I want to be untouchable and beautiful and completely dead inside.
My mother says that pain is hidden in everyone you see. She says try to imagine it like big bunches of flowers that everyone is carrying around with them. Think of your pain like a big bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.
You can’t doubt so much, Psyche
What you once were?
I can’t remember.
Same Bat time, same Bat place.
What else was filmmmaking about if not a series of perfect and potent images strung together like the words of a poem?
Okay. I wish for world peace,
Pianos, unlike people, sing when you give them your every growl. They know how to dive into the pit of your stomach and harmonize with your roars when you’ve split yourself open. And when they see you, guts shining, brain pulsing, heart right there exposed in a rhythm that beats need need, need need, need need, pianos do not run. And so she plays.
We both believe in monsters. But all the ghosts and demons are you. And all the angels and genies are you. All the kings, queens, Buddhas, beautiful boys. Inside you. No one can take them away. (Missing Angel Juan.)
air. I am still holding the scissors, pointing