presently i am feeling a little bit like how i imagine a nearly empty toothpaste tube feels being squeezed and squeezed.
i don't want to sound needy or anything ghastly like that. i would hate stephen fry to despise me...you see, i want him to like me. i want to invite him to stay and be my friend and mentor forever. like when i was 10 i wanted to invite olivia newton john to come and stay on the sugar farm in zululand but dressed as Bad Sandy. my mother, naturally, encouraged me to like Goodie Goodie Sandra D but i wasn't having any of it. i wanted to be bad in those black tight clothes. i wanted high heels, red lipstick and cigarettes. and a rebel to love. i would muse for hours in the pool about it, watching the water scorpions circling lazily into the murky, luke-warm green depths. dreaming up possibilities. . .there was definitely something in me that simply, bravely and delightfully stupidly, knew it could be real.
i love stephen fry and wish for everyone to listen to this:
on days like these, best you take a ride in the twilight zone under a silver moon, laced in wispy clouds with kilimanjaro shyly between the hills, her melting glaciers in the twilight. take deep breaths of the wind and the smell of the injun hoss's dust as he spooks at the dik dik darting through the shadows on the hill.
on days like these, best you love your rebel, make secret curses and write dark gypsy songs.
on days like these, forget about impossibilities and know that anything and everything is possible....high heels, red lipstick and cigarettes to boot.
it involves first born peferring to walk home (up tenacious hill) than stay in the car with his raging mother...
must remember milk.
must try harder.
toodely toot y'all, bisous X.X.X. ragin' sad ones..just there. x j