Monday, June 07, 2004

It was the type of painting that seemed to invite its viewer to walk into it as though it had an actual depth. The whole painting didn’t possess this quality, only a small seemingly insignificant part did. It certainly was a most unusual portal the crease in the empresses’ white lace stockings promised on that sultry day.

Spent all day rewriting passages from various books the way I wanted them to be.

There are wonderful people in the world, and then there are those that should not have been born. I fall (literally) into a third category: those who were born but aren’t here.

The selection of “which way to turn” has been made. The way to turn is inside-out, inside or out, and in any kind of weather, preferably next to an attractive body of water, a somewhere that was well thought out during those white nights in the tropics, inside a rapidly forming drop of moisture.


Post a Comment

<< Home