Lately I’ve been thinking about making a ‘photobook’ with my best/conceptual photos and some of my writings/poems. I just don’t know how to start. But at least I have a goal now which makes me busy in my mind.
written by Ernest Hemingway, from The Garden Of Eden (via seulray)
She stepped into the room and…
… saw her mother with that man.
'Dumb, dumb, dumb, little girl',
thought it was her father…
What would daddy do
if he knew his wife is the town’s biggest hoe?
When I was younger I loved milk.
I loved its taste. The color it has.
You know, I just loved it and whenever I was bored, sad or a little bit hungry, my mom always poured me a glass of milk with a smile on her face and she sat next to me and we talked. Oh, we talked about many uninteresting things, my god. Like I wanted to be an astronaut or an archaeologist. How bad was the weather and such things. I loved those little talks with her. With my glass of milk, of course.
When I turned 13, a man came with his dark hair and the weirdest shirt I’ve ever seen. He made mom blush and me confused. We talked a lot but I wasn’t there with them fully, only my body. Mom slowly disappeared and so did my glasses of milk.
Okay’ I thought. Milk isn’t that important anyway, is it?
The man once saw me in the bathroom. Silly me, left the door half open. Thought I was alone… even in the bathtub, I wanted some milk but I promised I won’t ever let that white liquid touch my lips. No way.
He came in, I whispered ‘go out’. Then I saw what he was holding.
'Milk. I know you liked it before' he smiled and didn't move, didn't go out, didn't say any other words just gave me the glass full of that tasty, silky liquid.
I started to drink as he came closer and forgot to blink. Stopped half way.
'Finished', I said and he grabbed that empty glass and disappeared.
His glass of milk was something similar to mom’s but still… I would gladly get drowned by it.