You're not gonna pillage me?
I'm looking into the abyss...and it's kind of cute. Not in a puppy dog way, more like a random television actor hunting sea monsters, who I momentarily consider, but then think: Why bother? This show will just be cancelled anyway. Yes, the abyss has a fragile, momentarily allure.
I stood up yesterday (a feat in itself) and caught my reflection in the mirror. It was as if I were seeing myself for the first time. I was alien and debonair. Could I actually see my soul? Behind my eyes danced an intelligence that was unfamiliar. I tried to hang on to that feeling and I did for a spell. Then I made a short film. In which, through tricky camera work, I stalk myself. While editing this little masterpiece, I noticed something about me. It's this indefinable quality that comes across my face. It's really something. The last man I slept with, made of point of commenting on it, in a way that implied I could be fallen in love with. But of course, he didn't.
He was a director (no one you've heard of) who lived on a boat in the Marina. He had lured me there with his tattoos and swarthy tricks, to play a little game of "Master and Commander." I played (it had been a long time) and when I should have made my exit, I did not. The third act was horrible, predictable, and boring. I took great precautions to make sure that I would be prepared, should a similar opportunity present itself. But no such event has taken place. I guess I am lucky, pirates usually do more damage.
Now I'm in that space where I imagine Oprah calling to say: "Put yourself away! That thing is gonna fall off like a bad weave!" Because when the Titanic sank, I was in the karaoke lounge, dedicating a rousing rendition of "Rock the Boat" to Shelley Winters and Arthur Rimbaud. And so it is. I am here staring into the abyss. Ready to let go of the status quo. Ready to move on or at least stand up.
Was it Annie Lennox who asked: "Can't you see, this boat is sinking?"
Yes, Annie and the sun will come out tomorrow.
I stood up yesterday (a feat in itself) and caught my reflection in the mirror. It was as if I were seeing myself for the first time. I was alien and debonair. Could I actually see my soul? Behind my eyes danced an intelligence that was unfamiliar. I tried to hang on to that feeling and I did for a spell. Then I made a short film. In which, through tricky camera work, I stalk myself. While editing this little masterpiece, I noticed something about me. It's this indefinable quality that comes across my face. It's really something. The last man I slept with, made of point of commenting on it, in a way that implied I could be fallen in love with. But of course, he didn't.
He was a director (no one you've heard of) who lived on a boat in the Marina. He had lured me there with his tattoos and swarthy tricks, to play a little game of "Master and Commander." I played (it had been a long time) and when I should have made my exit, I did not. The third act was horrible, predictable, and boring. I took great precautions to make sure that I would be prepared, should a similar opportunity present itself. But no such event has taken place. I guess I am lucky, pirates usually do more damage.
Now I'm in that space where I imagine Oprah calling to say: "Put yourself away! That thing is gonna fall off like a bad weave!" Because when the Titanic sank, I was in the karaoke lounge, dedicating a rousing rendition of "Rock the Boat" to Shelley Winters and Arthur Rimbaud. And so it is. I am here staring into the abyss. Ready to let go of the status quo. Ready to move on or at least stand up.
Was it Annie Lennox who asked: "Can't you see, this boat is sinking?"
Yes, Annie and the sun will come out tomorrow.
posted by Saviour Onassis at 4:45 AM
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