Candice. I have some pictures of hers I ought to send you, or her. She’d looking straight into the camera or some point beyond it, a few strands of hair wandering on to her face; her eyes? And there’s a picture of her dancing. Twirling around, her skirt swinging to the rhythm, rippling like the ideas in her head.
I have been drinking lately. We sit through the night in our little cocoon of hysterical laughter and wake up in the morning, like babies clinging to our selves, barely conscious of the world.
**
Barely conscious of the world. That’s what I wish I could be. It all seems to be closing in on me so that I can hardly cling to myself.
**
**
**
I have not been suitable for the public eye. I have been lurking in the shadows and dreams of madmen and lovers. My anxiety – my house being invaded by popular scrutiny. I have been immersed in the hell and ecstasy that is intimacy...reading Nietzsche, Buddha, Breton, Apollinaire...sleeping till late in the day, drinking till early in the morning... walking along the beach and into the woods...writing poetry and lyrics for this upcoming album of mine.
**
Do you really care about the public eye? How bare does one have to be to be naked?
**
And I have been in the glare of the public eye. Queen for many evenings. I am not complaining though. Interesting to observe people falling over each other to talk to the big fish. I silently laugh at the spectacle. I wonder what they all would do if they actually heard the laughter. Does it make any difference? What difference did it make to me?
Saw some great live music last night. The Mia Johnson Band. I didn't fall in love with her as Zach had expected. I think he just wants somebody to fall in love with her because for some reason he can’t but wants to so dearly. The truth has yet to reveal itself. Drank a lot of whiskey, got a shit load of free cigarettes and walked home at three in the morning ranting and raving about some god awful thing or another.
