shards (i)

fragments of glass, a series of incomplete reflections (not to be confused with the new Bret Easton Ellis novel which yes I started this week)

reflection on the way to a late drink date on the coldest night of the year that had somehow already turned balmy. questioning my self respect due to the late hour and the date itself and how concerned i was with my makeup and outfit but was also feeling devious and femme fatale adjacent hence the smirk.

iykyk

snippet from my slow simmering salomé adaptation

first page of aforementioned B.E.E novel, forced me to pick up a (sale, damaged) copy bc damn

venus by Lucas Cranach the Elder, 1532 — saw this on twitter and was fascinated and repulsed and curious and aroused. the correlation of this body (which is not dissimilar to mine) and venus goddess of love, the posture, the nudity, the opacity of the background and the transparency in the foreground.

a continuation of goddess energy, the audacity of male horniness

reflection on a day this week where i was very hungover and very happy but feeling very uncomfortable in my body. i felt so bloated (likely the hangover) to the point that i was convinced i’d gained actual pounds in the previous days and spent a good chunk of time going through my camera roll and comparing photos taken over the last 10 days, not just of my stomach/body but of my face, analyzing my bone structure and relative fleshiness. results were inconclusive, but looking at this now i see a flat stomach and pants that are baggy where they have in the past been tight and a hip bone and yes, cheekbones. bodies are bizarre, my brain is broken. venus/love: fascination, repulsion, curiosity, arousal…

anais gets it, per usual

(redacted) notes app transcription, on desire and objective

notes app screenshot, on learning rejection

working through some salomé shit — don’t think this monologue actually exists but the thought process is interesting to me and led elsewhere

old Iris Murdoch interview in the Paris Review, true of writing but also of life, like maybe this is the period I’m in in both

reflection on the morning after the date from the first photo, questioning if i had time to shower and capturing… i’m not sure. something about the messiness of it all, of my boots splayed across the floor and wearing the same clothes to work. something about being the girl in the vintage slip dress and fishnets and socks, sitting on the floor to fix her face, the youth of it and the bags under my eyes and the choice to choose wrong and who i had been to someone else who that makes me to myself.

snippet from a new collaborative film/theatre project begun this week, on intimacy and distance, not unrelated to ^

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