Friday, September 7
{ 10:40 PM }
How can anyone confuse truth with beauty. Truth came with sunken eyes, bony or scarred, decayed. Its teeth were bad, its hair gray and unkept. While beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in prayer.
She said:
" Who am I? I am who I say I am and tomorrow someone else entirely. You are too nostalgic, you want memory to secure you, console you. What matters is only oneself and what one creates from what one has learned. Imagination uses what it needs and discard the rest- where you want to erect a museaum.
Dont hoard the past. Dont cherish anything. Burn it. The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge."
ANYWAY IM
SUNBURNT. It's like bruises enveloping my skin, :(