"I don't want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic. I try to give that to people. I do misrepresent things. I don't tell truths. I tell what ought to be truth."
-Blanche DuBois, A Streetcar Named Desire
About Me
- k
- dead violets and baby's breath, daydream hurricane, imploding universe. dionysus grapes, shimmering halos, and black holes. witches on trial, circles in the sand, the waning crescent moon and oedipus's journey. a secret hunch, a faded photograph, and a quiet crow. rusty bullets, labored screams, and outlaw train robbers. the flowers of evil, your one big regret, doll parts, amsterdam, a foggy midnight, and a poets pen. masqueraders, ritual rites, melted patinas, lucid dreaming and a tear of your lover. aching cancer, telepathy, sharp needles, and a dark haze. gilded party goers, sad long faces, mutual pain. the collision of fear and reality, the color red, rotten fruit and money for the dead. easter love, mystery and magic. laudanum, victorian love letters, a hot gun, the momentary joy of mania. van gogh's epilepsy, lord byron's hysteria, and the disenchantment of the ordinary. cupid's mistakes, billion year old carbon, aphoristic statements and winding staircases. poisonous oleanders, ancient dictionaries, ambivalent moments, godless days, opulent mansions, melancholy, hypo-mania, the cold creative fire, and memory loss. Memory Loss