkway and park in the drive way?
I wonder what a turkish prison is like
I had a wonderful plan. It went something like this. If I can keep the petunia Ruth gave me alive I would get a verbena plant. I would only get the verbena plant if I lost some weight. So the verbena plant is an incentive to loose weight but I need to keep the petunia alive so I know I can keep the verbena alive cause I don't really want to buy a verbena just to kill it. The problem is the petunia isn't looking so happy.
poo poo