There were nights, to be sure, were Beatrix and Clemence, with no knowledge of each other’s existence, would wrestle with their respective white cotton sheets at odd hours of the night thinking the way thinkers think in that sleepless daze about not just if love existed for them, but more importantly if they would be awake enough to recognize it when it did. The longing for protective, strong arms to hold, handle, desire, and guide their delicate figures was becoming a bit of a back pocket feeling. The capacity for desire within one human being is a bit of a mind-fuck, is it not? The desire to drive through the desert, to drink 4am air with a lover, to dive in tropical waters, to have cups of coffee and read the paper, to see Mercury and Venus at the horizon, to walk across the street, to cheers, to bathe, to whisper, to sleep, to travel, to overcome, to withstand, to explore, to kiss, to touch, to hold, to love, to give. So why then do we most consciously think and desire those things in the quiet of the night when the day is done and tomorrow begins with its agenda of inked hours? When the mind is settled and all there is is your voice and your loneliness do we listen.

I have yet to drop an ink spot since January. You can't keep toasting to the St. Germain when you're within a universe that is just blossoming it's elderberries and still quite shy of the extraction. Clemence has been in and out, riding by with her striped shirt and laxidasical wants. I have been eyeing it all. Beatrix, however, split the first second. I'm not worried. She needs a Los Angeles minute.

Beatrix

Clemence

Musings: Smile

Her lips naturally lifted for an ease of smile. Underneath her clothes were barbed wire fences protecting her desert rose hope. All others saw was the barbed wire. They stopped paying attention after that. Not because of the assumptions, but because they, themselves were in a dizzy of self-satisfaction and frustratingly empty glasses. “Fill me up,” they would say. If only it stopped there. Unfortunately they would add, “Give me another.” And they had no clue what that meant in light of the pyramids and the royal palm feathers.

Nature is not one to be ignored. And she knew this. So she smiled.

The Virgin Suicides

"And so we started to learn about their lives, coming to all the collected memories of times we hadn't experienced. We felt the imprisonment of being a girl. The way it makes your mind active and dreamy and how you end up knowing what colors went together. We knew that the girls were really women in disguise - that they understood love and even death. And that our job was to merely create the notice to fascinate them. We knew that they knew everything about us and that we couldn't even fathom them at all." - The Virgin Suicides

image credit: 1 & 3: via m o o d; 2: via for stars will rise again