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I’m sitting on the couch with nothing but a blanket wrapped around me. An Hermes scarf is draped dramatically over the pillows next to me. Little silk images of Versailles wrinkle and fold wistfully. A candle flickers on the floor—it’s supposed to smell like the book To The Lighthouse. It’s one of my favorites. If I close my eyes I can smell the tea and salty sea breeze. I imagine a beach side cliff with a house plopped onto it and little English children running around the hanging linens…

If I listen carefully I can hear the sound of distant cars. It makes me feel that there is this vast open void between me and them, like we are the only two living forces alive at night—that rushing vein of light-streaked highway and me. It makes me feel anxious sometimes or utterly alone. But in truth, I prefer to be elsewhere, hiding in pages of books and my imagination, wasting away at a piano too. Occasionally I sip absinthe… that bright green liquid tastes like herbal fire in my throat. It’s eccentric and the thing of artists (although at the beginning I hadn’t realized that). It feels like I do sometimes—like a maniacal scream that rips me away from mundane things. I’ve felt convinced recently that there is no way to change the minds of the people that cannot see the colors that I see. All the people and their lack of emotional vibrance. For all the structure and all the function of the world, we have not learned just to love simply or with the intelligence of someone who observes, receives, processes the vision seamlessly. Then to project it out—not in cliches as people do… but in artistry. For me the dream is just to live and to love correctly and in a way that needs no structure, no boundaries, nor rules. To live without rules is my dream…

Why is it that they all talk so philosophically with their beards and their pipes about the self-governed man and yet everything about them seems so rigid and so painfully self-inflicted instead of self-governed?

…Really, I’m just rambling at 3 am. I’ll crack the window open and smoke cloves with this blanket wrapped around me, because for me this is the life…

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