Lover

This looks so simple and chic. I love it.

Henri Matisse’s studio, 1952

Divine Madness

She made a mistake, she made a horrible mistake. She was stupid, she was insane, she was only 12, she was a stupid, insane 12 year old. She was the only person her age to be in an asylum, or that she knew of. It was because of the voices, the bad voices that made her do bad stuff. Her parents thought she was insane, why should she think any different? They had enough of her burning herself, talking to herself, cutting her hair with a razor to try to get to the root of the problem, or so she said. So they drove her to a Psyche Ward and the people in the white uniforms interviewed her. They looked at her with smiles, but their eyes told something different, something evil. The voices told her that.

She didn’t test very well; she wouldn’t cooperate when the people in the white uniforms tried to takes some blood from her arm. It was her left arm, her useless arm, she wrote with her right hand. Why couldn’t they take samples from her right arm, her strong arm, the arm she used knives with when she ate steaks. She struggled, she bit, she spit, she punched, she cursed, she screamed, it took 5 people to get her to sit and settle down. She was pissed! There were two people holding each of her arms, 2 people holding each of her legs, and one man holding her head still, he was an evil man.

The voices went ballistic when they saw him through her eyes. They wanted to crawl out of her skin and eat him up alive. The evil man holding her head smirked at her, trying to hold back laughter. “Butterflies, I see butterflies dancing on your skin, drinking in your lust.” The evil man’s smirk died as his eyes hardened. The voices said they saw images in his head of what he would do to her if he ever got to be alone with her. ‘The big bad wolf is going to eat you all up,’ the voices chanted in her head.

The men in the uniforms and her parents discussed her situation as she sat there motionless, her heart full of rage, no matter what she did, she couldn’t express it. Maybe it was the drugs they forced down her throat. So she did what the drugs told her to do, she danced around the room in circles with her arms out wide humming a song in her head. Her mom stared at her helplessly with tears in her eyes, her dad watched her with concern and some embarrassment as the girl started to laugh.

Two men, the bad man from before and another man who looked like a model tried to get her to settle down as they cornered her against a wall. The man model tried to sooth her with words as the other man try to give her another shot. The look that the bad man gave her made her feel like prey so she spit on him. His nose flared, his face got red, and as he wiped the spittle from his eye he slapped her across the face, causing her lip to bleed. Seeing her distraction of shock he stabs the syringe in her arm as he laughs. She in desperation struggles, but when that doesn’t work she starts to hit him, but that made him seem happier to cause her more pain. As the effects of the sedation calms her down she cries as she falls to the ground. Her mother tries to sooth her with a hug, but the girl only pushes her away. The blurry white uniforms take her away to a white room. She heard the man in charge tell her parents they would do everything they could to cure her of her madness as the doors were closed behind her.

In her fear she tries her best to stay awake, to be stubborn as hell, to do everything in her power to get out. She pounds on the door cursing, even made death threats that the voices told her to say. A while later she collapses in exhaustion and dreams of stones and bones and little wormies crawling.

She woke up some times later when she heard foot steps. She sits up as the door opens to reveal a woman, the evil man, and the man in charge. The man in charge looked like her grand-pa, so she put a little trust in him. The woman kneels down as she inspects the girl. The woman sees the bruise on the girls left cheek and eyes the evil man. The evil man shrugs saying, “Some girls need a little tough lovin.” He smirks as the girl glares at him. The woman soothes the girl by singing her a song as the old man takes her pulse, shines a light in her eyes, and checks her head for deep cuts for when she cut her hair with the razor.

The voices were getting louder, so she did her best to listen to the woman, she was nice. But they didn’t like the song, they complained, they screamed, they got louder.

“No, no, please no more. Stop! No more, Amy good girl now, Amy good girl now!” The girl screamed as she pounded her head with her small fists as she rocked back and forth on her knees. The nice woman tried to stop her fists, but was unsuccessful. “Amy, tell me what’s wrong. Please, we’ll help you. Tell us.”

Through her tears the girl said, “In my head, too much in my head, it hurts, it swims, it pleads with me,” the girl babbled between each sob. “Make it go away…”

Hiccup

Okay, I have a life hack for you.

Last week, I got attacked by the most painful and persistent hiccups of my life at work. My co-worker heard me hiccuping and said, absently, “Got the hiccups?” and I said miserably, “Yeah.” And she said, “Prove it.”

And I glared at her, because why the fuck should I prove anything to her? And I waited for the next hiccup, which would prove that she was a dick and that I was, indeed, suffering from hiccups. And… that hiccup never came. And she smirked and said, “My daughter calls me whenever she has hiccups and when I ask her to prove it, she never can.”

And that was weird. But later that night, I got hiccups AGAIN, so I said to my boyfriend, “I HAVE HICCUPS.” and he said “Yeah, you do.” And I said, “No, ask me to prove it.” And he gave me a look like I was a crazy person, and I hiccuped again and insisted he ask me to prove it and he did and BAM. I couldn’t do it!

And a few days LATER, I got the hiccups WHILE DRIVING ALONE, and I said, out loud, “DUDE, I have the hiccups.” And then, in another voice, “PROVE IT.” And bam. Couldn’t do it.

The moral of the story? Apparently hiccups are little shits who refuse to perform on command. 

There you go. Hiccup cure. I can’t promise it’ll work for everyone, but so far, it’s worked for me like six times.

You’re welcome.

I’m really taken by these caps lol… I’ve actually been thinking about them recently because the title “God, I’m tired” really makes itself felt here when both Eve and Villanelle close their eyes while lying side by side on the bed. Sure, in doing so both of them sharpen these very naive edges around their actions, saturated with the fact that Eve means to “kill” Villanelle whereas Villanelle is out to “watch” her, but there is something about how readily they still share that space - however small it may be - and have these sincere moments. I mean… these caps look peaceful out of context, despite Villanelle holding a gun.

They actually just might as well be because even when Eve’s reserved, “Yes,” to Villanelle’s, “You’ve found me,” sounds nebulously raging… she still manages to simply laugh when Villanelle praises her, “Well done”. And the fact that Villanelle, in return, has to do the same (ever caught her quick breathy chuckle? It’s short and yall should hear it). It’s such a specific response to that realization. It’s paltable, genuine and cocky and Eve can’t help herself but sink into it. What a brilliant choice to underscore their love language tbh.

Tonight I surrender...

To the darker part of me. To let go of the purity of a gentle heart. To withdraw from the notion of others first before my own needs. To not be afraid of wanting to want. Tonight I surrender.

Classic beauty

Marilyn Monroe photographed by Richard Avedon, 1957.

Secrets of the girl.

A lovely butterfly.

Heavenly

Florence and the Machine at last night’s Spotify event in Brooklyn. As Florence began to sing Sky Full of Song a literal storm began to hit, she never faltered and embraced the storm.

If you look at the big picture

we are a spec in an enormous blob of chaos.