haunted_comedy

Some writers weren’t prophesied by ventura Blvd psychics while still inside your mothers womb and it shows. Some of you weren’t an answer to your mothers prayers to be painted. To become silver subjects. To produce, if not the picture itself, the eyeballs of the guy who would finally dress her up in the silks she deserved. Picking caviar from tubs of sour cream. Chardonnay desaturating her many miscalculations into black-and-white movies with elegant blue hues. "Does my boy with those pinecone eyes see it too? His penmanship will be taken care of by the Jews. But I will show him what to see. And that will always be me."