originally written january 20, 2014
7:13 AM
good morning. i'm up, drinking tea, watching an episode of unsolved hollywood mysteries. the episode is about the case of dorothy stratten. the next episode is about the menendez brothers. ludo's here watching it with me; i hate being alone. in my mid-20s i came to terms with this, as well as crippling anxiety. joey is in mulholland, doing a project with DREEM magazine.
he called last night, at about eleven. he had just arrived at his hotel with the lost boys and was about to get a drink at the bar. told me he'd "be good." then he said something i couldn't understand and hung up. honestly, he sounded loaded. who knows anymore? your guess is as good as mine...
are we like romeo and juliet? sid 'n' nancy? or maybe cher and duane allman?
10:15 PM
"...The Albion leaves the harbour now, scuffed at the knees + chomping at the bit. We pull away from Brewery rd + across an old path - Delaney mansions lurches motionless & dear old Holloway ladies waiting room primes like springtime the sweet momentum of tomorrow...
...and all arcady shall be upon us."
-@heavyhorse
10:21 PM
"O, raise your deep-frindged lids that close; to wrap you in some sweet dream's thrall - i am the spectre of the rose you wore but last night at the ball" - gautier; 1892
how very boring being pregnant, innit? no where to go, no one to dress up for. i'm just here dancing by myself. daddy gets to have all the phone. i sit behind this screen, click-clack, click-clack, and albeit each word down on the page is one step closer, i cannot help but feel seemingly uninvited to my own party.
who knew getting knocked up would become such a prison sentence?