If you could chose anywhere to wake up tomorrow, where would you wanna open your eyes and meet the morning? Father figure Frank called in the middle of the night, he whispered with a voice filled with unanswered questions. Filled with guilt and anxiety.
I know the answer. Its a vague and unfulfilling one, but an answer non the less.
Louis owned a spectacular house, maybe he still did until he was brought back to life and then killed once more.Louise Dahl-Wolfie would have made such a beautiful painting of him had she known him like I did. L walking
endless corridors, mirrors covered with black fabric in the end - his face had lost its beauty and L hated all things
whom lacked beauty, he hated them above murder, torture and war. He hated ugliness. So he hid, like a mad man in a house big enough
for fifty people. His young adonis stayed with him, took care of him and helped him keep his substance abuse under control.
Under control for them meant satisfied, and fulfilled.
I adored that house, the parties held there were the best ones in Britain. Models, actors, poets and other idiots
drank Louis champagne and smoked cigars until night became day. And in the middle of it all was I. A young blond freckled little girl,
not ever a word spoken but still there. Watching, and thinking that in that room - I wasn't that different.
Iris never cared if I came home smelling like gin, and with evidence of wild nights in the shape of white powder on my expensive dresses.
She never cared. But she made sure the dream was interrupted to early, she woke me up and forced me out of it prematurely.
If I could run anywhere, I would run to that house.
8 comments:
you are dangerous, gorgeous, but so am I (just less gorgeous). i thought that book was genius, but i am capable of too much real violence to have enjoyed it.
that stranger and I, we waited for someone to try to rob us in that park. what a surprise this would have been.
love
that house seems like heaven on earth, I wish I had a photo of you in it. Where is it? Is it still there? Can you go there?
SORRY DEAR, Im like Frank. One thousand questions without any answers.
sorry, but when i read "L", i start thinking back to DEATH NOTE and get scared...
can you go there?
because it sounds perfect
Oh oh you've gone and made me all blushy. You among three arethe only ones left whose writing makes me weak in the knees. Sometimes I dream what I write has the same effect but always, days later, it's slipshod and clumsy at best. And then they're Is thatthing on blogger when purple say compliments that are not necessarily sincere though they mean well, you know? I'd rather be given it straight. but thank you. you. Somehow I don't se you telling lies to make an unknown person feel falsely better. Wich is maybe one of your great strengths, honesty.
and hey if you still talk to kim, tell her to write something again, alright?
I'm so glad you're still here.
xx x
I would love to accompany you to that house, just as I wish we could accompany each other to church.
I'm usually invisible, but as you've acknowledged my existence in such a kind and friendly way, I feel obliged to respond that you write beautifully. As a person that holds beauty as the climax of, well, everything, I consider you a goddess. Please keep feeding my daydreams with these beautiful pictures; it's like I was there myself.
Yet another beautifully painted picture of what was.
You remind me of a darker Alice in Wonderland, only Wonderland is not this far away place of magic... it's the darkened world you hide away in.
Your words continue to be beauty.
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