Right now I should be writing a paper about Richard III but I really cannot be bothered. The very thought of it repels me. I keep distracting myself with gossip sites and Keats’ letters to Fanny Brawne. Ever since I heard about the movie coming out, I’ve gotten so into him. Anyone that knows me will tell you that poetry isn’t my “thing,” but, I don’t know, his words…speak to me? My, that sounds horrible. But yeah. Not just his words….his life…he was so very passionate. I don’t know, I admire that. And he was afraid. Afraid of being forgotten.
I am afraid of being forgotten, too. (HINT HINT! 
)
I really hope that I finish this essay by at least five or six. I’m always tired. Always tired. The only times I actually get to sleep are on bumpy bus rides to and from school sometimes. Hardly comfortable. Hardly…healthy.
Halloween night I didn’t dress up, like I wanted. Didn’t go to the Village parade, either. Instead it was H&M, Chipotle, Changeling, laughing at girls in slutty costumes on the Subway, inching away from the guy in a black t-shirt sitting on the very edge of the platform, screaming over and over again, “FUCK. BULLSHIT. FUCK. THIS IS BULLSHIT!” Creepster.
I’ve got a job, of sorts, now. I’m my sister’s assistant. Nepotism for the win. She pays me well. Work isn’t too hard, although it has really been interfering wih my school work (hence this fucking paper that still isn’t done). Hasn’t be horrible. Fun, even. Last night I was transcribing an interview she did with a photographer named Douglas Kirkland (he’s taken some pretty iconic photos over his career), who recently released a book called “Three Weeks,” which has photographs from the 3 weeks he spent in 1962 in the company of Coco Chanel. He said some amazingly interesting stuff. One thing I really liked:
“On what seemed like the last day, Mademoiselle asked me to have lunch with her. It was very elegant, and as usual she pointed out things to me. She was becoming, in some ways, a part-mother, part caring sister. I don’t know how to refer to her, and I never fully understood the dynamic. Here I was a twenty-seven year old, slightly ungainly boy from the country, and here was Mademoiselle, the essence of elegance and chic, but she was interested in me, and she wanted to help me. So we had the lunch, and we rode out of the city to Versailles, she wanted to show it to me. It was a cold day, amazingly, even though it was July. It was probably 17 degrees Celsius or something that day and it started to rain a sort of a misty rain. I gave her my raincoat, my Burberry, and she put it over her shoulders to protect herself from the rain and she went walking on her own. It was sort of a quiet time, a private time, and it was a time I felt I shouldn’t bother her. Something else was in her head. But at a certain instant, I couldn’t restrain myself. I saw her there, and I felt maybe it wasn’t appropriate, but I’m glad I did it now. I lifted the camera up, took this one click, and that was the last picture I took. That is it. In the picture you’ll see that I’m sort of looking through a fence here, that’s because I didn’t want to be seen, but also it framed her in a very beautiful way. So that’s the essence of that picture. It’s so meaningful to me because that’s my memory, my ultimate memory of Mademoiselle. She was physically small, but as an individual in business, and the world of fashion and everything else, one of the greatest giants of all time. That’s what this picture means to me.”
Yaaaaay.
Anyways, I’m off to swim practice~! Later guys.
Posted: November 10th, 2008 under Uncategorized.
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