the prettiest princess
Portions originally published on March 20, 2005, then pulled down.
I really like the scene in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind where she's telling him about her doll, and wishing her to be pretty, because then she would be pretty. I did that, wished my doll and myself to be pretty. I also had wild fantasies about how cool it would be if my dolls had parties when I was asleep. My sister and I used to juggle pillows on our feet, convinced we could be trapeze artists all while listening to Poison's first album Look What the Cat Dragged in. That was the bedroom I molested a rocking picture of Duran Duran on my shelf. I was never allowed to put it up because my mom wasn't about that, freedom of expressopm.
I wonder if I wish and click my heels together over and over that a little apple might fall from the sky onto my head. Then maybe the little stars from the jolt of it all might tell me a better story than the one I had written.
A wish is a powerful thing, but only if it is backed by a drive to make it come true. What happens when you lose the drive? Not to lose the drive to believe in a wish, but the drive to make the wish a reality. What happens then? Do you just die from a broken heart?
I don't want to die of a broken heart, but I keep smashing mine out as soon as it's lit. It's so disturbing, my smashed out broken heart, that I would enjoy trading it in for a new one. And not the literal mess, but in a completely spiritual way. To feed a soul that's empty, that's drowned, what do you need to do? Undrown it? Touch it, maybe? Tell it it's okay that it's empty?
I really like the scene in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind where she's telling him about her doll, and wishing her to be pretty, because then she would be pretty. I did that, wished my doll and myself to be pretty. I also had wild fantasies about how cool it would be if my dolls had parties when I was asleep. My sister and I used to juggle pillows on our feet, convinced we could be trapeze artists all while listening to Poison's first album Look What the Cat Dragged in. That was the bedroom I molested a rocking picture of Duran Duran on my shelf. I was never allowed to put it up because my mom wasn't about that, freedom of expressopm.
I wonder if I wish and click my heels together over and over that a little apple might fall from the sky onto my head. Then maybe the little stars from the jolt of it all might tell me a better story than the one I had written.
A wish is a powerful thing, but only if it is backed by a drive to make it come true. What happens when you lose the drive? Not to lose the drive to believe in a wish, but the drive to make the wish a reality. What happens then? Do you just die from a broken heart?
I don't want to die of a broken heart, but I keep smashing mine out as soon as it's lit. It's so disturbing, my smashed out broken heart, that I would enjoy trading it in for a new one. And not the literal mess, but in a completely spiritual way. To feed a soul that's empty, that's drowned, what do you need to do? Undrown it? Touch it, maybe? Tell it it's okay that it's empty?