December 30, 2005
crazy rides rockets, wears a magic wand
[a brief letter to you]
so here i am, sweet lilly. sorry for taking so long to reply...
i think i must agree when you say that all the words you made up didn't stop me from breaking my bones. they're still weak and it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces all the time. you know, i always try so hard to make them all fit perfectly like before.
well, i still believe that someday manage it all will be not [soul] difficult, you see? even thus, i hear black birds singing something about dark clouds, old grey skies, a heavy metal band playing in the background... i dont remember really, maybe it's just another trick... they love fucking with my brain.
i have to tell you something: i parted with talking to them. i think those dark fows are not trust worthy at all... because you never identify when they chirp seriously or when it's a stupid game, so they forsake you until you feel just oaf. funny, isnt it? i'll stop talking about it. that kind of stuff depress me at the speed of light.
dont you think that everything we need is some honey... i dont know, kisses... perhaps some clouds of fluff? i am pretty sure that you'd second me on it, after all our minds are filled with the same radio cures.
i find it comic sometimes that we live to find a land coloured pink and blue [you must forget all you know about grey now] where everything would move so slowly we could even go along with the scenery. and that snail we once met wouldnt be sorry anymore but happy right away. comic, but it would be so nice, huh?!
oh, i sincerely miss those 24 hours when you succeed in every deed... remember that, sweetie? it became so obvious that we are so oblivious to ourselves.
and shakespeare was right. nietzsche was as right as russel was. you were right as well when you decided for not tell'em the truth. i know it sounds weird but what if they found everything they know was wrong? would be such a disillusion, huh? poor people who believe we're beautiful :) they're so poor they cant even pay attention.
im sorry if i pluzzled you, my dear. sometimes a knockout is all they want.
"that lay between the words i think on a page i was meaning to send to you. i couldn't tell if it'd bring my heart the way i wanted when i started writing this letter."
i'll be around, so you can come by any time you want.
rubie stone at 2:25 AM,
12 microdots
December 20, 2005
the girl who turned into a bed
it happened that day
she picked up a strange pussy willow.
her head swelled up white
and a soft as a pillow.
her skin, which had turned
all flaky and rotten,
was now replaced
with 100% cotton.
through her organs and torso
she sprouted like wings,
a beautiful set
of matress and springs.
it was so terribly strange
that i started to weep.
but at least after tha
i had a nice place to sleep.
~tim burton
rubie stone at 3:49 AM,
4 microdots