the hours the minutes the weeks and days and maybe years spent juggling these questions filling out the formulas, stressful thinking pitchblack room scrunching noises of the pillow and my hair along the top of it, the(more) cold underneath will sometimes bring comfort but who knows, really. substitute x for her and her and her, not to many unfortunately. but its always so confusing and fascinating and difficult to deal with.
the capacity to love and like and be infatuated with or interested and invested in, dedicating time and energy and the emotions of a teenaged girl i cannot deal. theres a hard ceiling to it, and a very visible one, at that. muted grey with an inlaid darker grey grid, almost charcoal. each square its own little thing, a diorama depicting possibility a through zzz. that way when your head hits the icy cold surface, so adamant about staying still, you look up and are lost, immediately, in a vortex thought trap, lost in the idea of these little boxes of potential, each a better future or past or present. its tough. but a thrill. which side of the scale is more worthwhile, who knows. probably everyone but me.
the chariot tarot was always so threatening. force of nature paired with force of man; together most likely force of habit. powered by a thickly muscled beast, driven by a seasoned ruler, a madman, a brute. the road is dusty and in its wake, the chariot leaves clouds of venom.
somewhere in the desert, a girl wanders in search of the lost city of her childhood. the sages spoke of it and now she seeks. the sun is hot and no one told her it was all made up.(less)
I'm trying to figure out what you are. It's been the defining question of my life, actually. I definitely know who you are... I mean, I certainly recognize you. But what are you?
You've changed so much. You went through all of the usual dramatic changes of youth an(more)d young adulthood, but you didn't stop. You used to be fat and round. Your eyes were always squinted into your face, and they were unsure eyes. Your hair was combed straight back.
And then you weren't as fat, and you're eyes showed more, a bit wider. I remember a stern face sometimes. I watched it become leaner, and the eyes more confident.
And then it kept going, and you had a jawline and everything. You didn't comb your hair straight back anymor- or at all. It grew bushy and wild, and your eyes were wild too. They were the widest and the greenest they'd every been.
And now what are you? A face a bit pudgier than the last, though not fat and round as before. Your hair is short and you sport a thick beard. And now more than ever those eyes probe back at me. What are they looking for? The faces that have gone, never to return? The faces to come?
It is not a satisfied look in your eyes. But I always notice them. I catch them stealing glances- in the morning routine of the bathroom, in the black sheen of my coffee, in the rearview mirror as I adjust it.
I don't know what you are. This face can't tell you. But maybe another face will, a different face, a face I've never seen before.(less)
Halloween night. This bar wasn't where Wanda wanted to be. It was just someplace warm until the taxi showed up. Alberni only had two.
The party'd gone south fast. Typical. She never went anywhere; should've known better than to go to Gabriel and Elsie's the way they got(more) while drinking. Almost right away they were at it, their made-up faces distorted as they screamed, further violence on a leash only temporarily. Not even 10 pm before guests were fleeing the apartment, neighbors up and down the hall peeking from behind chained doors.
The few drinkers in the bar looked at them lingeringly, with curiosity and, to Wanda's eye, impatience. They were too fucking old to be princesses but that's what they were: "Jasmine" and "Cinderella." Meant to be ironic - the inoffensive girlishness of Disney characters laid atop a hard-edged adulthood.
"I'll have a double Glenfiddich, or whatever you have that's similar," she told the bartender.
"Ho-de-ho," he said.
"And I'll have a Smirnoff Ice," Julia said, smiling. Unlike Wanda, Julia liked being looked at, didn't take it personally. Dive bar or no.
He raised his eyebrow before setting down the drinks. "Those outfits on, I should ask for ID, but little girls don't drink that." He nodded at the scotch. Wanda didn't bother to smile and help soften the blow of sitting in this dump until the taxi showed.
Besides a few dollar store pumpkin cut-outs on the wall there was no concession to the holiday. The cobwebs in the corners were real.
Julia went to find the restroom.
"So. What are you supposed to be?" the bartender asked. "Princesses?"
Wanda detected a sneer. Her mouth was dry.
He laid the bill down on the bar. "I know exactly what you are just by looking at you," he said.(less)