damn indie films. force my imagination to wander about...where my hair is long, my body lithe, my inhibitions nonexistent. there are accents involved and vice without consequence. wealth is understood, mystery abounds. there is a magic in the air that I can perfectly describe and I am fucked up in a way that is massively appealing, erotic, necessary. i am bold. i watch the sun rise, writing and smoking cigarettes, listening to jazz. my awkwardness is sensual. my talent, apparent. luminous.
then i look down and realize I am fucking wearing gray yoga pants, bobby pins are falling out of my hair, my lips are stained with red wine in a most ridiculous way. i am surrounded by used tissues and my nose may or may not be raw. there is no jazz, i cough every morning from the nicotine binges and from experience, no one seems to stick around for the times when you become unglued.
damn indie films.
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