Words Are Messy
stolen line from an incubus song where brandon boyd plays the guitar without the shirt and proceeds to make love to the whole audience. i don’t think i can love a man like that. i am selfish and a man who loves me, is a man who loves ME.
i just finished reading paul auster’s invention of solitude. and am fondling the covers of my other books.
this is why i like reading an author again and again through his books… murakami, noon, gaiman. there are something about these names which seem to make sense. oh there’s gibson, tan, fforde. thompson.
name dropping for some, but they’re like bread crumbs.
i got lost today. got lost in old wounds.
i find such comfort when authors allude to fairy tales and all these other children’s stories. it’s like they’re talking to me in my own awkward language.
alice. jonah in the whale’s belly. the word belly.
someone is talking through me. i think i’ve let my guard down again.
it’s been a surreal night.
i’m that woman in habla con ella. that giant woman.
and the cheshire cat. and delirium. and connie escobar.