It was strenuous; our blood of toils and sweat were lain upon the mixture of paints, grassy blue, sea green, and the shades of the Alps. I sound like the cook in Matilda, where the cook states that she has her blood and sweat inside the chocolate cake. Crap. Now I'm in jeopardy. I ate chocolate cake. It had very candied taste of chocolate, and every time I licked my lips, the oil of the chocolate remained on my lips, no matter how much I tried to wipe it off. Oh well, no matter how gross it sounds, I will forever love chocolate. Deelish.
Also, I vowed myself to buy three CDs. Cat Power, Phoenix, and. and. more. Maybe the Doors. Argh. I wish there was a Dictionary of Indie Rock Artists dead and alive. That would be quite freaking awesome. "Freaking" is a intense intensifier.
Am still upset of McQueen's death. He was quite the genius of the fashion industry. Glossy overdosed lipstick, the pastel lavender rumbled to create the perfect ancient century woman of powdered hair and face. The genius.
Alexander McQueen 16 March 1969 – 11 February 2010
Photo from CBC NEWS (Stefano Rellandini/Reuters)
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Please fly, Mr. Superman of Flying Arts. Reach for the bedazzled stars, stars embedded in the embers of the violet skies.
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