i am in love with mickey rourke

i haven't been in love for a long time. too long. no one has grabbed me at all. everyone i've bothered to kiss has been a bore. no one does it for me right now. i am picky and seattle is picked dry. i'm so over the skinny miserable rockers with substance abuse problems and jobs at easy street. no one has the sex appeal of mickey rourke these days. it has been a long time. for now i am just going to have me some wine, smoke me some smokes, watch mickey movies in my ratty cure t shirt while drawing our initials inside hearts on my bare knees. it's the closest thing to a meaningful relationship. there is something about muscles that i love. older men with big chests. fantastic and delicious. the song in the first video down is one of those infectious 80's songs that i get hooked on. i will never be one a music snob. i love bad 80's pop too much.

rock n rolla

i don't know what fashion magazine these came from but my heart just fills up with a bright colorful 70's groupie sort of happiness when i look at these pictures. if i could be this chic for a day i would sleep with rock stars, get my drinks and drug for free, require no backstage pass and i would not get too boozy so i remember what an awesome day that was.

while this girl sings the blues

do you know what i am missing today? mental chess with a man who reads. and thinks. and is trying to get me into bed. slightly sinister but at the same time sweet and innocent. i miss the heavy breathing. empty bottles of whiskey and soft packs of camel straights. i miss the men who are passionate and in love with ideas. brilliant writers. i miss real men. i've had too many cowards. too many men who find some sort of romance in never growing out of their teenage angst. i want to hear a heavy low voice read out loud to me. i want the dust to settle on us in the hot summer heat. to be sticky, sweaty, smart and lips and hips bruised and swollen. i want to be fucked slow on a sunday morning with billie holiday singing out through scratchy speakers. cups of tea and cigarettes. lips on necks and nipples during naps in afternoons. i miss being someones sweet honey.. those are the things i miss the most.

ashes to ashes we all fall down

beside me right now is my over sized black journal volume 4. it smells like glue, ink and inexpensive crayola paint. it looks like inspiration to me. it is full of flighty thoughts i have collected as they came to me. my journals have evolved into giant love letters to fashion, art and literature. what i love most about keeping journals this way is the ability to keep it with me always so that i can add to it as soon as inspiration strikes. everyone is twittering, facebooking and myspacing these days but i have given up on the idea of social networking. i don't want my corner of the world to be exposed in such an open vulnerable sort of way. however, i find comfort in the idea of keeping a blog for the year of 2010 as a sort of test. i want to see if i can't find my way back to being a writer. not just a paster and painter of my beloved inspirations and fashions. the other day i had that sort of epiphany where the world suddenly seems cheery and full of wonderful things for me to claim as my own. the world is my oyster. despite the setbacks i want to be the girl who always lands on her feet. i want to be the girl who lives a life so here is to the fast approaching new year. here is to another fresh start and a finally here is to my stubborn and determined jump towards the life i want most. with my chin up and eyes ahead. with the most precious moments of my life being the ones where i was neither drunk nor drugged. i still feel fragile and vulnerable. i don't feel like i could put myself in a situation where those things are readily available so i stay away. maybe this is the year i actually get back out in the land of the living. xo