lemoniain
03-31-2011, 07:03 PM
I turn my face from the wall and watch her among curtains and curtains, playfully crying out "Where are you" before finally flattening herself up against the wall and in a muffled voice says ''Chaplin, come behind this velvet curtain and I guarantee you'll forget all about misery''. She waits for me, at least she knows to leave beauty well alone. But so what? It's not like I set out to destroy something beautiful. It just keeps happening that way. She is tired of waiting and moves.
She pulls back the curtains, the light on her face, she opens the window, the noise of barks, buses, crowds and squalls. She rests her elbows on the frame and then her chin in her hands and watches the world beneath us. The candle in the centre is made from brown sugar and it flickers and hisses wildly, spitting onto a grand electric skull and the yellowed newspaper cutout of Frida Khalo that it stands on.
''Tell me what you see'', she hmm's as she looks for something ''A group of tourists sitting and eating sweet egg bread whilst being wheeled around on a cart''. "what else can you see". She turns to me with a sigh and says "a man constantly on the move, the daylight sailing along behind him, he's pulling and tugging and biting at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve, he has phobias and knows humiliation, all the while screaming ''do you know another way of destroying these tapes?''"
She doesn't wait for a response and takes the couple steps backwards and reclines on the aquamarine divan sofa behind a small glass table. I listen to the sound of her white feather down quilted jacket against the divan sofa as she wriggles. ''What did you notice?'' she asks already pouting, knowing I find it hard not to speak my mind. I just stared at her feet, I didn't look up, I never do ''Well, pain and how beautiful it can be, it was pouring out of you'' I paused and looked up at her face avoiding her eyes and continued "you're pretty, but ordinary''. I've rubbished some beautiful things, most meant nothing to me but I've had things I wish I had now.
Blood warmed she leans forward removes her jacket and picks up a spoon. She presses her spoon into the peeled pear, stops for a second and tries again while saying ''Disgust is more important to some people than enjoyment''. For 45 minutes we sat in silence as she eat that pear.
I stare at the white camellias printed on her black dress and listen to the faint wailing sound of a baby crying from outside, thinking to myself that self doubt is the least funny joke I've ever told. I hate feeling like this, like the end is a beautiful thing. I'm grateful she knows at times I can be a bastard.
She pulls back the curtains, the light on her face, she opens the window, the noise of barks, buses, crowds and squalls. She rests her elbows on the frame and then her chin in her hands and watches the world beneath us. The candle in the centre is made from brown sugar and it flickers and hisses wildly, spitting onto a grand electric skull and the yellowed newspaper cutout of Frida Khalo that it stands on.
''Tell me what you see'', she hmm's as she looks for something ''A group of tourists sitting and eating sweet egg bread whilst being wheeled around on a cart''. "what else can you see". She turns to me with a sigh and says "a man constantly on the move, the daylight sailing along behind him, he's pulling and tugging and biting at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve, he has phobias and knows humiliation, all the while screaming ''do you know another way of destroying these tapes?''"
She doesn't wait for a response and takes the couple steps backwards and reclines on the aquamarine divan sofa behind a small glass table. I listen to the sound of her white feather down quilted jacket against the divan sofa as she wriggles. ''What did you notice?'' she asks already pouting, knowing I find it hard not to speak my mind. I just stared at her feet, I didn't look up, I never do ''Well, pain and how beautiful it can be, it was pouring out of you'' I paused and looked up at her face avoiding her eyes and continued "you're pretty, but ordinary''. I've rubbished some beautiful things, most meant nothing to me but I've had things I wish I had now.
Blood warmed she leans forward removes her jacket and picks up a spoon. She presses her spoon into the peeled pear, stops for a second and tries again while saying ''Disgust is more important to some people than enjoyment''. For 45 minutes we sat in silence as she eat that pear.
I stare at the white camellias printed on her black dress and listen to the faint wailing sound of a baby crying from outside, thinking to myself that self doubt is the least funny joke I've ever told. I hate feeling like this, like the end is a beautiful thing. I'm grateful she knows at times I can be a bastard.