night rises. i’m about to do something potentially soul-destroying but in other ways healing; publishing this to counteract its effects. here are some thoughts, all from before; they were written without ever being meant to be read.

pretend it’s not me. these are words floating in space,

moments of insanity / unchronological / agendaless etc, etc.

lolita (in spite)

i woke up in a haze, tied by flesh to my blanket, unwilling to get out, get up. and then i played jazz. jazz soothes the soul. but perhaps too much. and besides. my soul has not been soothed. i am simmering under the heat of an incendiary device planted beneath my body after last night with Person. and i am basking in misery these days. success for me hinges on the suppression of my emotions, i feel. which is bad, i suppose.

i finished the yellow wallpaper yesterday. and charlotte perkins was locked in! so that caused the deterioration of her condition. but my suppression is of my own volition.

the smokescreen of the crowd

前天。前晚。

gia and i performed city of stars, which transitioned to forever young. and it was a sweet, precious thing, the two of us – she sang, i played – as if we had been doing this double act forever. she’s sebastian and i’m mia, we’re singing a lovely night. me pirouetting across the street (or rather, cautiously spinning myself around) to the other side of st helen’s. the place where my thoughts started to form; i was such a dreamer then.

then i pirouetted back to the other side. i suppose we cannot stay forever young.

so we’re standing at the top of the hill, and then the crowd comes, and it’s funny, it’s funny because all along i had been feeling empty, i always feel empty in social events because there is overdone enthusiasm and such superficiality – everyone smiles and cheers but there is no love. and so i smile and cheer but i do not give my love. love is in scarcity these days.

enlightened salonnieres

We just left a church – I don’t know why but I was feeling like I had to visit a church. Maybe it’s the rising subconscious influence of spirituality in my life. So I visited a church. And I talked to God. I said to Him: Look, I came here for you. Clearly I believe in you.

And I don’t know who I was trying to prove my faith to. Probably to Him and myself and the world.

The man next to me, in conversation, is saying that no one cares. So perhaps no one does. Time to eat my New York Cheesecake.

water lilies, nymphet

i have piero piccioni in my ear. i always listen to his works when i frequent museums. this time is different, though. blissful, ethereal melodies are now laced with melancholy.

melancholy, bitterness and regret. these are the three spirits that haunt the walls of my mind. the last time i was in a museum with piccioni, i was in LA. and what a time that was. before that it was Boston; i will always remember the man who started talking to me about furniture. then he realized that i was sixteen, i told him i was sixteen, so we laughed. we laughed together. yesterday was valentine’s day. maybe love is overrated. maybe love shall never satisfy me. i don’t like feeling like i’ve lost control.

i love my handwriting. it is loopy and big; it carries all my aspirations, all to be fulfilled in due course. it’s loose and wild; i need to be let loose, i need to let myself loose.

tender is the night

decided to turn my all-nighter into a social experiment for myself and do things naked. perhaps – to be naked is to be free. but then nakedness, or rather, the sight of our nakedness, chains us to our bodily insecurities. so we are not free after all, it turns out.

i accidentally threw my necklace into the bin instead of my jewellery dish. i’m listening to the soundtrack to the age of innocence, and for a while i imagine myself swept up in the glitz and glamour of 1950s America, pearls and all. but the vision soon disappears. there was never a place for someone like me.

deeper, deeper we go.

my heart remains motionless, but it is not still; with every kindness from you it breathes and swells; alas in the end it plummets and sags. deprivation is the culprit for its death, your deprivation has murdered my love, but i suppose you couldn’t attend its funeral, unaware of its existence all along.

i want to shut you out. i want to shut you out completely. i want to stop writing about you. i want to expel you from my mind. this is my house, and you its most welcome intruder.

i am taking back ownership of the house. this is my house.