I want to try a Bobby Flynnesque rendition of Fergie's "Big Girls Don't Cry". The opening line of the song, unoriginal to the rational side of my brain, still manages to touch me whenever I hear it. Passionate creature, eh? But I would prefer to change "The smell of your skin lingers on me now" to "The smell of your skin lingers in me now". I want to cease the act and let the feeling linger...to let the feeling seep in...to feel the feeling and eventually be done with it.
I want to realise I have "no hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending". Perhaps there is still an iota of redemption here...in the act of creating...in writing, photography, filmmaking...in turning that lingering feeling from yesterday into a fluid poetics today that is possibly an empowering thought tomorrow.
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