who were you in your past life?
"What is reality?
I am a plaster doll; I pose
with eyes that cut open without landfall or nightfall
upon some shellacked and grinning person
eyes that open, green, steel, and close.
Am I approximately an I. Magnin transplant?
I have hair, black angel,
black-angel-stuffing to comb,
nylon legs, luminous arms
and some advertised clothes."
-Anne Sexton
Phoenix is really sick and it is breaking my heart. I am not yet pouring tears the way that I was with Serafina, because I gave him so much medicine that I am trying to stay hopeful. It's just hard to watch someone suffer. I have to remind myself that death is just the potential for new life. We all need to shed our bodies the way that rose bushes die and then come back to life.
I wonder what I was in my past lifetime. I do have visions sometimes.
I'm pretty sure I was an artist living in France in a tiny flat above all these little stores. I painted portraits of people on the streets for money. I lived alone, drank tons of coffee and had four cats. Margot was the young and handsome, yet tragically shy, busboy who worked at the little patisserie across the street. She would watch me undress through my window while she scrubbed the tables. I'd catch her staring and she would blush. Eventually we became secret lovers. I'd throw her the key from my window and she would sneak up to my flat. She always smelled like bleach and cigarettes, and she had a tiny little french mustache. It was the twenties and life was beautiful.
I am a plaster doll; I pose
with eyes that cut open without landfall or nightfall
upon some shellacked and grinning person
eyes that open, green, steel, and close.
Am I approximately an I. Magnin transplant?
I have hair, black angel,
black-angel-stuffing to comb,
nylon legs, luminous arms
and some advertised clothes."
-Anne Sexton
Phoenix is really sick and it is breaking my heart. I am not yet pouring tears the way that I was with Serafina, because I gave him so much medicine that I am trying to stay hopeful. It's just hard to watch someone suffer. I have to remind myself that death is just the potential for new life. We all need to shed our bodies the way that rose bushes die and then come back to life.
I wonder what I was in my past lifetime. I do have visions sometimes.
I'm pretty sure I was an artist living in France in a tiny flat above all these little stores. I painted portraits of people on the streets for money. I lived alone, drank tons of coffee and had four cats. Margot was the young and handsome, yet tragically shy, busboy who worked at the little patisserie across the street. She would watch me undress through my window while she scrubbed the tables. I'd catch her staring and she would blush. Eventually we became secret lovers. I'd throw her the key from my window and she would sneak up to my flat. She always smelled like bleach and cigarettes, and she had a tiny little french mustache. It was the twenties and life was beautiful.