I don’t know what to say to you. I sit here, in the cafe’ of the bookstore down the road from my office. I’m exhausted and starving. I’ve survived the last week on a nauseous mixture of coffee and honey. I’ve barely slept. I’ve cried to you over the phone about becoming one of those people driven to great lengths to escape their thoughts, my mind hasn’t shut down for weeks. The alcohol leaves me wasted and nothing more. Their endless comments have yet to cease, not so much an energy I don’t have control of, but more of an addiction I can’t come off of. You are entirely too innocent and even though you are here I am still entirely too alone. And yet they won’t leave me alone.
Notes: I know some of these entries were not meant for anyone else to see, so it’s really hard to sit here and type them. This one seems especially…I don’t know, full of hyperbole? I was working on The Whore around then, so I am sure my muse was especially active during this time. I’m pretty sure it was also during this time that I was learning if she wanted something created, it had to be immediately or she would haunt you until it was finished. I dragged The Whore on, as I do with some of my more cherished works, miserably for six months.
Matt was the leprechaun, as he is known in retrospect, it was through dating him that I lost interest in high heels. He was short, into 3-d animation, screaming hybrids of hard rock and Christian music (as in singing…or screaming, not listening) and cannonball adderley, of which I still have a CD he burnt for me.He was full of Christianity and anger at his ex-girlfriend which ultimately made everything, complicated.
The office was in a triangular building at Liberty Avenue and Smithfield, the cafe was in the Barnes and Nobles up the way. Funny thing, I still have days where I live off of tea and honey. I’m cutting back in my old age.
This page is followed by another figure study for “The Red Coat” aka “The Whore”