yellow vases shan't hold Montmartre coffee nor goldilocks no more, brilliant sunshine wrapped around thy hair, unmoving in this unending fall. yellow paint and quivering ink-eating, masking something for sure: just make this bread, add spicy Dijon must-dust for show. eat it all up, absinthe's place in your heart and soul, toxic waste in your yellowish carnation, oozing out lemon holes. will he really swallow the missing piece of his own (...)? was he really the type to ponder & slaughter the only thing that he truly owned?
condescending, condensed baby milk. baby wipes wiping baby's rage baby in a crib with Jack Daniels in her cage. dummies and dum-dums and honey and Babe, humming & strumming & getting on my nerves. peek-a-boo! i see you! god, i wish i ******* didn't. baby tantrum, mommy's head turns, stifle a sob in baby's wrecked baby doll, vases cracking, baby nappies flying, now baby's mess is everywhere. still, (enraged) what did you expect? round and round the roses went around the raging mood you've put baby through. go and hide, mommy & mommy, baby is glowing with murderous rage & climbing out of her baby cage with her tiny baby legs. baby reaches over and squeezes mommy to death.
l'éternel retour m'avait puissé à agir une, deux, presque trois cents fois j'ai fait la même choix j'ai commis les mêmes fautes je suis têtue comme personne d'autre mais qu'est-ce que voulez-vous que je dis si tu m'appelles "babe" et je ne me sent pas non plus moi même ni libre
French is not my first (or second) language. I tried.
look! she said pointing at stinky flowers in a drainpipe's head i stared at the hem of the flowers' own dress methaporical witness of the unfolded events the downfall of love & grace & respect "i shall name my next book like them" i said but secretly i promised i'd write about something else instead
soft words and their way of making people sing lull me like a sweet tune in this chimney, in this place in my head, slurring over and over until lines would draw up triangles of sleepy infant "jeux", circles of faded fantasies would come to life and pray, plus rectangles and cornucopias filled with fun and livelier days. clouds of droopy golden light drip over our heads as we lay in soft blankets made out of my personal Heaven's embrace lush silk pillows under our overweight, over-bearing, strongly fastened necks 'cause they hold Atlas' weight and the answers for today. the cycle ends for another shortened day... the air seems rich with the smell of freshly-made pancakes. little troll walking down the stairs with a new spring in her step. lean into the chocolatey sweetness of a mother's oven-like haze, close your eyes and wonder if you'll ever feel the same.
distinct memories like these hold the most childlike tenderness in the world, sometimes your own vulnerability is worth being thought of when revisiting memories like mine.